Posts tagged ‘“rufus mangrove”’
I went to sleep last night just like every other night.
But this time I woke up three years later,
with a little less hair and a little more wrinkles than before.
Today I think I’m going to try something different.
I have a note posted on my desk.
It says that if you keep doing the same thing you’ll never change.
Tomorrow I’m going to start.
For real this time.
I’m going to write it down.
Maybe I should have gotten on that train.
Is there anything more hopeless in the photography world than street photography? Here’s a camera, go wander the fucking streets by yourself for a period of time and for no money, and come back with something good that most people don’t want to look at on their walls.
You ever get your rolls back in the mail and ask yourself why you were allowed to carry a camera that day? You ever review a memory card worth of pictures and immediately want to sell all your digital equipment on Ebay? Street photography can be fucking hopeless. But you do it anyway, because you saw a picture, and you had to take it. Or worse, you do it because you saw a picture and you missed it.
So if you’re going to do it, just know what you’re getting into. Because once you start, you will never stop, like some kind of sick Alfred Hitchcock episode . . .
I’m just trying to get it, each and every day.
Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But I’ve been smoking endo and sipping gin n’ juice since the early eighties. And I still have healthcare, even before all this Obamacare shit went down.
She told me to get a camera and get back to business.
Dear Peanut Butter:
Often times as parents we get a lot of advice, either from books or from our parents. But noticeably absent in any chapter or advice columns about parenthood is the importance of peanut butter, not necessarily for the child, but for the parent.
You have solved about 99 percent of all problems I have faced with my child. Don’t want to eat your broccoli? Well, here, have some fucking ants on a log. Don’t want to do your homework? That’s fine, but you won’t get a piece of toast with peanut butter. You sound a little grumpy? Here, a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup will make everything better.
Parents have a hard job. We are taught that the “in” thing now is to talk to your children all the time. Some of the uncles or single guys or ladies out there writing these advice columns must think that talking to their favorite niece at a birthday party for fifteen minutes proves their point. But stay at home with the child for at least a year and then come and tell me that children make great conversationalists.
I think you understand that more than anyone or anything. Unlike parents that have replaced peanut butter with hummus or some vegan/gluten free concoction, I have free space in my life where my kids know NEVER to enter. And I couldn’t have done any of that without you, peanut butter.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Darlene
You know you have too many fucking cameras when you can turn on any camera and know how to use it in less than thirty seconds.
One of these days I’m going to get myself my own train. I’ll have it connect to all my secret hideouts so I don’t have to go through all the trouble of squaring the blocks or hacking into the mainframe of certain large law enforcement organizations. With all the new spare time, I’d probably start collecting animals like zebras which as some of you know aren’t horses. When it’s not a horse, you don’t have to worry as much about all those regulations.
You can read just about every book in the world about parenthood, but none of them will really explain to you how much fucking laundry you’re going to be doing. When you start the whole endeavor, you’re going to invariably volunteer to do the laundry rather than having to deal with the children; let the mother figure those buggers out. But soon that one laundry bag you and your wife had when you got married morphs by necessity into two laundry bags, then six months later, morphs into four of those fucking blue IKEA bags that you can carry pumpkins in. It’s going to be up to you not only to bring all those clothes down the elevator to the washer and dryer, but to bring them back in the next hour, so that you can spend the next hour trying to fold the clothes, then another half hour putting them away without fucking with the drawer system that you had no say in creating. The whole thing is completely thankless like you’re some kind of bass player. No one gives a shit if the laundry is done or the clothes aren’t on the floor or left in the washer overnight. But when you fuck with the laundry, somehow the whole house becomes a mess, and then everyone starts feeling that you’ve caused a god damn squalor. Heidi Murkoff will be the last one to tell you this, but don’t volunteer to do the laundry under any circumstances. Learn some nursery songs and how to have tea parties and other diversionary tactics when you still have a chance.
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