Drunkeness

Hollywood and television tell us that hangovers hit a moment after waking up the morning after a night of drinking. This is not how I experienced it.

My hangover hit me at 5:20 this morning while I was sleeping off a prodigous amount of alcohol from the night before, waking me up to the worst headache I've ever had in my life.

You see, I went to a party last night, thrown by LeAnne Sulzen, fellow Collegian Staffer (Journalists and alcohol have always, ALWAYS mixed), with every intention of getting drunk. And I mean drunk to the point that I had to hold on to things to keep standing. Things have been increasingly stressful with my business lately and I really wanted to blow off some steam and do something stupid.

I admit it. I wanted to get sh*t-housed-drunk. And I did.

By the way, many thanks to Jonas Hogg for giving me a ride home after Safe Ride passed me and drove off while I chased after them, stumbling quite a bit.

Here's what I do know about last night:

• I don't remember how much I drank. Estimates range from 10-15 beverages, but I honestly have no idea how much I had.
• There was a lot of laughter around me. Whether it was with me, or at me, I do not know.
• I completely destroyed my costume. I wore a shirt and pants that had a bunch of cuts and slices in them along with some fake blood (see pic of face below) and went as the victim of an attack by the neighbor's dog. By the end of the night, the tears had spread so far that my pants turned into a hula skirt and everyone knew the color of my boxer shorts.
• I remember kissing this girl on her cheek and hugging her a bunch, but I was just trying to be friendly. She put up with it and didn't mind it too much, I think. OK, fine, I don't really know.
• That girl called her friend Kirby, who is friends with my little brother Drew, to come over so he could see me completely smashed out of my mind. He laughed at me a lot.
  
• I think I said a bunch of innappropriate things to several members of the opposite sex at the party, many of whom work with me. Some were even my bosses. Once again, I'm not really sure what happened.
• When I finally layed down in bed at around 1:30 that morning, it felt like the whole damned thing was spinning sideways, taking me with it.
• I didn't throw up. Well, at least, I never found any evidence that suggests I did throw up.
• 4 hours later, I woke up thanks to the aforementioned hangover. I went back to sleep after taking some ibuprofen that did the trick.
• 4 more hours later I awoke, feeling disturbingly refreshed and ready to greet the day. I cleaned up, got a ride to my car, and processed a bunch of photo orders.

That's all I really know. I'm certain the rest of the details will be told back to me when I go back to the newsroom again.

Hey Milton, I got your stapler!

 

I was attacked by a big dog...

Or at least that's what my costume was: the victim of an attack by a werewolf. The blood, obviously, is fake. 

"Dead Like Me" is Dead

I finished the last episode of "Dead Like Me" over the weekend, and now I'm kinda sad. You see, DLM (as I shall refer to it henceforth) is one of the best shows ever made in history, and I shall miss it.

DLM ran for two seasons on Showtime and was released on DVD, which is how I watched it. It tells the story of an 18-year old girl who dies suddenly (hit by a toilet seat off the space station Mir) and tragically (on her first day at her real job) but does not go on to what waits... well, beyond. Instead, she becomes a Grim Reaper. Not by choice, mind you, she actually tries to deny it for a while and causes all sorts of trouble.

She becomes a part of a group of Grim Reapers, all of them people who died without completing accomplishing what they had been meant to. It then becomes their job to take the souls of the about-to-die before they are killed so persons never feel any pain, and then usher them to their afterlife.

The series was rather morbid in its two seasons, with this particular group of Reapers covering non-natural death. That's right, they take different departments. The star group covered accidental death and murders, and there were others that, for example, covered natural causes or plagues. Natural Causes was the nicest beat to work, while plague duty often entailed centuries of boredom. Yeardley Smith, one of the voices from the Simpsons, played a Reaper who took Natural Causes detail.

I watched the first season in September 2004, and the second season just this month. 29 episodes. All of them amazing, and here's why: This show's subject may have been death, but it wasn't depressing. It was beautiful, and it made you want to live and smile after watching an episode.

Now I'm thinking about buying this.

The Apprentice

Remember when I covered Apprentice tryouts back in February?

It came back to haunt me.

Still making the fourum?

Found in today's fourum:

"Logan Adams rules. So totally awesomeness, he rules."

I don't get it. I'm just a newswriter, what did I do that was so special?

Now that Wilma is exiting stage-east...

So I feel like a dork.

My friend Jessie, a fellow intern at Scripps, works for the Naples Daily News in Florida. Naples, where she lives, was pretty much hit dead-on by Hurricane Wilma.

I've been concerned about her safety. She was, after all, in a freaking hurricane that a few days ago was the most intense ever recorded.

I even called her cellphone this morning to say hello since the storm was mostly over but got no answer. I didn't get scared, and in truth I was really hoping she wouldn't answer so I could just leave a friendly message for her to find when all this crap had blown over.

Fortunately, it's a Category 2 and dropping, and good riddance to Wilma.

I don't know why I'm so nervous right now. Maybe seeing all the death, destruction and destitution caused by Katrina just got to me more than I thought it would. But there's a big difference. New Orleans was built like crap, and full of poor people who couldn't get out or afford good backup infrastructure. Naples, and Bonita Springs (where she works), are much better places to live; or so I gather.

But I'd give anything to be there. I've always wanted to cover big nasty storms and conflicts and all sorts of crap like that. I'm hoping to hear some great "war stories" from Jessie when this all blows over, so to speak. Crap, I'm envious.

Yep. Dork. You may commence with the laughter.

In search of something new

I'm not happy with myself these days; I've allowed myself to go from having a routine to digging myself a deep rut I can't seem to get out of.

Sunday through Friday I go to class, write stories for the Collegian, and take care of Emma. I love all three and want them to continue. I've also been doing photography jobs every couple of weeks, sometimes more, sometimes less. Therein lies the problem, I fear.

I'm not happy with my photography work. Sure, it looks nice. Sure, it constantly gets emotional gasps and fervent interest from people in my community. Sure, people are willing to pay money for it. Sure, I am growing successful with it.

But it doesn't make me happy the way it used to. All I've been doing lately are football games and football portraits and while I love that it has left me feeling unsatisfied lately.

I've been allowing myself to stay inside a shell, to keep with something I know and not expand my horizons any more. I need to do something new. I need to do something bold.

And there's this plan I've been bouncing around in my head lately. I want to set up a tiny, cheap, temporary studio somewhere in Council Grove during Thanksgiving break and ask people to come in and let me make a simple portrait of them. No special props, Black and White images, just the camera, soft lighting, a blank background, and a person.

And that's where I want to be bold. I want to get people to make a face. Any face. A smile. A frown. A dirty, angry look. A tongue sticking out into the wind. A sexy look.

To sum up: I want to get people to look me in the lens say with their face whatever it is they want to say to the world

And I want 100 of them to do it. That's right, 100 images. And then I want to arrange them all on a poster. I'm thinking 10 pictures by 10 pictures, each one 2" tall and 3" wide, on a 20x30" poster, since that is the largest my printer currently does.

I"m also thinking about doing it at twice the resolution (number of pixels) needed to do a 20x30", so if I ever find a company that I trust who can do a 40x60" or such, I can do that.

Still with me?

Here's my desire: I want to document people in an honest form. I want to put forth a simple, clear, real depiction of real small-town Kansans. And I want to make myself better at making good, honest portraits of people.

And I want to do something new, something I've never done before. Any volunteers?

Declare that Ditty

"Well, it was nearly all summer we sat on your roof
Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon
And I’d show you stars you never could see
Baby, it couldn’t have been that easy to forget about me"

Declare that Ditty

Now Main Street's whitewashed windows, and vacant stores,
seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more.
They're closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks.
Foreman says these jobs are going boys, and they ain't coming back.

How badly do I miss DC?

There was just a story on CNN about commuting, and it featured tape of the DC Metro trains. I literally got up and stood by the tv and grinned with pleasure like a junkie taking a hit off a joint to the sounds in the background. The Ding-dong, the recorded announcement "Doors closing," it's repeat, then the sweet, sweet squeal and woosh! of the train taking off down the line.

I ended my job in DC 6 months ago, and I'm still in this state. Damn, this is sad.

Coincidentally enough, one of my colleagues here at the Collegian asked me a few hours ago if I wanted to get a job in Washington after I graduate. My answer -- "Yes" -- was an massive understatement.

Life's little milestones

I had my camera with me as I was driving through the neighborhood and then this happened. I pulled over and got the picture. Ain't it something? 

Declare that Ditty

I am still living with your ghost,
lonely and dreaming of the west coast.
I don't want to be your down time,
I don't want to be your stupid game.
With my big black boots and an old suitcase,
I do believe I'll find myself a new place.
I don't want to be the bad guy,
I don't want to do your sleep-walk-dance anymore.

Note: Yes, I do choose these as a reflection of my mood. No, that shouldn't make you worry. Yes, you should still try and figure out the song from which the lyrics came.

Get your bytes off my computer, you damned dirty virus!

So my laptop has a virus. It appears Norton Antivirus was taking a nap or something and just let a trojan horse just waltz right in and mess up my computer. Not only that, but Norton also feels the need to put a window up that I can't close or minimize until the virus is gone. I click "repair," it tries to delete the virus, then tells me it can't delete the virus.

Perhaps Norton is just a sissy.

So I went to norton's website, where they had a removal tool that was designed just for this one virus. That's right, this virus is so tough, they made a program just for killing it. I wonder if he feels honored. It must really help his reputation with all the other viruses out on the Internet.

So I downloaded the remover, ran it, and it told me the virus wasn't found on my computer. Yay! I thought, it must be gone. I then restarted my computer like the instructions said, only to find that the little bastard was still there. I ran the remover again; same answer.

And the virus is still there. My laptop is disconnected from the internet and running at a snail's pace, and I've got orders coming in for pictures that I can't process. It looks like I may have to get the hard drive wiped; fortunately I've been rather good at backing up my work and I've been preparing for a contingency like this.

It still pisses me off, however.

I feel like starting a campaign to make it punishable by death to make and a computer virus. That's right, you make a bug that screws people's lives up, you get your head shot off or or thrown into a trash compactor or fed to a horde of hungry tasmanian devils, your choice..

Maybe that's too draconian of me. Howsabout was just cut their fingers off so they can't type anymore?

NATH going in a new direction

So you think you know NATH?

Well guess what, it's going to be changing soon.

I've realized that I don't want Needing a Title Here to be a murder or criminal mystery. I want this story to be about a person experiencing college life, and experiencing real life. I want love. I want rage. I want pain. I want humanity.

But I'm not going to write some mystery thriller. I'm going to write something else.

Stick around, and you'll find out what.

The URL for NATH will likely change with the next chapter. I'll be sure to post it here.

Yay Image Statistics!

My hosting site, photoshelter.com, has started keeping statistics on how often my images are being viewed online. According to my latest report, I've had over 500 image views in the past 2 days, and growing.

Yay!

Some lyrics I'm thinking about...

"Float On" by Modest Mouse

"...Well we'll float on, good news is on the way.

And we'll all float on OK,
And we'll all float on OK,
And we'll all float on OK,
And we'll all float on anyway.

All Right, already, and we'll all float on.
No, don't you worry, we'll all float on.
All Right, already, and we'll all float on.
No, don't you worry, we'll all float on.

All Right, already, we'll all float on.
All Right, already, we'll all float on.
All Right, don't worry
Even if things end up a bit too heavy we'll all float on."

I want to say so much. I want to scream it from mountaintops and call it out through valleys. What I desire more than anything else to to talk and talk on and on about the emotions and memories flying about inside of me, to let others know of it.

But I won't. My heart won't let me.

So instead, I shall only say this:

Yes, I remember.
No, I will never forget.

Pub-Crawl Aftermath

I talked to some people at the Collegian today about Pub Crawl, which was Friday night. I went to the pre-party, and while I didn't really get drunk I can't say I was sober either.

I was worried I had been obnoxious while under the influence of alcohol, which I've found affects my personality and attitude much more than my ability to walk or drive (I gave myself a field-sobriety test before driving home, I had perfect balance and I was perfectly capable of getting home.)

One of my fellow Collegian Staffers informed me that I was a good conversation with about 6-7 drinks (or was it 4-5?) in me, albeit somewhat depressing at times.

That's right, I may very well be a sad drunk. And all this time I thought I was a mean drunk. Huh.

Vader: Our Precious Puddy Tat. 

This is what you DON'T want your cat to play with. One chomp into a live wire, *Sizzle,* and you've got fresh chinese food. 

In the "About to Pounce on Something" position. 

Vader with my friend Rita. 

It's times like this, when Vader punches my lens, that I'm glad that I keep a protective UV filter on my 17-35. 

Vader and Sissy (the Shi Tzu) are warming to eachother. I hope. 

This is Vader, the newest member of the family. He was given to us from LeAnne, who needed to find a home for the littlest of her cat's litter. 

Declare that Ditty

"I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad,
how the dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I ever had."

NATH is new

Read #7 @ http://ksumystery.blogspot.com

My first wedding...

Last night's wedding went off without a hitch... so to speak.

Actually, it was quite a workout and I earned my pay, let me tell you.

The galleries can be found on my website, one for the pre-ceremony and one for the reception. They didn't have me shoot the ceremony itself because inclement weather drove them into tight spaces and my camera going off would have ruined the event. I did manage a few distant shots, however.