Wednesday, August 12, 2o15
"Sir, you are in the place I want to be!" I turn around and there is a short little troll of a woman wearing reading glasses staring at me from behind her shopping cart. "Sorry," I whisper pushing my cart out of her way as fast as I can. "That's alright," she says. And that makes me halt, turn around and yell back at her, "Now YOU are where I want to be!" She says something . . . . that I don't hear. I'm too busy getting the hell out of there before I get beat down in the middle of Walmart. I can't believe I said that to this little old lady! But hey! You have to stand up for yourself when the trolls attack.
It seems as if most of my human interaction with other beings like myself take place in Walmart. Yes, I know. "What a shallow person you've become, Woodie," my more enlightened friends would say, those friends who have risen to such perfection they are allowed by fate to shop at Whole Foods, Sprouts while we less fortunate creatures of mud and sand must grovel before the deity Walmart for our daily bread. But such is life on this shadowy Earth. We ask not and want not but to feed and clothe ourselves. Walmart! Why hast thou forsaken me?
"Daddy, can I go to the toys," the little girl asks in that manipulative soft, pleading sound that children make to get whatever they want. "Well, this Walmart doesn't have toys." You can hear the guilt resonating in the father's voice . . . it drips of hope that his child won't cause a scene in the middle of the store. And he's lucky. The little girl accepts her disappointment (with a bereft silence that the checkout girl at station #3 {her name is Luci} picks on) that they went to the smaller Walmart that houses groceries. . . but not toys.
Cooler day. In the 80s, I'm thinking. There's a noise somewhere out there beyond my front lawn. A scratchy sort of sound . . . not a cat . . . not a dog . . . too rhythmic and precise to be animal . . . or vegetable for that matter . . . Yes, definitely a human sound . . . an irritating scratchy sound that only a human being could make. And it is. It is a human. My next door neighbor duct taping something to the back of his truck. Hmmmm. My neighbor . . . uniquely . . . unique.
The phone rings. It's David. "Sorry, my phone fell head down under the bed and I couldn't find it cause I was dreaming--" It's always best not to question David for specifics when it's obvious . . . he just woke up. We are to meet in an hour or two at one of the many coffee cafés in Normantown. I will walk there. It's the exercise I need to keep my heart pumping. I remember, I used to run, run, run everywhere. These days I walk . . . slowly . . . soon the tiem will come when all I can do is crawl . . . slowly.
Thursday, August 13, 2o15
I was on a mission. "Can I help you, sir?" She said. Young beautiful . . . like a ponytailed fluffy blue cloud. I was reluctant to involve her in this, but she was wearing a Best Buy Geek Squad smock. She knew what she was getting into when she took the job. "Yes, you can," I whispered, "I'm in search of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, Iron Butterfly, circa 1968." Her face turned a lighter shade of pale (Hmmm, I need a copy of that one too, but not today.), and I knew it was a bad idea. She was far too young, too innocent to comprehend the importance of finding this piece of music. Hell, she probably didn't even know that they had music back in 1968. Then suddenly her fear was transformed into a determination to-Yes, by God-to help her costumer no matter what the risk. "Follow me," she commanded, and without hesitation . . . we marched off to the music section Best Buy war.
Friday, August 14, 2o15 3:24am
Art Walk tonight. Planning on shooting a lot tonight. Monochrome style. Color is great, but I'm wanting to see if I can get more art of my photography by going B&W. Maybe I'll set shots up better also. Although it is tough to get the shot just right when your shooting on the sly. Yes, I could ask folks to pose for me, but that's exactly what I don't want, posing. Want the shot to look natural, you know?
And lets face it, people are what I'm interested in not plants or buildings or objects. People. people is what it's all about with me. But not just standing style "smiling" at the camera, but people in motion, doing things, being whatever they are in the moment I click that flick. Capturing moments in a life. yeah, that's what it's all about with me.
5:38pm
Had a production meeting at Old School Bagel with Michael Slemmons and David. Mike wants to shoot one of my "horror" monologues I wrote. I'll probably wind-up acting in it. It feels a little scary to be into this stuff again, but it's also rather invigorating. Been a while since I worked on anything. Looking forward to doing something in the art that I was trained for.
"Sir, you are in the place I want to be!" I turn around and there is a short little troll of a woman wearing reading glasses staring at me from behind her shopping cart. "Sorry," I whisper pushing my cart out of her way as fast as I can. "That's alright," she says. And that makes me halt, turn around and yell back at her, "Now YOU are where I want to be!" She says something . . . . that I don't hear. I'm too busy getting the hell out of there before I get beat down in the middle of Walmart. I can't believe I said that to this little old lady! But hey! You have to stand up for yourself when the trolls attack.
It seems as if most of my human interaction with other beings like myself take place in Walmart. Yes, I know. "What a shallow person you've become, Woodie," my more enlightened friends would say, those friends who have risen to such perfection they are allowed by fate to shop at Whole Foods, Sprouts while we less fortunate creatures of mud and sand must grovel before the deity Walmart for our daily bread. But such is life on this shadowy Earth. We ask not and want not but to feed and clothe ourselves. Walmart! Why hast thou forsaken me?
"Daddy, can I go to the toys," the little girl asks in that manipulative soft, pleading sound that children make to get whatever they want. "Well, this Walmart doesn't have toys." You can hear the guilt resonating in the father's voice . . . it drips of hope that his child won't cause a scene in the middle of the store. And he's lucky. The little girl accepts her disappointment (with a bereft silence that the checkout girl at station #3 {her name is Luci} picks on) that they went to the smaller Walmart that houses groceries. . . but not toys.
The phone rings. It's David. "Sorry, my phone fell head down under the bed and I couldn't find it cause I was dreaming--" It's always best not to question David for specifics when it's obvious . . . he just woke up. We are to meet in an hour or two at one of the many coffee cafés in Normantown. I will walk there. It's the exercise I need to keep my heart pumping. I remember, I used to run, run, run everywhere. These days I walk . . . slowly . . . soon the tiem will come when all I can do is crawl . . . slowly.
Thursday, August 13, 2o15
Friday, August 14, 2o15 3:24am
And lets face it, people are what I'm interested in not plants or buildings or objects. People. people is what it's all about with me. But not just standing style "smiling" at the camera, but people in motion, doing things, being whatever they are in the moment I click that flick. Capturing moments in a life. yeah, that's what it's all about with me.
5:38pm
Had a production meeting at Old School Bagel with Michael Slemmons and David. Mike wants to shoot one of my "horror" monologues I wrote. I'll probably wind-up acting in it. It feels a little scary to be into this stuff again, but it's also rather invigorating. Been a while since I worked on anything. Looking forward to doing something in the art that I was trained for.
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