There was a snow/ice/sleet storm in NYC today, which means I might as well have been steeping my feet in soggy hot dog buns all day. You know when you have “waterproof shoes” that either were falsely marketed or are over worn to the point of absorbing water? Hey, it’s 2014 so I guess it’s just as likely that we’re all being tricked into buying shoes made out of cotton balls as it is that I’m a disgruntled-yet-too-lazy millennial and need to stop wearing shoes with holes in them. But the fact that remains steadfast and true is that all day I could feel the skin under my toes squirming as it shapeshifted from dried prune to drier prune. And because my shoes are inverted rubber bags, they made damn sure no water was goin anywhere but on those toes. On top of which, my boss hoards dirty dishes like I hoard XL Gap Kids underwears, resulting in what often looks like poop splattered dishes heaping over the top of a bathtub sized sink (if that’s not registering, that’s A LOT OF DISHES), so there’s no room to get even a trickle of water from the faucet unless I ricochet it off a plate with old, caked on meatloaf sauce and wait for it to trickle into my mouth like waiting for the final tee in Happy Gilmore (in which he bounces the ball from a car windshield to a metal thing to another metal thing to a third metal thing to more metal things). Why does it always seem like being soggy and thirsty is the worst possible combination? Or do you think as long as my toes were waterlogged for 12 hours it’s basically like being hooked up to an i.v. water pump? I dunno, you tell me.
Time for bed,
Sup everyone, I’m taking a class and our first assignment was to take 30 self-portraits…Have a looksie, would ya? Tell me what you think. These were some of my thoughts that I wrote up for the accompanying journal entry for class:
The thing that is always so elusive to me is how to make photos that can accurately and succinctly tell someone about a time, a place, a person, a society, a culture, or a feeling. What is much harder for me than picking up on these things in someone else’s photograph is knowing when or if I’m successfully doing so. I find it difficult to abstract myself from the experience itself and thus I feel I lose the ability to see the image as a snapshot in isolation from the living moment. Therefore it’s often hard for me to assess how objectively strong or interesting my photographs are—whether I’m too quick to defend them or too desensitized to appreciate them.