An Aries Knows (this site is more fun when people read and comment)
I woke up earlier to a post about ME and cake, plus The Compound’s Mystery Guest Who Isn’t Really a Mystery is mere hours from arrival, so I have much to howl about. You, too, should heed the call of the wild and provide me with a page number between 1 and 611, and another number between 1 and 25, and Mr. Wolf With Red Mouth will run through these pages (stained with Coca Cola courtesy of Guinness the Dog) and reveal what the book says.
Today I have the bastard of all headaches. This is punishment for announcing to the world last Friday that I haven’t had a headache in forever. I’m full of drugs, which means my typing is for shit. I’m having to correct like every fifth word or so.
I gave the dogs marrow bones, however, because when I’m suffering, I like to make them happy. And also hear the constant gnaw-gnaw-gnawing of teeth against bone. That’s some great headache relief!
Tim came over earlier to let me know he’d sent me a couple of youtube links. I watched them and laughed. Unlike the gnaw-gnaw-gnawing of bones, laughter really does provide me moments of headache relief.
Thanks, Tim.
I was gonna ask my fab readers what you might want me to post today. Photos of family members? Photos of last week at Hermann Park with Lindsey? Dog photos? Diatribe about politics? Heartwarming anecdote about meerkats? MORE BARBIE DOLLS?
Eh, here’s what you get. Enjoy.
On this day in 1828:
Novelist, philosopher, and religious mystic Count Leo Tolstoy is born in the province of Tula. In 1908 his admirers organize a Tolstoy fund and a grand jubilee to celebrate his 80th birthday; he responds angrily: “When there is nothing left to think about but death, they want to bother me with that!” The committee subsides, but the public is already aroused. Presents are received, messages of congratulation arrive from Thomas Hardy, Bernard Shaw, George Meredith, and H.G. Wells; crowds gather outside his house, along with a brass band and photographers.
I LOVE cranky old writers! I’m naming today’s headache Tolstoy in his honor.
Quoted material from A Book of Days for the Literary Year.
Although a LJ glitch is keeping me from seeing the post, you can click this link to see the final comments of the judges on the three designs and the announcement of who won Challenge 8 of LJ Runway Monday.
Congratulations, Mark G. Harris, for your win with an innovative design for Figaro!
Congratulations also to Timothy J. Lambert for your stunning design for Nikki!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a model to console. Not only did my design cost Summer a win, but my fabric choice permanently discolored her. She’s not having a good day.
Maybe if I give her the judges’ home addresses…
It all began with a phone call from Lindsey. She has a photo gig on Saturday, and a new lens, so she wanted to get in a little shooting practice and wondered if I’d like to come along. After she arrived at The Compound and admired my Runway Monday design (weep, fellow contestants, because I’m kicking ass this week), we compared the sizes of our lenses (heh), then Lynne called. When we sought her advice on good places to shoot children (heh, again), she suggested Hermann Park. Leaving Tim with Sugar, the girls, and Rex, we headed for the park.
Lindsey’s always aware of my back, so we kept a nice gentle pace as we explored Hermann Park. I took around seventy photos. Here’s a small sampling:
A pro at work.
I fell in love with the shadows on this rock. Then Lindsey cracked me up by going all Karate Kid.
LOVED this child with the BEST laugh who was running between jets from a group of fountains.
This is when things got weird. Lindsey did a damsel in distress shot for me on the train tracks (the little train that takes people to the zoo and around the zoo grounds).
“Woe is me!” she cried.
I gave her a hand up, then I walked to the right of the tracks, and I think she took a couple of shots before she stepped to the left. She heard a loud popping noise, then she was down on the ground. I turned at the sound of her falling, and she said, “I think I broke my ankle.”
We were both pretty calm, trying to figure out what to do, because at that point, there was no way she could stand. Lindsey, like me, has a high pain threshold, so when she says she hurts, you know she HURTS. I glanced around to see if there was any possible source of help, and she suggested I go to the little station where they sell train tickets. I hurried there, all the time berating myself because any of Lindsey’s other friends would have been able to run, and with my bum back, I felt like I was moving in slow motion.
But that was NOTHING compared to the slow motion of the woman at the ticket office. There was a couple in front of me buying tickets, and I convinced myself to take a few deep breaths rather than scream at them all to HURRY UP DAMMIT A WOMAN IS DOWN, DOWN! After what was probably only seconds, they were out of my way, and this conversation ensued:
Me: My friend fell about twenty-five yards directly behind here. She can’t walk, and I need help.
Ticket Woman: (Blank look.)
Me: So is there an employee with a golf cart or something who can move her from where she’s lying to our car?
Ticket Woman: No golf carts, no.
Me: Okay, then what do we do? She needs to be helped from the park.
Ticket Woman: We need the park ranger.
Me: Ooookay, so–
Phone rings and TICKET WOMAN ANSWERS IT! And instead of killing her, I just sent death rays into her brain while THIS conversation took place:
Ticket Woman: Yes….yes, we are open…yes, we are still open…Yes. Every day…Yes. Every day until 6:30….Yes, until 6:30. SIX THIRTY. Today….Yes. On Sunday, yes. In winter? Yes…
At that point, I was about to go through the window and choke her. She looked at my expression and hung up the phone.
Me: So you’ll call the park ranger, please? NOW?
Ticket Woman: No, I can’t.
THIS IS WHY I DON’T CARRY CONCEALED.
Me: Listen. I’m going to get in my car and drive it over your grounds to pick up my friend. Do you understand that?
Ticket Woman: You can do that?
Me: I CAN do that. Do you understand that I’m GOING to do that?
Ticket Woman: Yes. You can do that.
(I think she’s a Ticket Bot, actually.)
While hurrying to Lindsey’s car, I scoped out the area. The sidewalk was wide enough for a car. I saw where the curb had been cut to be handicapped accessible. I was figuring out where Lindsey had fallen and how to get there in the car. I could do this!
I jumped in the car, waited for the slowest driver in America to get the hell out of my way, and drove up on the sidewalk, where a woman with a baby in a stroller was coming toward me. I lowered my window so I could call out an explanation to her so she wouldn’t think I was some sidewalk-jumping, mother-and-child-killing freak, but then I spotted Lindsey hobbling away from Ticket Woman (Oh, man, I can’t believe she had to deal with Ticket Woman). She got in the car, trying to decide whether to laugh at my Bo and Luke Duke cross-country drive or whimper from pain. She swore her ankle was better to me and to Rhonda when Rhonda called. Rhonda gave us strict orders to come directly to The Compound and ice the ankle while she picked up a few things for Lindsey’s comfort.
Okay, the drive through Starbucks wasn’t DIRECTLY to The Compound, but it was on the way and only delayed us three minutes or so. And no one should be denied Starbucks when she’s possibly broken her ankle, right? We phoned ahead for Tim to open The Compound gates. Got inside, got Lindsey settled on the couch with her leg elevated and ice on it while we waited for Rhonda, who’d be taking her to the emergency care center. Recounted the adventure for Tim, at which point I said, “I’m not a true photographer, or I’d have documented Lindsey’s painful ordeal instead of waddling for help.” And Tim pointed out, “You’re not a true LiveJournaler, either, or you’d have done a voice post from the scene.”
DAMN.
ETA: The ankle is not broken. =) I’ll let Lindsey pick up the story when she has time.
I’ve already started working on my final collection for LJ’s Runway Monday. I don’t want to be stuck doing a bunch of stuff at the last minute, disliking it all and viciously stabbing myself with needles. I’d rather spread the needle stabbing over a long time–take a more zen approach to the pain.
I called Lynne a bit ago to ask, “Any advice on putting in sleeves?” Her answer reminded me why I never enjoyed or developed the ability to sew. Too many steps! Too much patience! I’m an “I want it done NOW” person when it comes to this kind of stuff. I don’t understand why I can be a patient teacher and a patient writer, but in most other respects, the most impatient of people.
Speaking of Lynne… In our early teen years, my mother often said that Lynne was a bad influence on me. Actually, I was just a typical, surly adolescent, but since I was my mother’s surly adolescent, my bad behavior was clearly SOMEONE’S fault other than my own (or hers), and Lynne was the designee.
At least this was what I always thought when Lynne and I laughed about our terrible teens. Recent events have led me to wonder if my mother might not have been right. After Lynne flew into Birmingham the day before my mother’s memorial service, she rented a car and drove into her (and sometimes, my) hometown the more meandering back way. She wasn’t in a hurry, and she wanted to see the place where her daddy had worked all his life. Without naming towns and businesses–to protect the guilty–Lynne got a terrible shock when she drove by this place that looms so large in her memories only to find it torn down.
I knew she was upset, so I asked if there was anything left of the building: a bit of rubble or something. Upon finding out that some bricks remained, I was game for a late-night bit of trespassing. (I like to drive the getaway car.) This is when Lynne reverted to what can only be called her Wicked Influence and devised a “bonding experience” for my nephews.
My nephew Daniel is around twenty years older than his brother Aaron, so it’s not like they got to be bad boys together the way Lynne and I got to be bad girls together. Lynne suggested to the two of them, and to Daniel’s son Dave (who’s actually five months older than his Uncle Aaron) that they accompany us on our “adventure.” Dave flaked out and fell asleep. Then Lynne took orders from some of us for fast food, and a few people slipped out the door while I was busy doing something–probably knitting blankets for the homeless or reading to the blind or something.
What I found out is that
Lynne plus Tom
when mixed with:
Daniel and Aaron
leads to my being LEFT BEHIND, and only AFTER their return from the fence-climbing, barbed-wire avoiding, under cover of darkness BREAKING THE LAW, did I get to whip out my camera and get a shot of the evidence:
Come to think of it, maybe it’s my mad skillz as an eager photographer that made them leave me behind. It’s like they learned something from all those Darwin Award winners who take photos of themselves committing criminal acts.
To add insult to injury, I had to drive the stolen goods all the way back to Texas, where they still sit in my car.
Wait. What I meant to say is, I never saw those bricks before in my life, and as my mother, Daniel, and Aaron could tell you, It’s Lynne’s fault!. And probably Tom’s.
I’ll probably delete this when Miss Marika posts, but she did call me 1:30ish p.m. to tell me that she and Dash were in a motel in West Memphis, Arkansas. Safe and sound. She was going to get some food and some sleep and start out again tomorrow morning.
I’ll let her give more details in her own posts. Just wanted to let you know she’s okay.
Somewhere between Knoxville and Memphis–who knows, maybe around Lebanon–
–I got THE phone call. The one I wanted before I left Houston, but since it didn’t happen, Lindsey delivered this:
Why, you might ask, is there a zipped up freezer bag containing Lindsey’s lens-free camera, battery charger, and download cable? I’m protecting it all from dust, of course, while Lindsey is at the beach for the Labor Day holiday. I don’t NEED the camera anymore, because the phone call was about this:
The D40: HE IS HOME! In perfect working order at no charge to me, because the warranty covered the broken flash. My happiness is indescribable. The only glitch is, now I’ve gotten used to Lindsey’s D80 and I have to relearn my camera. Also, I need Lindsey to come and help me reset stuff because I’m too lazy to dig out and read the manual (sorry, Rhonda).
Having watched Project Runway on Wednesday night, I spent much of my time on the road Thursday envisioning my design. As a result, when I got home, I was able to sew it immediately and quickly. It turned out exactly how I wanted it, and I got to shoot photos of it with my very own camera with decent light again!
Though my design will be posted on time, I don’t know if or when it will be judged. Blame freaking Hurricane Gustav. Two of our judges may have to evacuate. Two of our designers and another of our judges may be sharing bottled water and cooking all our food on a grill because we don’t have power. Fashion stops for no force of nature, but electricity does. So Runway Monday may be Tuesday, or Wednesday, or whenever our judges and producer can get it together. It’s HURRICANE FASHION!
I’d better keep Lindsey’s and my camera batteries fully charged so no matter what happens, we can document. I know after the fiasco that was Hurricane Rita in 2005, we won’t be evacuating.
Sending good, good thoughts to everyone on the Gulf Coast–and hopes that Gustav will decide that land is boring and will turn back to the sea to experience a quiet death. That would be the most joyness of all.
It’s a classic; what can I say?
Margot looks glum because she suspects your card won’t reach NOLA before you leave for Denver.
Falling in love with the D80. Thinking this will make the D40 rush home in a jealous rage.
I will be on the road for a few days. You probably wouldn’t even be able to tell if I wouldn’t feel compelled to stop somewhere, shoot a photo, and scream, “LOOK! HILLS!”
Also, my accent will return, so be sure and read my posts with that in mind.
Oh. And another way you may be able to tell is that Tim will get crazy with the Glock if anyone tries to breach security at The Compound. You have been warned.
See you next from…somewhere else.
One who says, “Whatever, dude, it’s a camera. A friendship is worth a lot more,” when I express anxiety as she places in my hands her most beloved Nikon D80 for a week because my D40 is still at Nikon–and I’m about to see so many of the people I cherish all in one place–an event NOT to be trusted to a point-and-shoot Kodak with flash issues.
That friend is Lindsey, and if anything happens to her camera, I’m gonna need a job. And maybe a new address. 😉
The photographs are going to rock my world and give me something to treasure for the rest of my life. Thank you, Lindsey, a million times, thank you.