baldmike2004's Xanga

Xangablogging: Why and how I blog.

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 17:46:33 GMT

WhenWordsCollide: What you'll find here.

I always find it interesting when I read that some Xangalebrity has left Xanga to create their own website. I created my Xanga blog five years after I created my website, www.allthingsmike.com, as a portal to said site. (Click the Allthingsmike header at the top of my blog and you're taken to the site. EDIT: 6:00pm pst. I just updated the main page to my personal site today.) I've often written, I blog here for the comments. My website was a "blog" long before anyone had ever written the timestamping software which makes blogging possible. I would meticulously date the updates on each of my pages, so readers would be able to know where they "left off" when they last visited. When blogspot came online, I immediately signed on, and created individual blogs for each of the sections of my website. Since blogspot didn't have comments, I had no idea whether people were reading me or not.

I was introduced to Xanga in May of 2004, which had comments, and immediately consolidated all my blogs into this one, WhenWordsCollide, using one of the blogspot blogtitles. It refers of course, to my rambling style of writing, which includes parentheticals, "hash marks", tangenital thinking, and free association. Back in 2004, my blog had pretty much the same sections it has now. It looked the same, with a cloudscape background, dreamcatchers on my profile pics, and long glossy entries with large graphics and photos, all self created instead of copy/pasted. The major sections correspond to sections of allthingsmike. As I compiled entries, I catalogued them in an index, which is still to the left in my sidebar. When tags became available, I used the tags feature to identify my sections. They are:

PhotoPosts: My photography series, tied into my Webshots Gallery where I usually take the reader on a "trip around town" with me, describing the scenery as you witness it along with me. I'm currently listed as #9 of about 15,000 users posting California photos on Webshots.

ElectricPoetry Posts: Themed poetry posts, usually with at least one new piece, and including a "Behind the Poetry" discussion of the hows and whys of the poetry presented.

The Universal Blog: Inspired by the "Philosophy" section on my original website, and usually a spiritual or philosophical entry I have posted or which I will later post on The Universal Blog, a standalone site on blogspot.

MikeVideo: Presentations of my latest videos. I create not only "Mike's Video Blogs", high quality 10 minute "travelblogues" or Hewell Houser type documentaries, but also artistic music videos and photo slideshows, and rather ambitious animations, produced under the MikeVideo banner, which has been around for over 20 years.

Serialized Novels and Reminiscences: I've been writing my autobiography online since I started blogging, and series such as "The Frat House", "My Sexual History", "Childhood in Los Angeles" and "My Life with Pat" detail the chapters of my life.

Groups and Blogrings: I write for particpatory blogrings such as Socrates Cafe and Featured Grownups, and I used to run a particpatory blogring called The Internet Island. Some of my best and most popular blog entries have been written for blogrings.

News and Notes: Inspired by the newspaper columns I used to write for the high school paper, which I edited, these are mainly where I write about my "personal life".

I post on average once every three days, and I will notify my readers of my many "hiatuses" which can last for months at a time. Even when that happens, however, I usually make an attempt to post something at least once a week.

My first visit to your blog.

"Dear Fellow Xangan, Thank you for dropping by my blog, leaving a comment, befriending me, and most of all for subscribing..." I should probably just copy/paste that line, which I must have written over a thousand times in the past five years, with a few modifications. I'll usually visit you first because you left a comment on my blog. Although I subscribe to about 77 blogs (also listed in the sidebar) , a lot of them are not active anymore.I don't subscribe to too many blogs anymore. I almost always leave comments from the comments I receive. I seem to "know" enough Xangans that this keeps me busy enough, and if each comment generates a return visit, we can carom back and forth forever. If you leave a comment, I should, if not immediately, at least pay you a visit within a week or so.

When I visit, this is what I do. First I look for your given name, so I have something by which to address you. Most bloggers' usernames, including mine, aren't our"real" ones. So I will go to your profile and back entries to figure out who you are. I want to be introduced to "the person behind the blog." I will usually read several entries, and becuase I can't make the time to viist each and every time one of my correspondents posts, I usually read most of the five entries on the front page when I visit, or if you're one of my "regulars", I'll go back to the last entry where I 'left off" and continue from there, like reading a book or a magazine.

I live for comments, and I'm sort of known around here for mine, which are unlike any other comments in the Xangasphere. If someone else started commenting like I do, it would immediately be noticed by anyone to whom I've left a comment. I am always deliciously satisfied when people sort of "mimic" my commenting style when they comment on my own blog. My comments are like letters, and are sometimes short blogposts riffing on what you've written or presented.

My comments mignt be longer than your post. I read and catalog several entries, and I write my comment/letters on Notepad as I'm reading. Sometimes, depending on the time of the day, or my mood, or the mood of the piece or pieces to which I'm responding, I might be serious, or playful. I might be sarcastic, or funny, or sentimental. I will discuss things on my mind and in my past which comment on your post. I might post an "answer poem" from my vast archives. But I will always read every word you write, and I will write you a letter. You don't even have to respond. But if you do, then we will eventually become correspondents, and alot of my correspondents have been with me for five years.

Friending and Subscribing.

Don't feel bad. I probably won't ask to be your friend. I don't know you even if I just read much of your blog. I might spend an hour with you, but then I'm off to another blog, and might forget you altogether if you don't pay me a return visit. If you do, then it's up to you to either befriend me or subscribe, if you have not already done so. I'm a content provider. I won't read your blog daily. I simply cannot make the time. I work over 40 hours a week, and sometimes I don't feel like sitting in front of a computer on weekends. When I do, I will probably be constructing my own entries, which take hours to create, since I make the graphics myself and write all the content. So if you like my blog, and leave comments, I will always respond. If you don't visit or comment after our initial correspondence, then I probably won't visit again, and I'll forget all about you.

If you befriend me, however and don't visit, I will make an attempt to visit you a few times, and leave long comment/letters. If I don't feel you are reciprocating in our "friendship", I'll simply delete it. I didn't used to use the "universal inbox". As I've mentioned, I usually return comments, like I'm answering letters. (And it doesn't matter if you write me a letter or say "nice blog". I'll treat each Xangan equally. I love you all.) Now that I'm using the "universal inbox" I don't want to see your mug if you're not visiting my blog. This is why I rarely befriend anyone. I know you wanted to befriend me, so you should want to visit me every once and a while. If you don't and I didn't use the inbox, then I would forget you. If I see you recommending and posting all the time, and we're not really friends, then you're history. Sorry if this sounds harsh. My 'real" friends are all longtime bloggers who don't update that often, and sometimes I might miss their posts. I read LOTS of blogs. If I remember a blogger who hasn't dropped by in a while, I'll make an attempt to find you, and I'll try to "reconnect". I sometimes ingratiate myself attempting to do this. When I ran a Poetry Group on Yahoo, I used to brag that I never had anyone leave the group. I don't like to burn bridges in real life either.

Comments.

I love to receive them. More than anything else, I crave feedback for the content I provide. I make an effort to write the best comments on Xanga. I've been told this many times, so I don't feel as if I'm bragging. For a time, I felt as if I would go to my grave "known" as the guy who wrote the best comments, when what I really want to be "known" for is my poetry, videos, photography, and artistic soul. So if you befriend me, please drop by from time to time, and leave comments. They don't have to be long. If you leave me a comment, it will be returned. And hey, I'm human, and I do sometimes overlook a comment. You can always come back and let me know I didn't return your visit. When the internet was just email and cursory websites, I used to say I returned all my email. I like being a "man of letters" on the internet, and treat comments as correspondence.

For those who don't comment.

Some of my readers read only from subscription lists, and though I have their usernames in my subscription database, I will probably not visit because they don't visit me. Most of these people don't really care about the socializing aspect of blogging. Some of them have told me so in private messages. I am not one to belittle or complain about those who read my blog and don't socialize. I'm glad they're reading my words and admiring my work. I don't consider these folks to be "stalkers". They are just as important as the people who visit and comment regualrly.

Mass Messages

When I only had a website and an email list, I sent updates to my email list on what was happening on my site. I will sometimes send sporadic updates using Xanga messages. And I usually will not begin them with "I know you hate to read mass messages..." I am sending the messages to those on my lists who might not have visited in a while and might be interested in knowing that I'm active, or have posted a new video, or some other benchmark event. I try to limit these messages to one a month, and lately haven't even posted that many.

Gratefulness and Community

I love my Xanga blog. I'm a lifetime member of the community here. I've been 'featured" a number of times, and thanks to a few select buddies of mine, I frequently find my entries at least in the middle of the Most Rec'd page. I thank everyone who has made it possible for this to happen and fo me to continue coming back, after my frequent hiatuses, to keep loving the community aspect of Xanga. I know so many longtime Xangans who still offer remarkable work, even if they don't post as much as they used to. You know who you are. I always seem to keep getting new friends and subscibers, and sometimes I do make the effort to search out new bloggers on my own. I do frequently follow the recommendations of my buddies on Xanga when they recommend or mention a noted blogger I don't yet know. So a note of thanks to all those who have stuck with me through the past five years, and to those who just discovered WhenWordsCollide. Mine is not an easy blog to read. It's called WhenWordsCollide for a reason. Hopefully, however, each of those word means something. I want to remain optimistic and hopeful with each passing day. I do answer all my messages too, eventually. I may not be a Xangalebrity, but more than one blogger has called me a Xangalegend, and I'm content and thankful for that!

Originally Posted: November 07, 2009 6:50 PM

Poetry/thoughts inspired by the Ft. Hood massacre

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 16:50:08 GMT

War Time All the Time
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
11/6/09 9:38a.m. pst

What are we always fighting for?
Why do we have to go to war?

If wishes were horses, then soldiers would ride
shedding their helmets, no arms by their side

The brave join to guard us, to stand tall and proud
They don't want to harm, but to shout freedom loud

Why can't discussion replace fighting words
Why can't our leaders keep watch o'er their herds

What are we always fighting for?
Why do we have to go to war?

If soldiers weren't needed, then peace would reign nigh
We'd all love our brethren, and no one would die

The senseless is useless always for all time
People are angry, this is such a crime

Why can't we tolerate those who don't agree
What does this say about us throughout history?

What are we always fighting for?
Why do we have to go to war?

If war were abolished by worldwide decree
Then innocent people like you and like me

would not need to ask questions, about death and life
and suddenly hope would replace deadly strife

Why can't we love instead of hate
But maybe this just isn't humankind's fate

What are we always fighting for?
Why do we have to go to war?

My prayers and positive energy go out to all the victims, their family and friends, and all the soldiers at Ft. Hood and across the world, fighting for what they believe is right, when in most instances none of what is fought for is ever completely "right". I never imagined, in all my life, that such a thing as a soldier killing his fellow soldiers with malice would ever happen in my country. But I, like most, continue to be naive when it comes to the sad truths of the capability of the human animal to hunt and kill his fellow man. A lot of this is because war has raged and been used as a method of "settling" differences since almost as soon as man stepped upon the Earth.

My heart goes out to all humanity, as I wonder, again, why there are more questions than answers, and why there always seems to be more killing instead of discussion and tolerance. We as a people are so different, but underneath our fragile facades, we are so similar. We are all part of a Universal Understanding. We will understand this when we too pass from the corporeal into the Universal plane of existence.

So sad that we don't seem to understand anything while we occupy this planet.

News and Notes for November 2009

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 02:06:29 GMT

A couple of people have asked me "how I am" in comments and I notice I haven't posted a News and Notes column in a long while. I do scatter personal information in my entries, but for the most part they are more like "magazine articles" and I update my personal life in the News and Notes columns. So here's a health, wealth, and welfare update from the Mikester this 4th day of November, 2009.

HEALTH: As I wrote in a recent Facebook update, I just can't seem to get away from health issues this year. Hopefully, this means 2010 will be a year when the only doctor visit I make is for my yearly physical. (A habit I got into when I turned 40 years old) I'm completely healed from the hip revision operation I had in June. Hard to believe that was six months ago. I'm paying the hospital bill in installments now. I still don't know my complete burden, but it's been estimated at $3000.00. I've been back to power walking (a little shy of two miles) each evening when I get home from work. I used to power walk around our business park in the early mornings, but it's much more pleasant walking the perimeter of the mobile home park. I stopped doing my "leg exercises" about a month ago, but sometimes go through the motions for fun. I do try to remember to do my situps, however, and am up to 22 a night. I usually do the situps before or after the walk. My walk is exercise for my high cholesterol. My orthopaedist stopped me from walking for almost a year, while preparing for my hip operation, so I had to take cholesterol pills. I hope to be taken off the pills when they next gauge my cholesterol levels during my next physical.

My pinched nerve started acting up a few weeks ago, but the pain has abated, and my shoulders and back feel good now. I still don't have feeling in the two small fingers on my left hand, which always causes me make lots of intital typing mistakes, which I can quickly recover, since I type pretty fast. (I've never looked at the keyboard when typing, so if I can't feel my fingers, sometimes they fall on the wrong keys!)

As I write this, I can't feel my bottom jaw. Last month I had to have two bottom teeth removed, and a partial installed, and since I hadn't seen a dentist in much longer than I care to admit, I made an appointment for "deep gum cleaning". My first appointment was this morning, and I'm still numb from the novocain. My dentist really got into the cracks and crannies. My next appointment is Nov. 17th. Today he cleaned the bottom jaw, and the top will be cleaned in a couple weeks. He also has to fill a cavity in one of my molars. There is one more loose tooth, and hopefully I won't be having any pain in it till I can afford another partial. I have one hole where a molar was pulled three years ago on the upper right side of my mouth, and eventually, I'll have the opposite molar pulled (which is incredibly loose but not hurting at this moment) and a partial constructed to bridge these two holes. When I had the first tooth pulled I never got an implant, and they couldn't put in a partial for just one tooth!

Three weeks ago, or thereabouts, when my pinched nerve started bothering me, I began using my "comfy chair" in the corner to watch TV on my 60" bigscreen HDTV, instead of the less comfortable but closer sofa. I began to notice that the picture was a bit fuzzy, esp. in my right eye. Last week, while driving back from Hollyweird after taking photos, the glare in my right eye seemed overwhelming. I knew exactly what was happening. A film is growing over my right eye, same as when I had to have cataract surgery on my left a few years ago. I knew I'd eventually have to have the cataract on my right eye removed, but it seems like it's come up too soon. (One of the drawbacks of growing older, it seems, is that time gets compressed. ) I figured I'd have at least till 60, but it's been about 4 years since the last operation. I wanted to make an appointment with my opthamologist anyway, and will now get the news, I'm sure, that I need to have the second cataract surgery. I really can't afford it. (Cost is just under my $1000.00 deductable, and it's a different health plan than for my hip, so even if I would have done this in 2009, I wouldn't have saved any money.) Oh well, hopefully, as stated earlier, 2010 won't be filled with so many health problems.

WEALTH: On paper (well, on my financial spreadsheet, anyway) I look to finally be breaking even each month instead of having negative cashflow when the new year arrives. I got my consolidation loan cut from 17.99% to 4.50%, so my monthly payment is $620.00, about $150.00 less than it was. (Of course, with a hospital bill of $120.00 a month, that savings has already been eaten up somewhat.) I was able to convince DirecTV that since I'm such a longtime customer, and don't want to HAVE to switch to Dish, I now have CineMax, HBO, and Showtime, plus all my HDTV channel packages, at least for three more months, for a reduced price or free. The bottom line here is instead of $100.00 a month, I'm spending $77.00 a month, and am getting premium channels for free! I only need Showtime until after Dexter's 4th season goes off the air anyway. With the money I'm saving on DirecTV, I was able to increase bandwidth for my internet provider, which makes the internet faster, and also allows me to get full HD on my Netflix streaming video to the bigscreen. So, entertainment has been increased and overall cost lowered.

I'm becoming so frugal with my meal taking, that I haven't gone out to a restaurant in over two months now. When I lived with Cancerboy those 14 years, I never went into the kitchen, and let him make his messes. I just ate out. All the time. I'm saving a lot of money by cooking for myself, and I'm brown bagging it at work too. I did "treat" myself to a Tommy burger last Saturday when I was in Hollyweird. I used to think nothing of spending 30 bucks at Claim Jumper for lunch, and now I nearly balked at $8.00 for a chiliburger, fries, and a drink.

I still find I'm using my overdraft credit account, but I've also paid it back the next month. Hopefully, if my spreadsheet is telling me the truth, I'll be in the black instead of in the red, if I continue my frugal ways and don't have any more emergencies. (Then there's that upcoming cataract operation. Sigh.)

ENTERTAINMENT, SPARE TIME AND SOCIAL LIFE: I'm watching lots of movies and TV series from DirecTV and Netflix. Here are some of the series I'm catching up on: Firefly, a Joss Whedon (Buffy, the Vampire Killer, Dollhouse) sci fi series from 2002, with Nathan Fillion (so good as "Castle" ) as a "space cowboy" captain of a salvage vessel in the future. DeGrassi High (a Canadian series from the early 90s) I watched this when it came out but haven't seen it in years, and I loved the original DeGrassi Junior High series as well. House: When I posted my blog entry about the new series I wanted to catch this season, more than one correspondent mentioned that "I only watch House". I've heard about this series for years, but it premiered five years ago, and I like to watch TV series from the beginning. (I was a taper back in the 80s. I taped a whole year's worth of episodes of some TV series, L.A. Law comes to mind, before even watching one of them, then I'd have marathons where I'd watch multiple episodes in one sitting, like reading a novel.) House came out on DVD recently, so I'm starting from Season 1. Hugh Laurie plays a real asshole of a doctor, who is a great diagnostician, but has no bedside manner at all and seems to hate his patients and not even want to interface with them. Pretty original so far. Thirtysomething: A series from the 80s, when I myself was thirtysomething, but didn't have the time for watching televsion. I'm almost finished with the first season. Neat to revisit a time before computers and cell phones.

During the summer, I spent a lot of time poolside, but the heat is turned off now till April, so I'm not socializing there again till spring. I met a lot of folks, but mainly only saw them at the pool. My neighbor Mike, who is about 40 (he lives with his mother, who owns their mobile home) is a bit of a friend, but not that close. I talk to him occasionally. I'm trying to reconnect again with my buddy Jim, who spends a lot of time playing World of Warcraft online (and still tries to get me to play the game every time I see him.) Mostly, my "internet friends" on Xanga are the folks I connect with more than anyone else short of acquaintences at work. Neat that social networking exists for those of us who are rapidly losing their original circles of friends. I have tried to connect with some of the single women at the park, but most of them smoke cigarettes, and this is a turnoff for me from square one. I still see my ex girlfriend Liz occasionally. Now that I'm able to walk again under my own power (even though I'm losing my sight, Nyuk Nyuk) I have been out and about taking photos for my Webshots Gallery and Xanga PhotoPosts.

WORK: It still exists. We're down to 19 people, and most of those are managers rather than employees. Our receptionist is down to part time and leaves at noon. We won't be replacing the inside salesman who quit right before I went into the hospital. It's been refreshingly busy lately, but not too busy that I feel like I'm overworked. I design the panels, quote them to the customers, specify the parts, okay the kit lists, create the master documents so the techincians can build the panels, and eventually test them when they're finished. I'm involved at every step of the process. As long as the company stays solvent, I'll have a job. I'm also quite positive that with 21 years in the electrical industry, I could get a replacement job pretty easily if our company ever went out of business. Jack, our 86 year old CEO, who had a stroke in March, came "back to work" on his birthday a couple of weeks ago, for the first time since he was debilitated. I'd visited him at home before, but he was much more "active" when being pushed around the facility in his wheelchair during his birthday party. I'd taken some photos of the last panel he and I designed together, and asked him if he remembered the Alaska F.A.A. job. He beamed at the memories and I even asked him to criticize the panel build to make sure we did everything just right according to his specs. Jack didn't criticize anything, of course, but he smiled. Visiting was possibly the best thing that's happened to him since the stroke. After all, how many CEOs do you know who came into work into their 80s and still helped customers and got sales.

CREATIVITY: I need to redesign my "Virtual Pantherama" website now that the original is offline. I took lots of photos from my old yearbooks (Pantherama was the name of our highschool yearbook) and am going to retool the website as a memorial to my high school years. I'm also wrting those chapters in my online autobiography. www.allthingsmike.com hasn't really been updated at all this year. What online activity I've had has been here on the blog. Usually, I recognize this right about the first of November, and then update furiously, then get tired out by January. 2009 was "supposed" to be the 10 year anniversary of AllThingsMike, but the beginning of the year was spent more on my physical move and then the operation, so I didn't really concentrate on the website. When the original pages, from my Homestead account, were deleted late in the summer when I stopped paying for the subscription, my "1999" website is gone. The current edition of AllThingsMike came online on my own server in 2000, so perhaps 2010 will really be my "10 Year Anniversary". I revitalized the MikeVideo section last year, adding links to all the videos on YouTube, and then YouTube deleted the soundtracks of a lot of my videos this year for "copyright infringement".

I mentioned clogging to Randy (flatpick46) in comments on his blog and he suggested I put together a clogging video. Clogging is a form of traditional dancing from early in America's heritage. It is derived from Irish jigs. My mother taught me to clog when I was a kid, and whenever I hear Randy's flatpicking guitar tunes (or a mandolin tune, like he posted recently) I always tell him I feel like getting up and cloggin'. I have some more "poetry reading" footage, and really want to shoot footage of a drive along Hollywood Blvd. since I've been spending a lot of time up there taking photos.

XANGA: I was quite disappointed to find that a lot of the blogs from 2004 through 2006 are missing their images and photos. A lot of my photoposts from that era have "x"'s where the photos should be. The photos are still online. Xanga must have changed the URLs and not told the server. I've been going through some of the early entries, and reinserting the photos manually, which is a long and tedious process. I hope nobody tells me to try and contact the Xanga Gods, either, They seem to have vanished lately, and they never do answer my messages, chatboard posts, or comments. I wonder if other Xangans who have content from 2004 and 2005 have found their photos and images disappearing at an alarming clip.

I'm attempting to blog more often, and I'm making visits as time allows. I've got a couple of "metablogging" entries planned, and those usually get me some exposure on the front pages. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the five or six regular readers who have been insuring a lot of my more recent "creative" posts a place on the Most Rec'd page and the Top Blogs page. Usually only 3 recommends puts an entry at about position 36 or so on Most Rec'd. With more exposure comes more visits, (and more comments) and I really like the feedback. One metablogging entry (blogging about blogging, for those who don't know the term) will be about exactly how I blog. I'm a bit different in my habits than most Xangans. Another is the long planned "Xanga Friends: Who are These People", a somewhat humorous look at the Xanga Friends trend. I seem to have lots of "friends" I don't even know, and a lot who don't seem to visit. Personally, I'd rather just have subscribers who read the blog. (And who comment, of course.)

Well, I wrote this rather quickly, and will post without really editing, cause lunch is almost over, and I've got to get back to work. That's what's "up" with the Mikester this month. I'm going to try and remember to post one of these "News and Notes" columns at the top of every month.

EDIT: 11/05/09 6:51 pm pst. THIS JUST IN: I usually get my news now from the LA Times website updates, which get sent to my email inbasket. I've been watching a rather bad movie on DVD (Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, evidence of everything that's wrong with movies today) when I decided to switch to my DirecTV feed to see if FlashForward is on my queue. It's right in the middle of network news time, and the Ft. Hood shooting is all over the tube. We've had our share of tragedy with school shootings, workplace shootings, freeway shootings, almost every type of shooting one can imagine. I've lived a lot of life, but I am quite shocked that now we have shootings at military bases. 12 confirmed dead and 31 wounded. Early reports that the shooter, a psychiatrist who had only been on the base for a few months, was killed, are incorrect. He is still alive, as is the policeman who shot him. At least he will be interrogated, although I don't know if there will be any insights into why people have gotten so angry and confused with life that they actually not only consider but fulfill their insane desire to end the lives of innocent people. Consider the "fallen" solidiers who were lined up waiting for redeployment, standing not in the line of fire of their enemies, but in the line of fire of not only one of their own, but a military psychiatrist whose job included counsel to returning vets. What is humanity coming to? All I can say is I'm shocked, and still have the capability to be surprised. Where will the next shootings occur? And when? And most importantly, why? Why? Why? If one feels the need to end one's own life, why take the lives of the innocent?

Originally posted: November 04, 2009 12:59 PM

PhotoPost: Monochromatic Photography

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 00:40:18 GMT

Monochromatic Photography

I've been following with interest Janet's (slmret) recent posts utilizing black and white photography. I know I just posted a PhotoPost a couple of entries ago, but the weather's been nice, and I've been taking Photo Expeditions, and have a lot of new photos to share. For this PhotoPost, I am doing something different. Almost all of these photos were taken in monochrome, or black and white. In the good old days, the only way to take b&w photos was to use monochrome film. Nowadays, one only has to push a few buttons on the digital camera.

This is really a color photo, tweaked a bit with carving elements in the picture publisher, and saved to grayscale. I include it from my latest batch of Hollywood photos, so I can tell you where I went on Hallowe'en. This is the Museum of Death, on Hollywood Blvd, near Gower Street. Inside are displays for embalming (including a rather clinical movie showing EXACTLY how it's done), plus exhibits on serial killers. Inside is the actual head of Paris' "Bluebeard" Henri Landru. I found this museum to be really interesting, and not for the squeamish. A perfect way to spend Hallowe'en.

This is a study from the Betty Boop museum. Both Groucho Marx and Betty Boop originally appeared in black and white movies and cartoons, so it's fitting that they appear in monochrome. The color photo is rather busy, because there is a lot going on in my little displays. However, I feel the black and white version, shot in monochrome and not altered in any way, is the better photo.

My Cape Cod village display, which is pretty small. (The buildings shown are about 3/4" high) lends itself very well to monochrome. I did black out the background in the Picture Publisher. This model is sitting on my cofee table in my living room.

The contrast was adjusted post production in the Picture Publisher program, a few different ways, in truth, but this began as a monochrome photo. I wanted the lava look of the tiki god to show a little better. Also notice the highlights on the Shakespeare book spines, and the glow of my silver mug. The book in the background, by the way, "The Sands of Time" is a fake book jacket for the novel I wrote in high school, and was created in 10th grade.

My possum skull, "smoking" an Oscar Meyer weiner whistle. This little guy sits on my night stand, and no external modification was done to this photo, shown as shot. I did take multiple shots, however, to get the best angle and the best contrast.

Another study, this time of the porch outside my mobile home, taken at about 10:30 this morning, and not modified in any way. I like the play of shadows and light in this photo, which is why we take black and white photographs in the first place.

Ansel Adams didn't need color. And I don't either in this shot of the rocky bluffs above Malaga Cove on the Palos Verdes Peninsula. I've taken this shot more than once in the past, and here it is again, in glorious black and white. I did adjust the contrast somewhat in the Picture Publisher before uploading it online, so the blacks are really black.

Another photo of the same outcropping. You can just make out the tops of the hills on Catalina Island in the distance. (26 miles away) It was rather hot today, even though the evenings and nights have been somewhat cool. There were quite a few photogs roaming about on the bluffs as I took these photos. There isn't a cloud in the sky either. One of the lcolor photos I'll post in an upcoming Photopost shows how clear the water is. You could see all the way to the reefs on the bottom. If I were to slip and fall, I'd go tumbling about 25 feet to the rocks below.

San Vicente Light, with Catalina Island in the background, framed by the Federal barbed wire fence. You can't go into the lighthouse, which is on Federal property. I like how the curve of the lighthouse is highlighted. This is something you'd surely miss if this photo had been taken in color instead of in monochrome.

While driving home, I took a jog about four blocks from where I live, to get some shots of the train tracks disappearing in the distance.

Here is a shot that could be from a small town in Texas, but is actually very close to the mobile home court in which I live. The color shots I took of this area aren't interesting at all, but the monochrome shots have a grandeur to them.

I waited till the right moment to shoot a tank truck with glistening sides crossing the tracks. These shots have not been modified in any way, and are presented as shot, at about 2pm in the afternoon, with the sun low in the sky.

Speaking of the sun, you can see that I shot this against the sun, which is behind the railroad signal. I've been wanting to get some shots of this railroad crossing for years, and today, with black and white imagery in my head as I set out to get some photos, I knew it would yeild some excellent images.

There is a bit of modification in this photo, to adjust the contrast. They're tearing up the street about a block from the railroad crossing and on my way home, so I stopped to take some monochrome photos of the big cranes.

Lastly, this photo of a crane sitting in front of a church, has not been modified in any way. A fitting end to Sunday's monochrome PhotoPost. I live in such a great area. I didn't go but ten miles today, and got some shots that look as if they were taken many more miles apart and in different states even.

A Wayback Post: Behind Prison Bars, A cautionary tale

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 00:49:48 GMT

I've been missing in action for a week or so, but I'm slowly getting back to visting. One of the upcoming blog entries I am planning to write is called "A Short History of My Inebriation", detailing my years with alcohol. I'm down to drinking one or two alooholic beverages a week now, and sometimes I can't believe I used to down seven beers a night. In the meantime, I'll regale you with a story first posted on June 17th, 2008. Here goes.

One: The Car Knew the Way Home.

Mike liked to think he knew the Chavez Ravine by heart, that each turn of the road, each view over the rise, every patch of smooth pavement and every pothole and imperfection, was so familiar that in essence, as he frequently joked to friends, especially when about to disembark from a party, that his car "knew the way home". He didn't even have to pay attention. Driving for ten years around Los Angeles gave the place a warm sense of familiarity. When he was drunk, which was usually any time after work, and almost always at times like this, speeding home on the dark freeway after a Thursday night concert at the Hollywood Bowl, this sense that the car inherently knew how to get back to the South Bay, nearly 20 miles away, was a comforting one, even though it was, of course, as false as any sense of sobriety Mike might be trying to conjure into existence.

As the 69 "Flukeswagen" hit the crest of the hill, in the left lane, Mike paid no mind to the lighted "Chinatown" destination sign under which he passed. He neglected to move over a lane to the right, and before his cognizance appeared to awake, he was at the end of the offramp, and racing along the glistening black tarmac of the Chinatown district, going much too fast. He wondered where the freeway had gone, and then had a brief momentary intrusive sober thought, realizing he had taken the offramp, and he maneuvered as best as his blighted vision and groggy reflexes could do, finally finding himself without much trouble back on the open highway. The car knew the way. He didn't have anything about which to worry.

The concert had been fantastic, and good music had a penchant for making him seemingly invincible. He had met Tom, his best friend from Whitter, at the Bowl. They had both consumed a fair amount of beer; Mike's 5'6" 155 pound frame could never catch up to Tom, who weighed in at slightly over 300 pounds and stood almost a half a foot over six feet. The evening's entertainment consisted of some of the greatest living blues artists doing what they did best, including Big Mama Thornton and Albert King. Tom and Mike always attended Cal State Long Beach's summer Blues Festival, and had seen some great acts perform, including several who had been on stage tonight, but this is the first time they had seen so many of the greats onstage at the same concert. Mike was playing an ancient Muddy Waters 8 track in the stereo as he flew down the Harbor Freeway, which now rose omnisciently above South Central Los Angeles. He'd just passed U.S.C., where he had spent four years of college half a decade earlier. Home was about twenty minutes away, and a warm bed was waiting. The car knew the way. But the siren pierced the beats of the blues tune on the stereo with shrilling exactness. The car heard it too.The car knew it had to stop now.

Sober thoughts began to seive through Mike's addled brain like quick shots of Jack Daniels chasing a pitcher of beer. He was driving drunk, with an alcohol blood level he knew was far over the limit, and as if to add insult to injury, was driving on a license revocation. One sober recollection from about five months ago wiggled into his consciousness. He had received a notice from the DMV to attend a "hearing" at which a no nonsense clerk had perfunctorily announced that because of a "history" of drunk driving arrests (he'd had three, or perhaps it was four) it was decided that he couldn't drive in the State of California anymore. Mike had treated this news with good humor, thanked the clerk for his indignant news, and had ignored the letter which came in the mail a couple of weeks later telling him to send the license back to the DMV. He'd continued to drive, and continued to drink. In his mid twenties, and always thinking he was smarter than everyone, including those in public service, Mike figured he'd just better not get any tickets, and by being a more careful driver, he'd weather this latest inconvenience. Heck, when he was drunk, driving home from one of the ubiquitous South Bay parties, he really didn't have to worry anyway. The car knew the way home anyway.

The siren roared like a hungry tiger about ready to pounce. It rang like a thousand clapping bells. It seared the night air, and Muddy couldn't drown it out or placate it. The siren caused Mike to slow the car, and exit at Manchester Avenue, where the offramp ended by a barren vacant lot. He pulled to a stop, and watched, dreamlike, as the black and white Highway Patrol car eased into the space behind him. His motor dieseled a bit after he twisted the key, and with the siren noise terminated by the patrolmen in the car behind him, an eerie silence permated the atmosphere. A silence bidding hello to the dark demons of Mike's careless attitudes.

"Hello, officer", Mike gave the standard greeting, as he lifted his eyes to see the smooth face of a young woman behind the familiar brown uniform of the California Highway Patrol standing next to his car. "You were speeding, and weaving all over the road", she announced. "How much have you been drinking?" She hadn't asked for the false license yet, but Mike knew that was the next item on the interrogation.

"Not much", he lied, "I had a few beers at the Blues Concert at the Bowl. I'm on my way back home." (No you're not" one of the sober thoughts proclaimed staunchly)

"You were weaving quite a bit", the female officer, who looked younger than MIke himself, rejoinded. "I'm going to give you a field sobriety test. May I see your driver's license?" Here it comes, Mike braced for the worst, but diligently removed his expired driver's license from it's plastic sleeve in his wallet, and surrendered it to the officer, as his heart sank knowing he'd never see that particular legal document again. The patrol woman's partner took the license back to the patrol car, as she proceeded to direct Mike through the steps of the sobiety test, which he failed miserably, as he knew he would, and so did she.

"Officer, I'm on my way home. I wasn't weaving that much. I really haven't had that much to drink. Just about four beers." (Mike and Tom had joked about the 32 ounce beers offered at the Hollywood Bowl just a few scant hours earlier. The thought pricked him with an ironic dagger.)

"No, you're going to be on your way to Parker Center," she replied. "You've had too much to drink, and you failed the sobriety test. Do you want a breathalyzer, a urine or a blood test when we get to the station?"

"Oh, uh, breathalyzer, I guess." Mike tonelessly answered. "You look like a nice gal. Can't you let me go. I'm going straight home. You can believe me."

The female officer had blonde hair, possibly long and luxurious, piled up in a bun and pinned. She motioned Mike to turn around, and she affixed hand cuffs on him when he put his hands behind his back. He could feel her womanliness as she cuffed him. At least this wasn't too unpleasant.

Suddenly, the male half of the law enforcing duo emerged from the patrol car with a big grin on his face. "This license has been revoked" he told his fellow officer. "You've got him for speeding, drunk driving, and driving with a revoked license. This is a sweet arrest to pop your cherry!"

The female officer smiled, somewhat sheepishly. She was a rookie making her first arrest, and it was an eventful one for the department. A notorious drunk, driving on a revoked license, had been apprehended. Mike all of a sudden felt completely sober, and not at all pleased with the situation in which he found himself. As the black and white sedan turned to go back under the freeway and onto the onramp going back into L.A. from the other side, Mike watched his Flukeswagen disapper in the distance. One of those sober thoughts told him he'd be lucky if the car wasn't stripped of everything valuable when he went to pick it up tomorrow. That is, if these nice officers would be letting him return to pick it up tomorow.

On the way to the station, Mike appealed to the humanity of the two officers. "You're kinda cute", he told his captor. "I'm not a bad guy. I'm sure you have real criminals you could be arresting". As the trip wore on, before getting off the freeway in downtown Los Angeles, Mike had appealed so much that he started to get on the officers' nerves, and was told to be quiet using somewhat harsher language. No amount of begging or pleading would change the course of events. The slammer waited.

Two: Mug Shot and a Place for the Night.

When the rookie female and her partner arrived through the automatic doors into the lobby of Parker Center, where Mike was to be booked for his crimes against society, shepherding him ahead of them like a wounded and beaten animal, a small group of officers, both Highway Patrolmen and city cops, cheered, acknowledging the arrest the rookie cop had made. Mike heard the phrase repeated from the crowd, "You popped your cherry." He felt glad he could provide this moment of levity for the officers of Los Angeles. He took the breathalyzer, which almost registered off the scale, and was booked into the holding cell for overnight drunks, sharing with a number of disparate looking men, some hardened criminal types, but most wearing their night fever clothing, showing a bit of wrinkles after a few hours in stir.

Mike had to spend the night in the cell, where he positioned himself on a portion of bench away from the center of the holding cell. He kept his mouth shut, and tried to catch a few winks of sleep, but that wasn't going to happen. He's spent his share of nights in holding cells in at least three other police stations. Although he would never admit to having problems with either the law or with alcohol, Mike had always believed in the theory of paying for your mistakes. If he was in a car wreck which was his fault, he paid for the damages. If he was arrested for drunk driving, he paid the fine, and moved on. He felt that the DMV having removed his driving privilege was petty, and hadn't before now thought of it was serious. He refused to believe the DMV was able to override the courts, which had always given him a fine to pay, maybe a night in the can, and then he was free to party another night, and hope that his car knew the way home when he got too snockered or actually blacked out, which was happening with more regularity lately.

It was Friday, and since the arrest took place nearing midnight on Thursday night, the sun started to peak in through the bars of the holding cell pretty quickly after Mike's initiial incarceration. In the light of the morning, most the faces of the collected inmates looked regretful and tired. A few were lucky, being able to exit the large cell when their names were called by one of the officers. Mike wasn't so lucky. Nobody even knew he was in here. Tom had returned home from the concert independently. Mike had different days off each week from work, and he was off on Friday, which is why he was able to attend the concert Thursday night anyway. He spent Friday morning queuing up for a seat on one of those black and white prison busses seen plying the freeways of the Los Angeles area so frequently. The bus took him and over a dozen other unfortunate souls to the Courthouse, where his case was to be tried.

Mike was assigned a public defender, and he proceeded to tell the lawyer that it was a mistake he was going through this. He was only driving home from a concert when the Highway Partrol car came out of nowhere with it's incessant siren. He should be home watching a videodisc and enjoying a beer or two. This was a mistake, I tell you. The lawyer, who dealt with dozens of these cases a day, acted disinterestedly as he outlined the few choices available, and Mike decided to plead guilty in order to be given an amount of money to pay so he could forget about this travesty of justice. When his time in court came, the judge listened to the arresting officers, and then to Mike's arbitrary lawyer, and sentenced him without thought to three weekends in jail, after having set a bail amount, meaning that black and white bus would be piloting Mike directly to County Jail after the trial, unless he could come up with the $600.00 it would take a bail bondsman to cover the expense.

"Judge, Your honor", Mike disbelievingly stated, when he asked if the prisoner had anything he wished to say. "What is the fine? I can't spend any time in jail. I work in retail. (As if this mattered to the system) I have a day off today, but I can't call in and tell them I'm in jail. What's the fine? I'll pay it, whatever it costs, and then I can get out of here."

"The bail amount is the fine. You are sentenced to spend time in jail. It is because of cavalier attitudes like yours that I won't set only a fine. You make it sound as if this is not a hardship on you, and you need to learn a lesson."

"Believe me, your honor. I've learned my lesson."

"You will learn a much more distinct lesson by spending jail time." And with that, Mike's trial ended, and he was taken back inside the bus, which motored certainly and irrevocably toward County Jail. Mike couldn't help but think that he'd soon be becoming the sex slave of some large black gangster. He was realizing as the day wore on, that he had cashed out his luck after numerous other drunk driving arrests. Now the system was getting serious, and the judge had given him time instead of just a fine, saying it was too easy for people like Mike to simply pay a fine, and that wasn't punishment at all. Having his butt fucked in prison was going to be the price he would have to pay for being so "cavalier". "Your mouth and your attitude are going to get you into trouble someday," his mother had been fond of repeating endlessly. It looked like she'd been right.

The bus pulled slowly through the razor wire topped gates surrounding the County Jail, which loomed in the distance more like the Alcatraz or the San Quentin of the movies, rather than merely as the jailhouse for Los Angeles County. A few hours after being inside, and while going through the booking process, Mike was finally given his "one phone call." He called his friend Tom, and asked him to come on down to the jail as soon as he could with $600.00 for the bail bondsman.

"Where will I get $600.00?" Tom asked.

"I don't know, Tom, but you have to come up with the money. I've been incarcerated since last night. They're about ready to disinfect me and give me an orange jumpsuit. You gotta help me, buddy."

"Don't worry, Mike."

"I won't. You just gotta do this for me."

Tom withdrew some money from his savings account and got in his pickup for the roughly 25 mile drive to the heart of Downtown Los Angeles. Mike suffered through the booking process, giving up his shoes for paper sandals, and found himself being pushed into line by a number of self important officers waving billy clubs and swaggering overtly. Moments would pass before the line in which Mike found himself would snake into the disinfecting room, where the steady stream of steamy disinfectant could be heard being aimed into the assholes of some of L.A.s less savory citizens during their check in process at the Jailhouse Hotel.

A stark P.A. speaker buzzed intermittently to life. "The following prisoners have had bail posted, and are excused." The monotonous list of names included Mike's, and he breathed a hasty sigh of relief. "Officer", Mike addressed the nearest swaggering guard.

"Shut up and get back in line"

"Sir. They've called my name. This is a mistake. I've been bailed out of here. Could you...."

"Shut the fuck up" the guard interjected.

"Excuse me, sir, but...."

"I said to shut up, trouble boy." The officer didn't seem to care if the P.A. system was announcing recent evacuees or playing march tunes. He definitely had a one track mind. He waved his billy club in MIke's face, chuckling to himself. Mike was swearing under his breath, knowing that he didn't belong here in the hellhole of the prison system, but remaining unconvincing in his efforts to signal to the brutes corralling the dregs of Los Angeles society into thier new digs. Finally, within scant moments before MIke was to give up the rest of his clothes and spread his cheeks, he was able to find a less brutish guard, who asked for his booking paperwork, acknowledged that his bail had been paid, and escorted him out of the snaking line of inmates, and out into the civilized world once again.

Tom was waiting for him as MIke sauntered into the large waiting room. "Tommy, am I glad to see you. Let's get the hell out of here...." After processing his paperwork, Mike was told his car had been impounded, and Tom drove him to the impound yard, where his Flukeswagen seemed to groan and sputter to life angrily. After the two young men drove to Mike's apartment in the South Bay, untouched since Thursday night, Mike regaled Tom with his sad story, and within a few hours, having imbibed more than enough beer to insure he shouldn't go driving again, he had forgotten the inconvenience of the past 24 hours, and waited for the next chapter in his incarceration to begin.

Three: Weekend Jail

Bail having been paid, Mike didn't need to report for his prison sentence for a week and a half, and he was assigned to the Sheriff's Jail in the foothills of East L.A., near the end of the Long Beach Freeway, across from the notorious Sybil Brand Women's Prison. A friend from the South Bay, Joel, drove Mike to his weekend retreat, and left him outside the gates of the jail, which resembled a dormitory with razor wire and high fences. Along with about 15 to 20 other men, Mike checked in to hIs new home, armed with a copy of Stephen King's "Salem's Lot", the book he'd been reading, for company. His employer had been able to give MIke the requisite days off to coincide with his incarceration. Weekend Jail was filled with mostly blue and white collar types saddled with drunk driving and drug related arrests, so there were no large black men looking to get laid in the mix of inmates assigned to the large jail dorm. Dozens of bunk beds arranged throughout the dormitory gave the place more of the feel of an Army barracks than a prison. MIke had to shed his clothing, and give up everything except his book, and he was given an orange jumpsuit. He found a top bunk in the large room, and lay down, opening his book to it's placemark.

The hours passed slowly, but not too badly. High points of the day were the two mealtimes, at noon and at 3 p.m. The food was bland and almost inedible. Standard issue prison food, in small portions. But the call to mealtime, the lining up and the marching to the dining hall, sitting and attempting to enjoy the meager meal, was a break in the otherwise boring ritual of the day. Mike wondered how real criminals suffered through this kind of ordeal, day after day, week after week. Year after year. He didn't have to be "scared straight." He was here serving his time, and the weekend, which ended Sunday afternoon at about 10 a.m., dragged on indefinitely.

Joel came to retrieve him when his "time" was up, and drove him the next Friday night back up the hill to the now familiar dormlike prison. The second weekend was actually shorter than the first. The group of men which included Mike who checked in on Friday night were let loose Saturday afternoon. Mike called Joel for a ride, and Joel said he was coming by with a surprise visitor. As the sun began to set into the western sky, Joel arrived to pick Mike up in his Volkswagen Squareback, and sitting in the shotgun seat was the familiar large form of Tom, laughing incredulously. "Hope you had a great stay." Tom proclaimed, extending his hand to MIke with an outstretched palm.

"What have you got there?" Mike asked.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth" Tom countered. "Here's another trip to go on now that you're a jailbird." In Tom's palm were four tabs of acid, a hallucinogenic drug popular among Mike's circle of friends. He gobbled the acid, gave Tom a handshake and offered his thank yous, and thanked Joel for being his jailbird taxi driver the past couple of weekends. The three were stuffed into Joel's small station wagon, and began the trip home, and the acid trip concurrently. When they arrived at Mike's pad, they began to party heartily, imbibing illegal drugs and flowing liquor. Within a couple of hours, it was as if Mike had never been incarcerated in the first place.

MIke never regained his license. His "Flukeswagen" broke down, and he began to ride public transportation. By the end of the decade, he was riding a motorcycle without either a Class 3 or 4 driver's license, and he didn't even try to obtain legal means to drive until another decade had nearly passed, needing the legal document in order to drive the company truck when he obtained a new job in the early 90s. A quick driver's test, a snapshot process resembling the one when he had his mug shot taken during his incarceration, and Mike was once again "legal", and able to drive without fear on the streets of the city. He hadn't beaten the system, but he had met it face to face and suffered his punishment. With time and the knowledge and wisdom that it brings with it, Mike gave up drinking and driving, and made a point not to break any laws, especially the ones that got him in trouble with the system. If he went to a party, he left before he was drunk, and he didn't let the car try to find it's way home ever again. His drinking was done at home, and as the years passed, he seemed to need and want less alcoholic thrills, and more of the sense of security that sobriety brings. When driving through the Chavez Ravine in subsequent years, a small tinge of panic would appear, quickly to be forgotten, along with the almost forgotten travesties and the cavalier attitude of youth.

Blogging Update

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 12:51:05 GMT

Just in case anyone was wondering.

On Sunday morning, 10/25 I woke up in terrible pain from the pinched nerve in my back. I'd been too "cocky" thinking that I was "completely healed" because my leg and hip aren't hurting anymore. However I forgot about the pinched nerve. I'd been taking my "power walks" and was up to 25 sit ups during my evening exercises, and feeling quite good.

Nerves are quite fickle, and the last time (in 2004) I had problems with this particular nerve damage, I was flat on my back for three days, and couldn't even turn my head from side to side or sit up for periods of time longer than about 15 minutes.

The pain on Sunday wasn't as bad as when the nerve first got "pinched'. BTW, I did see a neurologist back in 2004, and he told me the pain could subside and reapppear at any time. Nerve damage doesn't "go away". For the longest time, I lost the feeling in the two small fingers on my left hand, and I had been gaining that feeling back somewhat.

Well, Sunday and Monday I spent most of the time in bed. The pain subsided enough on Tuesday that I could drive into work. (It's not advisable to drive a car when you can't turn your head without pain shooting into your shoulders!) It's now Thursday morning, and I realized I haven't checked my blog in almost a week. I did post the PhotoPost on Sunday afternoon, using photos I already had in my database, but I haven't visited any blogs nor left comments since Friday or Saturday. (I did a lot of yard work on Saturday, and probably exacerbated the pinched nerve when twisting my body while weeding.)

Work has been incredibly busy, so the time I usually take on Xanga in the mornings before people start coming into the office has been spent on design work for panels, and testing. Tuesday morning I tested 9 complete panels from 6am to 10am. The last couple of days at work have been spent designing a series of panels for some oil tankers, and if I get the order, the panels have to be built and shipped in December while the tankers are docked outside of Long Beach.

When I get home in the evenings, I haven't had much energy to do anything except sit down in front of my bigscreen and watch a movie or two before retiring. The pain isn't as bad as it was during the early part of the week, but it's still considerable. I don't need to go to a doctor, because I still have pain pills from the operation, in case I need them, (I try to suffer as much without taking drugs if I can.) I did take a couple on Tuessday evening after coming home from work.

I just don't feel like blogging too much right now, and will "return" when I feel better. I was able to take my walk yesterday (Wednesday) after three days without but it was a more liesurely walk and I didn't walk as fast as usual.

In any case, that's what's been happening with me. I can't seem to escape pain. If it ain't one thing , it's another. I almost got surprised when I woke up on Sunday morning in so much of it, and then I remembered I'd gone through this before...

And life goes on.

PhotoPost: Moon, Clouds, LAX, Dockweiler Beach

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 18:05:31 GMT

A Mix of photos from the last few Photo Expeditions plus a self portrait

9/20/09: A self portrait in suit and fedora from my last Xanga Profile Photo shoot before becoming a vampire. Of the half dozen or so shots I didn't use, I liked this one the most. I used a photo shot in front of curtains, but this was taken in my bedroom in front of my dresser/bookcase.

10/2/09: I haven't gone driving to the beach during the sporadic times when there have been some cloudcover in the Southland. (I really should have this past Friday evening when we had a "pink sunset", but oh well.) But I have shot a few cloudscapes from within the Mobile Home park in the evenings. Here is a shot taken on 10/2 and uploaded to my "Photoblog" but not shown in a PhotoPost as yet. The full moon is rising above the clouds at about 6pm or so as I was ready to begin my power walk.

10/2/09: Another "moon shot". Our park is built on an oilfield, and there are some areas where they still tap for oil with portable rigs. Across from where I live is one of these small fields, and the barbed wire is on the top of the fence, so I shot the moon through the barbed wire.

10/3/09: Taken early in the morning on the day I drove up to Hollywood for the last Photo Expedition. I've still got lots of Hollywood photos I haven't featured on the blog yet. It was a beautiful hot day and this was taken at around 8 in the morning before I left the park.

10/3/09: On the way back home from Hollywood, I shot the new Ritz Carlton/ Marriot hotel complex, the latest skyscraper in downtown Los Angeles, from the freeway. I did "tweak" this photo somewhat. I am shooting out the left hand side of the car, with the top down, and the photo was tilted somewhat, so I straightened it in the photo editing program. The tower is 202 feet in height and 55 stories tall.

10/11/09: Some clouds appeared before our first rainstorm of the season, and I got a few cloudscapes on a bright clear day a couple of weekends ago. This was taken out side my mobile home. The bouganvillea is the next shrub I plan to trim, but it's still in full bloom.

10/11/09: There is a big hibiscus plant on the northeast corner of my property, and I'm shooting up through the blooms into the clouds for this shot. I took about a half dozen shots like this and liked this one the best.

10/17/09: Last Saturday I took a misbegoten trip to Los Angeles International Airport to get some photos of planes arriving and leaving. It was a nice hot day, and I possibly should have hung around our pool instead. The LAX sculpture is across from the entrance to the airport on Century and Sepulveda Blvds, right across the street from the Radisson Hotel. I parked on the street next to the hotel, and walked into the airport. I didn't get many shots, and hardly any of planes. There were a lot of police around (as usual) and although I did clear my photography with the police, there wasn't a lot of activity that day, so I didn't stick around.

10/17/09: This is the iconic International Restaurant (now called the "theme building" in the center of LAX. Earlier in the year, large sections of the roof were falling to the ground, so they are retrofitting the structure. The restaurant is open while construction is going on, but I neglected to realize there would be scaffolding around the structure when I went in the airport to take photos. The control tower is to the right.

10/17/09: Here is a closeup of the control tower at LAX. The airport is the 7th busiest in the world, and also has been ranked as the third worst in the world by frequent fliers. It always seems to be undergoing construction. The latest news is that they are going to expand some of the terminals to be able to accommodate the Dreamliner and A380 Airbus super planes. Last time I took photos at LAX was in 2005, and I could get closer to the runways than I can now, so I didn't get many shots of planes arriving or leaving.

10/17/09: This is a "doctored" shot of a plane coming in for a landing over Sepulveda Blvd. from over the windshield of my car with the top down. The actual plane looked about half the size I show it here, and I inserted some clouds which didn't exist on the day I shot the photo. This is a Jetblue 727, which isn't a very large plane. A few times (when I didn't have a camera at hand, natch) I did drive under 747s coming in for a landing, and they were quite close to the ground when going over Sepulveda. For some reason, I didn't see dozens of planes coming in for a landing on the day I chose to take photos. There isn't a lot of foot traffic in this area either. And as I stated earlier, lots of police are scattered around all the areas leading to the airport for security reasons.

10/17/09: This is Dockweiler State Beach. It's the middle of October, but in So Cal it is still nice out, so there were some beachgoers. I wanted to see if I could get shots of planes flying over the beach, but didn't get any real great shots. I took this photo before walking down to the beach itself.

10/17/09: I timed this shot pretty good, getting the bicyclist before he disappeared behind the palm tree. Today I'm home, although it's a nice day. I got tired out yesterday working in the yard, trimming some overgrown plants (including the hibiscus shown in one of the above photos, which always seems to be in bloom) and mowing the lawn. This morning I woke up in terrible pain. Not from complications of working in the yard, however. I have a pinched nerve in my back, which my neurologist tells me can flare up or subside at any time. In 2006 it kept me flat on my back for three days. It's flaring up today, and I'm in quite a bit of pain, and trying not to move too much. So no photo expedition today. At least I still have lots of Hollywood photos which I still haven't posted. But hopefully I'll be taking some more expeditions soon!

ElectricPoetry: A Selection from the Aughts

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 22:02:10 GMT

"IFONLY Is Not A Word"
Poetry for Regina by Michael F. Nyiri
Written this first day of Spring, March 20, 2000 at 9:15a.m. mst

If only we had met in the flesh those many years ago,
But we did not.
And spilt milk spoils if not wiped away.
If only the world had stopped in it's orbit and let us connect earlier
But it did not.
And if worlds cannot spin, then the gravity of the situation fails,
And everything flies off into the Universe,
There is nothing left to stay.

If only perfection could have been reached earlier
Then perhaps past regrets would be forgotten.
But IFONLY is just not a word.
And thinking this way is absurd.
I count the blessings on the one hand, and forget the past apace,
There is no fault in wondring', but the present shows your face.
And your face is wondrous in it's beauty, and the careworn tide of time,
IFONLY is certainly not in my vocabulary,
And brittle memory can be forever erased.

I sit in your tower, awaiting your return,
And then I am off to what in an earlier time I might have called "home"
Knowing full well, that "home" is not a place that exists yet,
As sure as IFONLY is not a word.
"Home" is a future destination.
I would want that future to reside in the present.
And "home" will be a present for us presently.
Thinking about what might have been in the past is useless,
As useless as writing those words which do not exist.
When those words are spoken, then nothing makes sense.
I will forget those useless words and think only of you.
I am grateful that we meet now in eternity,
And home is where our hearts will play forever.

"Full Moon On Hallowe'en Night"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Wednesday, October 31st, 2001 5:25 p.m. pst
(poetry on Hallowe'en night)

Amidst the horrorific feelings that the world is feeling now
On a Hallowe'en night, where the full moon shines bright
I am locked in a struggle between the heart and mind
For comprehension of the meaning
What is right?
What can I find?

I am rational, and ready for the answers that I seek
Who answers clearly now, and who can wonder how
This feeling that I'm feeling is wrong, and so unclear
I'm helpless, hurt, and angry
Have we dealt the final blow?
Is humanity doomed to despair?

It will all come out in the wash, I will proclaim
It has to be all right, we will prevail into the night
But something tells me friends it is the beginning of the end
I've read it since inception
Proclamations bourne of second sight
And disparate messages to send

But as the neighbor's kids are screaming as they always do
On a Hallowe'en night, whern the full moon shines bright
Under a haze of suspicion and deep regret
It doesn't really matter
Who knows if anything's all right
And someday hasn't happened yet.

(short, sweet, sad, solid, another poor excuse for poetry from a conflicted soul.)

"poetryblog1"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
may 5th, 2002 7:45 a.m. pst

changing
changing
changing cars changing computers changing living space
changing everything these days
thjought even about changing jobs
change comes with the season, the daybreak, the passing of time
and time's joke gets less funny as the years pass by
time's joke?
i just turned forty nine.
FORTY NINE
one year shy of one half of a century
as one who embraces a universal pantheistic mindset
i can
understand the concept of geologic time
living one half of one hundred years tends
to give a person a very interesting concept of time
the joke is that we die
we CEASE
to
exist
and it can happen quicker than a person can hit send on a

"Dancing Through The Night"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
October 22, 2004 : 6:33 a.m. pdt

I can scarcely surmise that when I glimpsed deep in your eyes,
Gave my heart a stirring hiccup, as I pick up lost regrets.
In the glory of the morning, as the sun awakes a-dawning
I remember autumn flurries, no feigned worries, whiles, or frets.

It is highly circumstantial, but your presence was substantial
As I rarely countered mem'ry, gath'ring every thought in mind
You were sighing surely simple, as the sun glanced off your dimple
And my love bespoke pure passion, 'twas the fashion, curtly, kind.

We danced for golden hours upon the mellow moonlight bowers,
Twirling tight terpsichories, bright billowing ecstasies across the floor
Even though it was a dream for sure, elation draped your form so pure
It couldn't end, no, right away, to feel you sway through Heaven's door

If pleasant purloined thoughts gave forth a feeling can't be caught
And your presence, efferevescence, a Golden slyph sifts through the night
I can say I half remember you, as memory's tricks shine through the dew
And surrender to this mem'ry, the tide to stem we make it right.

I can scarcely recall that when I answered your call
My tender heart a beating, thus repeating of my love
In the glory of your beauty, wine and words and wanton duty,
Beckoning the call from Adam's fall, a steadfast warning from above

"It's Elemental"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
November 25th, 2005 10:45 a.m. pst

Air
The air surrounds us, filling the atmosphere around the globe on which we live.
We breathe the air.
It lifts our lungs, and permeates us with the sacred breath of life
The air is filled with life
Bacteria which helps to combat other
more insidious forms
Sometimes these more harmful forms overrule
and scatter death through the air
Life, death, the cycle neverending
The air brings us weather patterns
Patterns which speak to us with their
regularity and permanence
Until the next sudden storm
teaches us that our very existence
can be extinguished
by the
very
air
that
we
breathe

Earth
The earth expands before us, giving us a place to live
and imbuing us with sustenance and nourishment
We till the earth
We plant our food, the very provender of our lifestyle
We feast, and grow, and multiply
The spirit of the earth grows and moves,
Changing ever so slowly as to be imperceptable
And we scatter to the ends of the earth
Sometimes the earth is more suddenly active
and cracks and crevices appear and
swallow the very life
that
exists
by it's
canyons
and
on it's
fields

Water
Water flows around the earth,
Slaking our thirst and pouring
into our bodies, extending our survival
interacting with our very molecules
a substance of which we are made
and which makes us drink heartily
We base our transportation
and our economy on water
the waterwheels of society
turn faster and faster
Rain falls from the sky
and fills us
Yet these rains can
flood our earth and drown
our progeny and possibility
The very water
which sustains us
can
serve
to quench our
life as well
as thirst

Fire
Fire warms and comforts us
And energy is consumed and exhumed
by it's fickle embers
Fire, captured and kindled
unleashes great burning desires
and causes our cold winters
to become more bearable
Fire tamed and tortured
helps mold our very cities and
give us unparalleled growth
as people
Sometimes fire burns out of control
and no amount of water can
end it's marching fury
Carried on the wind and
settling on the land
it burns everything in it's path
The very warmth
that comforts
causes burning
calamity
and
death

Although man may sometimes seem judgemental
Air, earth, fire, and water stay wildly elemental

BEHIND THE POETRY: This is a selection of poems from the Aughts. Sorry, no new poetry this time. "IFONLY is Not A Word" is the only poem I've written "timestamped" in another time zone, the Mountain zone, and was written for Regina on the first day of Spring 2000 while I was visiting her in Albuquerque. This is a love poem written in a bit of a different way. There is rhyme in the poem, but it's not immediately apparent. "Full Moon On Halowe'en Night" was written a month after 9/11, in 2001, and a lot of the frightening feelings of that day are mirrored in the poem. "poetryblog1" is another in a long line of "computer dreams" poems I began in the mid 80s. The "joke" in the poem is that it isn't finished. As I joke about death being so quick, the last line "hit send on a" (computer key) is unfinished, as if death took the writer before he could "finish" the "poetryblog" by submitting the post. The next poem, from 2004, one of over 60 poems I wrote that glorious year, is an attempt to mimic the rhythms of songwriter Cole Porter. The poem is written in ABCB rhyme, but includes AA internal rhyme as well, in each line, giving the poem a lyrical feel. The last selection, "It's Elemental" emphasizes my ongoing comparisons between geology and humankind, and in it I describe how the elements can both help and hinder mankind. MFN/ppf

Posted: October 22, 2009 7:14 AM

Elementary Memories: E.J. Shirpser School 1960-65

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 19:58:55 GMT

A photo of the graduating class of E.J. Shirpser Elementary School 1965. I'm in the 2nd row from the bottom, 2nd place from the left. My 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Frank, isn't in the photo.

Our family moved from the Los Angeles suburb of Highland Park to El Monte, deep in the San Gabriel Valley, in 1960. I'd skipped kidnergarten, and had already completed my first grade year, when we moved. If we'd stayed where we were, I would have been in 2nd grade in the Los Angeles School District. However, the terms started at different times, and in El Monte, there were only two months left before summer, when classes changed over. (In L.A. in 1960, kids returned from summer to the same grade, and "graduated" mid term.) Thus, I was "put back" in first grade, and never really had the benefit of being younger than my the peers in my class. Since I was one of the shortest kids in my class anyway, it's probably a good thing I "caught up" with my age group, or else I would have been really tiny if my peers were a year ahead of me. The reason I skipped kidnergarten was because of my dear mother. (Bless her soul) She taught me to read and write before I was 5.

Being one of the shortest kids in elementary school had it's disadvantages. I was picked on by a few of the more rough and tumble boys in class. I wasn't that good at sports. During pickup baseball games before school, I was always far down the list of kids coming up to bat. I would get embarrassed because I wasn't that good, and some of the kids would intentionally drop the ball so I had a "chance" to go round the bases. Some of the kids were supportive, and some mocked me. Some even bullied me. I did have a "savior", however, a boy named Miguel, who pretty much "rescued" me from any altercations. He was a bit bigger than some of the bullies who picked on me, and used this advantage to cause them to shy away.

I don't remember that I was less popular than most of the kids. At home, my mother was a bit of a "little Hitler." As I've written many times, she ruled the roost with a very strict hand. There were numerous rules around the house, and if we broke any of them, or even bent them a bit, punishment was quick and sometimes brutal. The "spanking stick" was our punishment, a 1/4" dowel about 2-1/4 feet long. Mother would basically cane us if we misbehaved. I still don't consider this abuse, although in the present day child protective services would possibly be calling on parents who "spank" their kids with a stick. One of the rules we couldn't break was leaving our yard. So any friends I had at school stayed schoolyard friendships. Since mother was active in the P.T.A. (Parents and Teachers Association) I did get to visit the homes and visit with the children of my mother's P.T.A. cohorts. One of these, Greg, was my best friend through most of grade school.

I always got good grades in elementary school. My report cards are filled with A's and A+'s. Never content with the reading materials in my own grade, I was always reading two grades ahead. I seem to recall my first trip to the library was on a school field trip in Mrs. Christensen's 2nd grade class. The El Monte Public Library was one of those old library buildings with high bookshelves and a seemingly musty aroma. I'm sure my memory is faulted somewhat. Most libraries in Southern California, even in the 60s, were bright and airy. But I spent time deep in the stacks. With my new library card, I would go to the library many times with my mother and siblings throughout grade school, exchanging books on a weekly basis. I read adult novels while I was in grade school, along with books about the movies, one of my favorite subjects even back then. Mother encouraged me to read more adult material, and I was always lost in a book. Even though I did participate in schoolyard games, like foursquare, Moby Dick, and baseball, I much preferred sitting under a tree with a book, lost in other worlds much more interesting than mine.

The collected classes of E.J. Shirpser School always went on a mass field trip to the Los Angeles County Fair in September. All except me. I wasn't allowed to go because I guess I had a weak bladder even as a kid, and the teachers didn't want me going to the restroom all the time. I spent those days in the school library reading. It took me years to get around to going to the County Fair. (And there are lots of restrooms. LOL)

Schoolyard activities included playing marbles, at which I was pretty good, and trading cards. Trading cards would come with sticks of gum and were sold at the junior market and liquor store in back of the school. I would spend my allowance (and sometimes lunch money, I'm sure) on these packs of trading cards. One could always look through the packaging to see what the bottom card looked like, so when attempting to "complete" a series, I always was able to find packs with at least one of the five cards which I didn't have. My marble bag was always filled with clear glass "peeries" and I had a lot of great card sets, including, besides the Dodgers and the Angels, movie monsters and superheroes.

In 4th grade, my teacher Mrs. Walter taught us to make papier mache objects. I guess because I was so small, I wanted to create the biggest art project. I made a brontosaurus, a long tailed and necked dinosaur, which my memory tells me was almost as big as I was. I really loved papier mache, and this started my admiration of art, which has never abated. My best papier mache work came years later, late in high school, when I created "Croaker" a full size human replica, which I dressed in real clothes, and added one of those Mexican porcelain skulls for a head. "Croaker" followed me from apartment to apartment throughout my 20s, sitting on my couch and frightening most of my visitors.

During Hallowe'en in 4th grade, Mother made me the best Hallowe'en costume I've ever seen. It was quite creative, and I won the 4th grade contest because of it. I was a totem pole. (And I wish I had the photos of this costume) She painted faces on a long tube of cardboard, and holes were cut out for my arms and eyes. It was pretty simple, but very creative. I also won in 6th grade, as a "goon" wearing a storebought mask, but with a body costume my mother sewed for me.

A little girl named Diane supposedly didn't wear panties to school, and some of the boys would put bits of broken mirror in their shoes, then walk up to her, so they could get a glimpse of what was under her skirt.

I attempted to convince one kid, a boy named Marce, that I was from the planet Pluto. I "aged" some "documents" at home, writing in an "alien" language, as "proof" that I was from another planet. I don't know if Marce was duped by this hoax or not, but when we were in high school, he showed me my first marijuana cigarette. He probably thought I'd been smoking the stuff since 4th grade!

I've always said that my 5th grade year was the one in which I became aware of my surroundings. I don't know if this is true or not, but I've always believed my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Burr, was a lesbian. She was small, with sharp features. We had a reading program in 5th grade in which we were assigned materials with different colored folders. A few of us raced through the program rather quickly. I seem to remember that the highest color was lavender. Four of us, three girls and me, "graduated" from this program long before the other kids, so we pretty much had "free study time" during reading. One of the girls in this group was Lucy, with whom I had a large crush. She was "going" with my friend Greg however, so I didn't have a chance with her. The only time I can remember doing anything "bad" which would really displease my mother was going over to Lucy's house on a dare after school.

My siblings and I were not allowed to walk anywhere except down the three streets from the school to our home, on Shirley Avenue. We would part with the group of kids who lived up Shirley when we got to the end of Rose Street. We'd turn right and they would go left. Lucy persuaded me to go left one afternoon, and because I was smitten with her, I complied, ignoring the jeering catcalls of my siblings, who went along home. At Lucy's three or four of us had a party. I wasn't allowed to ride a bicycle, and attempted to ride one down the street from Lucy's house. I fell and skinned my knee. Of course I knew that I was going to have a date with the "spanking stick" when I got home. Surprisingly enough, I "spilled the beans" to my mother as soon as I got home, and I guess she was impressed that I didn't lie to her, because I can't remember any punishment. I've always been perfectly honest in all situations. I simply can't lie.

I did have a girlfriend in 5th grade Her name was Susan. I never even kissed her. I liked Lucy, but she was unavailable, and Susan had a crush on me. My most vivid memory of our "relationship" was ditching a school assembly to play tether ball on the playground. We were caught and had to spend time in the prinicpal's office. I remember Mr Wayne, the principal admonishing me greatly because my mother was high up in the P.T.A. and I wasn't the kind of kid who "got in trouble."

I was in 6th grade the year President Kennedy was shot. I was home from school with a cold on November 22nd, 1963, so I watched the whole thing as it happened. In 6th grade, I had to get both glasses and braces, to correct my vision and overbite. When my adult teeth started growing in during elementary school, my nickname became "Bucky Beaver" because of my overbite. I would wear braces for most of the next four years, because after I got them off the first time, I was in an auto wreck which broke my jaw, and had to have them affixed again after my jaw was healed. I've never been able to see without glasses, and even had to have cataract surgery at age 53.

My sexual initiation was with my sister's friend and her younger sister when I was in sixth grade. My sister Mary Jo was a couple of grades behind me. Like me, her friends were mostly the kids of Mother's P.T.A. cronies, and we were allowed to visit the Hulls, who lived down our street, because Mother was friends with Billie. I recall that Billie Hull was quite striking. She was divorced, and didn't have a man around the house. Her daughters were in first and fourth grade. My brother Daniel once told us that he knocked on Billie's door and she answered the door completely nude. Her kids were quite precocious too. When I and my sister were over visiting the girls, we'd all get in the closet in the older girl's bedroom and "inspect" our bodies. I even told the youngest that she was my "girlfriend" for a while. I ended the "relationship" when it got out at school that I was "going" with a first grader.

Even though I lost my mother when in my 20s, I have lots of great memories of here when I think of my time in elementary school. She was on the planning commitees for the box socials, and the carnivals, and pretty much did all the artwork for the P.T.A. Mother never got to be P.T.A. President, (She felt she didn't deserve to run things) but she was Secretary, and won an Honorary Life Membership award. She was my room mother quite a few times, and she baked cupcakes for my class and created art projects, mimeograph flyers and posters for the school. She was quite a scrapbooker, and although my sister took most of the scrapbooks and family albums when our family split up back in 1974 after my father died (and Mom was still in the nursing home because of the stroke) I did get to keep the scrapbooks which highlighted my own school years. The photos I've saved are in these scrapbooks, and I've included a couple in this entry.

I've written some of these memories before for my autobiography and for My Sexual History essays. If I think some more, I can probably come up with a dozen more memories, but this is getting a little long. This Friday, the 23rd, I'm attending a group reunion of classmates from Rosemead High School, and Celia, a classmate of mine through most of elementary school, invited me and some other Shirpser classmates. It will be interesting to see these "kids" after all these years.

The school photo of my fifth grade class. I'm on the bottom between Wendy, on the left, and Lucy (with whom I had the crush) on the right. Both these girls were in the "accelerated" group of readers along with me. My "girlfriend" at the time was Susan, first row, 2nd place. This is the only color group photo I have from elementary school. Celia, who invited me to the reunion, is on the bottom row, 3rd place. I mentioned Miguel in the story above, and he's to the left of Celia. My friend Greg is 3rd row, 4th place. Marce, also mentioned in the story, is 2nd row 3rd place. (Believe it or not, I can remember the first and last names of most of these kids, who are all "seniors" like me now! AAAAaaarrrrggghh.

Posted: October 20, 2009 5:42 AM

Anatomy of a Profile Pic 2

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 16:52:53 GMT

This is a different kind of PhotoPost. One of my more intriguing entries was the first Anatomy of a Profile Pic, from July of 2007, where I diagrammed how I created Mike as Groucho, one of my most popular profiles. Since Hallowe'en is coming up, I wanted to at least put a new profile up with me in "costume" as it were. I'm spending Hallowe'en here at my blog as "Mikula", poet, philosopher, fool of the vampires. Of course this being the internet, I really only have to do a few tweaks in the ol' Picture Publisher program, my handy photo editing software, and voila' I'm Dracula, er, Mikula. It's now past 11am and I began this latest project at 6:30am when I got up, so this did take a little time.

Here is a self portrait from last week. My beard was getting a bit scruffy, and of course it's a full beard now, so since Dracula is clean shaven, something that will never happen to the ol' Mikester, I at least wanted to begin by trimming the beard. The first idea was to completely "edit out the beard" in the photo editing software, but this proved to be more trouble than I wanted to go through.

So first thing I did this morning, was to trim my beard, and cut my hair. I do this myself, with professional trimmers and a mirror. Then after my shower, I put my camera on a tripod and took a few shots attempting to look like a vampire. I knew I was going to place my head and neck into an online photo of Dracula's suit, since I don't have the costume, so I didn't wear a shirt. In the title image above, I've added a few of the dozen or so shots I attempted. Even though the above shot, which is what I ended up using, was the first one taken, and I hadn't even shaved, I thought it was the best "pose" .

For the background, I found the image below on the internet, but I didn't like the cloudscape. So I overlaid this cloudscape I took right before the rainstrorm hit SoCal last week. This is a typical cloudscape taken in the sky above my house.

I searched for three images, "Dark and Stormy Night", "Dracula color", and "Dracula's Castle." This is the Dark and Stormy night photo. Even though the profile pic is only 250 x 350 megapixels in size, I captured all the images "full size" then sized them to an 800 pixel wide master in the editing program. After I finished, I resized the profile pic to 250 x 350.

This is what came up for the search for Dracula's Castle. I captured this image before the Dark and Stormy night image. I didn't realize there really IS a Dracula's castle and this is it. However, people who shoot photos of buildings usually don't have stormy skies behind them, so I has to improvise uisng the images above.

I spent a lot of time finding the right Dracula costume. I didn't want a generic vampire, and of course the Dracula movie was made in black and white in 1931, so I couldnt use any image captures from the film, or else I'd be spending a lot of time with the colorizer. I used to have a model kit of Dracula when I was a kid, but the pose wasn't as neat as I remembered. I ended up using this costume photo from a Hallowe'en Costume shop online. Off with his head, and I'm ready to start compositing.

I decided not to bore you with the several "steps" it took. Here is the final composite image, from which I created the profile picture I will use through the end of the month. Besides masking and layering the several images, I also had to darken lots of areas so it looks like night time. I overlaid an image of the moonscape on top of the moon from the web image. On the actual profile pic, of course, there needs to be a dreamcatcher, and I used a 50% transparency and "projected" the dreamcatcher on the moon.

Well, it's the weekend, so I have time on my hands to be "creative". This is actually the first real composite image I've done in a long while, since before the operation in June.

Posted October 18, 2009 11:22 AM