This guy. 🙂
Our tabby cat, Monica, was trying to get into the bedroom through a door that was slightly open. (Thick carpet, so it’s difficult to move the door.)
She kept pushing her head through the door opening. Arms flailing. Pondering.
Finally, she shoved her way through like a battering ram.
It was like watching a butterfly break out of its cocoon.
The second time was less eventful. I would reference a clip from The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. In scenes where the, um, young protagonists (heroes) would morph into Power Rangers, the shot has them jumping from an invisible platform and onto the ground.
I’m a zombie! Thanks to my lovely wife, Amy, for this awesome makeup job after watching several makeup videos. It consisted of glue, bathroom tissue (a.k.a. toilet paper), fake black grease, and fake blood. Time to apply: about 25 minutes, including pointing a blow dryer (warm, not hot) to my face for ten minutes.
This was also her first time applying this kind of makeup. How cool is that?
Amy and I drove to Hollywood for dinner at Fuku Burger last week. I had a Tamago (egg) burger, Amy had the same with the falafel patty (no meat), and we split the garlic fries.
We both thought it was extremely tasty.
On a side note, the waiter called me “Mr. Fancy” since I ordered a glass of Merlot. (Why Merlot? It was a change of pace from beer, plus it was on my mind because of “The Yada Yada” Seinfeld episode.)
After looking at the photo, Chris says, “My arms are hairy.”
For the first time in five or six years, I finally met James Huff in person at WordCamp LA. In addition to being a talented musician and all-around helpful guy, he’s a Happiness Engineer with Automattic.
Since his Gravatar is from his wedding three years ago, I
demanded politely asked for a portrait. 😉
Thanks for the good times, James!
The first day I went into Downtown Philadelphia, I waited at the airport for the SEPTA train to Market East Station.
An older man walked up the steps, onto the platform, and asked if this train would be going into town. I assured him it would, but not before warning him that I wasn’t a local.
Apparently, he’s lived here most of his life, but hasn’t used the public transportation system.
For the next hour,
we chatted Brian told me his life story.
At six years old, Brian and his parents got into a huge car accident. His mother was 33. His father, Bernie, was a captain in the Philadelphia Police Department.
Sadly, his mother lost both of her legs from that accident. He remembered the firefighters trying to pull him out and being confused, unable to compute that his mother’s legs were being amputated within the wreckage.
Both parents recently died at 90 years old.
Brian’s eyes welled up with tears. There was so much pain. There wasn’t anything I could say. He took a breath, apologized, and continued.
Brian theorized that he was probably bipolar after that accident.
For forty years, he was an alcoholic until a horrific vision snapped him out of it. Two feathers are in his wallet as a reminder, and he’s been clean for 18 months.
During Brian’s alcoholism, he had a three-year relationship with a girlfriend, then married her for six years. They had a son and grandson. Sadly, they got divorced because “she wanted to stop partying and he didn’t.” (He hasn’t seen his son or grandson in years. Sad.)
Brian is good with numbers, so he was an electrician for a long time. Now, at 57 years old, he’s trying to get his commercial driver license (CDL) in Philadelphia to be a trucker.
Brian currently lives in Las Vegas, but plans to move to San Diego, CA. He still has two sisters, but I can’t recall if he mentioned where they live.
As Brian spoke, he was calm, peaceful, and positive on life. I was overwhelmed with emotion.
Compared to him, I can’t complain. I was heading on an epic journey around Philadelphia, with my camera, lenses, and Twitter to keep me company.
As quick as the conversation started, he arrived at his station, shook my hand, smiled, and said goodbye.
Good luck, Brian.
Note: If you’re wondering, I took his photo before we boarded the train. I wasn’t sure if he’d keep talking to me, but he did.
I didn’t ask Bill to pose or smile. I liked his second portrait, but that wasn’t as sharp. Boo me.
Reflections of myself and Bill’s dad (upper left) was deliberate.
Taken inside his dad’s garage, and hopefully soon to be his recording studio.