Monday, August 11, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Cesca- Photo
Just got back from a fashion shoot in LA - had a fantastic time! I'm now slammed with editing, so no chance for any catch stories to regale you with, so photos it will have to be - but these should provide some entertainment! This is Fancesca Cavalli. (Cesca, Robert, Dyhandra - I will continue to post more as we get them done today).
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Well, I've been AWOL
I'm sorry, guys - its hard for me to keep up with work and all this - but here';s my latest column
Fast Black
When I travel for work, I am normally accompanied by my oldest son, who happens to be exceptionally tall and in extremely good shape. It’s sort of like having a personal bodyguard with you at all times. I’m used to this and it’s created a tendency in me to go anywhere that strikes my fancy and talk to anyone I feel like.
Its easy to feel free when you have Brawno the Brave standing next to you looking down on whomever I’ve become psychologically fascinated with at that particular moment. He’s used to my adventurous tendencies. His brother, however, is not.
This last trip to Texas, my youngest son, Brandon, came with me to assist. After we checked into the hotel, I decided to wander around and see the sites. Right behind the hotel, I found a river that had cool little pathways winding around it, bridges, all sorts of neat stuff and I was drawn like a moth to a flame. About two minutes after we sat down to drink our beer, I noticed a lot of other people sort of silhouetted under the bridge. One of them noticed that I was smoking and came to bum a cigarette. This is how we met Fast Black (I’m not kidding). When he found out we were from San Francisco (you can’t explain Middletown to people like Fast Black – SF is easier, trust me) he engaged Brandon in a rousing discussion on Rappers and demonstrated some of his own talents for us.
Pretty soon others began to gather around and I decided I wanted to photograph these guys. Brandon was not so sure that bringing my camera into this situation was the best of ideas, but I had a plan. I had Fast Black walk us to the liquor store. This was quite a journey in and of itself, stepping over people’s beds, avoiding the random needle, watching two people squabble over the dregs of a bottle, things like this. For me this was good material, for Brandon, who happens to be a bit more realistic about things than I am, this was alarming. On the way we picked up T-Bird who decided to help Fast Black navigate me through “the jungle”. This was probably a good thing as my cigarettes had been spotted and I was beginning to feel reminiscent of the Pied Piper with a trail of drug addicts falling behind me.
I bought a case of Bud and two packs of Marlboros and returned to the Jungle with it. The idea was to hand out the beer and smokes to anyone who would let me photograph them. It worked great at first. Needless to say, we were quite popular. Fast Black was very proud to be involved in this and was orchestrating my photo shoot like an old pro. Within seconds we had quite the crowd. And I must say, they turned out to be wonderful subjects and quite a group of hams, actually. Brandon was dolling out the beer and smokes, I was clicking away, and then we came down to the last beer. That was when the Switch Blade came out. Fast Black was in this guy’s face within a second and I was pretty sure this guy was all noise. I started to scold him in my best mommy fashion, but as I was doing this, a hand was on the back of my shirt, dragging me, backwards, up the steps to the Sheraton.
“Mom? Are you OUT of your mind? Seriously, are you? You could have gotten us killed!”
“Oh, we were fine. Besides, they were interesting to photograph.”
“I see. Here we are in a beautiful city, full of beautiful people, and you want to shoot the crack heads. Great. Please tell me that you wouldn’t have done that alone. Tell me, mother.” I assured him that I wouldn’t have, but nonetheless he wouldn’t let me out of his site after that, apparently convinced that if he turned his head, I was going to go racing back under the bridge to finish making my point to Mr. Switch Blade.
The next afternoon we were downtown having a beer in a Brandon Approved environment and my girlfriend called me to tell me she had booked my flight to Chicago.
“Cool! Hey, how far are we from Detroit? Sinead wants me to hop up there for a couple days to shoot.”
The fall out was immediate. Brandon spits out a mouthful of beer and chokes out the word “Detroit”. He’s gone white and his eyes are as big as silver dollars. “MOM! You are NOT going to Detroit! I absolutely forbid it! Fast Black is one thing, mom, but those guys in Detroit are not to be messed with! Those guys carry guns, mother. GUNS! Promise me you will not go to Detroit!” It was beyond funny. My girlfriend could hear him and was howling with laughter on the phone and no amount of anything could convince him that my purpose in going to Detroit was not to head down dark alleyways at midnight looking for gang members.
“Fast Black used to live in Detroit. Maybe he could hook me up with someone to show me around.”
I shouldn’t have said that. “What? Are you crazy? You are not going back under that bridge to talk to Fast Black, mom. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t have to go under the bridge. I have his address.”
“WHAT?! When did you get his address?”
“When he was showing me his gun shot wounds. I got it to send him the photos, of course.”
“Gun shot wounds?” He orders a shot of whiskey. “Gun shot wounds. Of course. Oh yes. The perfect person to tour you around Detroit. That’s wonderful, Mom. Good plan.”
He decided to tattle to his brother who did not help the situation at all. “He has a point, mom.”
“You aren’t seriously telling me that you think I would go looking for bad guys in Detroit, are you?”
“Mom, I don’t think you would go looking for them. But I’m pretty sure you would manage to find them without looking for them. You do this kind of thing everywhere we go, Mom. Remember all the homeless guys in Sacramento? How about Seattle, Mom, when you decided to take every street person’s photo holding your stuffed pink dragon? And what about Switzerland, mother? How you managed to find a crowd of low-lifes in a city like Zurich is still beyond me, but you did it. Brandon has a point, Mom. I’m not so sure Detroit on your own is such a good idea.”
It’s very difficult to win when they gang up against me. So I promised I would not go to Detroit alone. They were both pacified with that. What they missed was the word “alone”. Now I just have to figure out which one of them I’m taking with me.
Fast Black
When I travel for work, I am normally accompanied by my oldest son, who happens to be exceptionally tall and in extremely good shape. It’s sort of like having a personal bodyguard with you at all times. I’m used to this and it’s created a tendency in me to go anywhere that strikes my fancy and talk to anyone I feel like.
Its easy to feel free when you have Brawno the Brave standing next to you looking down on whomever I’ve become psychologically fascinated with at that particular moment. He’s used to my adventurous tendencies. His brother, however, is not.
This last trip to Texas, my youngest son, Brandon, came with me to assist. After we checked into the hotel, I decided to wander around and see the sites. Right behind the hotel, I found a river that had cool little pathways winding around it, bridges, all sorts of neat stuff and I was drawn like a moth to a flame. About two minutes after we sat down to drink our beer, I noticed a lot of other people sort of silhouetted under the bridge. One of them noticed that I was smoking and came to bum a cigarette. This is how we met Fast Black (I’m not kidding). When he found out we were from San Francisco (you can’t explain Middletown to people like Fast Black – SF is easier, trust me) he engaged Brandon in a rousing discussion on Rappers and demonstrated some of his own talents for us.
Pretty soon others began to gather around and I decided I wanted to photograph these guys. Brandon was not so sure that bringing my camera into this situation was the best of ideas, but I had a plan. I had Fast Black walk us to the liquor store. This was quite a journey in and of itself, stepping over people’s beds, avoiding the random needle, watching two people squabble over the dregs of a bottle, things like this. For me this was good material, for Brandon, who happens to be a bit more realistic about things than I am, this was alarming. On the way we picked up T-Bird who decided to help Fast Black navigate me through “the jungle”. This was probably a good thing as my cigarettes had been spotted and I was beginning to feel reminiscent of the Pied Piper with a trail of drug addicts falling behind me.
I bought a case of Bud and two packs of Marlboros and returned to the Jungle with it. The idea was to hand out the beer and smokes to anyone who would let me photograph them. It worked great at first. Needless to say, we were quite popular. Fast Black was very proud to be involved in this and was orchestrating my photo shoot like an old pro. Within seconds we had quite the crowd. And I must say, they turned out to be wonderful subjects and quite a group of hams, actually. Brandon was dolling out the beer and smokes, I was clicking away, and then we came down to the last beer. That was when the Switch Blade came out. Fast Black was in this guy’s face within a second and I was pretty sure this guy was all noise. I started to scold him in my best mommy fashion, but as I was doing this, a hand was on the back of my shirt, dragging me, backwards, up the steps to the Sheraton.
“Mom? Are you OUT of your mind? Seriously, are you? You could have gotten us killed!”
“Oh, we were fine. Besides, they were interesting to photograph.”
“I see. Here we are in a beautiful city, full of beautiful people, and you want to shoot the crack heads. Great. Please tell me that you wouldn’t have done that alone. Tell me, mother.” I assured him that I wouldn’t have, but nonetheless he wouldn’t let me out of his site after that, apparently convinced that if he turned his head, I was going to go racing back under the bridge to finish making my point to Mr. Switch Blade.
The next afternoon we were downtown having a beer in a Brandon Approved environment and my girlfriend called me to tell me she had booked my flight to Chicago.
“Cool! Hey, how far are we from Detroit? Sinead wants me to hop up there for a couple days to shoot.”
The fall out was immediate. Brandon spits out a mouthful of beer and chokes out the word “Detroit”. He’s gone white and his eyes are as big as silver dollars. “MOM! You are NOT going to Detroit! I absolutely forbid it! Fast Black is one thing, mom, but those guys in Detroit are not to be messed with! Those guys carry guns, mother. GUNS! Promise me you will not go to Detroit!” It was beyond funny. My girlfriend could hear him and was howling with laughter on the phone and no amount of anything could convince him that my purpose in going to Detroit was not to head down dark alleyways at midnight looking for gang members.
“Fast Black used to live in Detroit. Maybe he could hook me up with someone to show me around.”
I shouldn’t have said that. “What? Are you crazy? You are not going back under that bridge to talk to Fast Black, mom. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t have to go under the bridge. I have his address.”
“WHAT?! When did you get his address?”
“When he was showing me his gun shot wounds. I got it to send him the photos, of course.”
“Gun shot wounds?” He orders a shot of whiskey. “Gun shot wounds. Of course. Oh yes. The perfect person to tour you around Detroit. That’s wonderful, Mom. Good plan.”
He decided to tattle to his brother who did not help the situation at all. “He has a point, mom.”
“You aren’t seriously telling me that you think I would go looking for bad guys in Detroit, are you?”
“Mom, I don’t think you would go looking for them. But I’m pretty sure you would manage to find them without looking for them. You do this kind of thing everywhere we go, Mom. Remember all the homeless guys in Sacramento? How about Seattle, Mom, when you decided to take every street person’s photo holding your stuffed pink dragon? And what about Switzerland, mother? How you managed to find a crowd of low-lifes in a city like Zurich is still beyond me, but you did it. Brandon has a point, Mom. I’m not so sure Detroit on your own is such a good idea.”
It’s very difficult to win when they gang up against me. So I promised I would not go to Detroit alone. They were both pacified with that. What they missed was the word “alone”. Now I just have to figure out which one of them I’m taking with me.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Story - Blast from the Past
A Blast from the Past
I am dating a member of the Walton Family. And the Walton’s, as you know, have many gatherings. This latest gathering was a camping trip by the American River. It was a beautiful, peaceful setting right next to the river that was going by calmly and serenely when we arrived late Friday.
Somewhere around 6 AM Saturday I hear this tumultuous roar and the river is no longer calm, but raging. I marveled at what was clearly a level three (or four) rapid below me. Apparently, they open the damn in the morning to get this river really going for rafting trips. And, apparently, Boyfriend and the younger set are all going. Ten minutes later, I’m informed I’m going too. What?
Have you ever done anything as an adult that you used to love doing as a child and wondered what ever possessed you to do them? Like eating S’mores? When I tried one as an adult, I nearly gagged. Climbing trees is another adult bozo no-no. Up is no problem; down is another story. Over forty jump roping became a near-death experience for me, and belly flops over the age of ten are a very, very bad idea. Skate boarding is also now out, as is the trampoline (just plain ugly) and drooling over the likes of David Cassidy. Things change. Do I grasp this concept? Apparently not, because what came out of my mouth was, “Cool! I haven’t been white water rafting for years!!” (“Years”, Sharon, check on the word “years” – it could serve to be key!)
They say that we forget pain. Which must be true or none of us would go on to have a second child. Cold is pain. I forgot about the part where rushing rivers never warm up and was immediately frozen solid upon getting in the raft in my little helmet and big life jacket. We sit through our safety lecture, learning things like how to position ourselves if we should fall out of the raft so that we can float down the river safely and use our legs to fend off the rocks. Alrightie then, I’ll be sure to do all that while I’m freaking out completely! I’m praying that this is an extreme case situation and not the norm on this river.
Then our guide announces that we are going to do something called “surfing”, which is really “fun”. This good time amounts to maneuvering the raft below a rock where water is rushing back in on itself, sitting down in the boat and holding on for dear life while the thing tips one direction to another, nearly flipping over and saturating you with ice cold water. I kept getting hammered by the waterfall and by the time he pulled us out of there, laughing with the maniacal glee I often associate with young, testosterone ridden males, I was sputtering like a cat. The equally youthful Walton’s were all over it when he suggested a repeat performance, but I was not so sure. I opted for a quick drop-off on the shore to “watch”, but was instantly met with a barrage of “Oh, come on, Sharon!”, “You can do it, Sharon!” and “Don’t be such a wuss, Sharon!” Boyfriend’s youngest daughter even offered to trade places with me after I brought up the whole drenched-by-waterfall issue and for a moment I almost succumbed to peer pressure. Then I remembered that people 25 years younger than me do not qualify as peers, so I pulled the Almost Fifty Card and got out. Off they went.
I’m here to tell you that this thing looks as harrowing as it feels. There they were, tipping precariously to the left and to the right, while the guide was doing the “yeehaw” thing and giving me the thumbs up. And then the youngest daughter was gone. Simply gone. I watched in horror until she finally reappeared on the opposite side of the boat, stuck in that darn waterfall. Of course they can’t pull her out there, or they will all wind up in the river, so she has to swim in sub-zero water, eyes as wide as Texas, until they can rescue her.
I looked at her in awe when they picked me up. “That would have been you!” she says to me. I’m quite aware of that fact. Fortunately it wasn’t me, because I doubt I would have been recounting the episode with the same excitement and pride that she was. There probably wouldn’t have been much pride involved when I burst into tears and proceeded to get back on the bus and abort the mission. But she’s a trooper and was laughing and slapping high-fives with her cousins as we set off down the river.
Golly! A whole ten minutes into the trip and so much to talk about already. The only upside of being soaking wet was that it was impossible for anyone to differentiate between the water on my face and the beads of sweat that were breaking out.
Another thing that I had apparently forgotten was my mother telling me, “Avoid the back end of the boat”, because here I was, in the very back of the boat next to the guide. Its tricky back there, because you can’t hook your feet the same way, and you can only hook one foot or you risk tossing the guide out of the raft, and, well, that would suck. He demonstrates how “easy” it is to just hook one foot and lean waaay out of the boat to use your oar, and how you can actually lift your other leg right up in the air and still keep your balance. Isn’t that nifty? By our second rapid he learned that me trying that wasn’t such a hot idea as I suddenly became airborne and he had to abandon guiding in the name of grabbing my life jacket to ensure I returned inside the boat instead of outside the boat. The boat did a full 180 at that point and we had to take a rapid backwards, but it was better than doing the darn thing solo, if you ask me.
After awhile I got back into the swing of it and was having a good time until I foolishly asked where we landed. Back at the campground, isn’t that convenient? Back at the campground on the other side of that crazy rapid I saw this morning? Yes, the crazy rapid that they named “Troublemaker”. Well, I figured if I could survive things like “Hospital Bar”, “Triple Threat”, and “Meat Grinder”, I could probably survive “Troublemaker”. If not, at least the swim would end near my towel.
I did survive Troublemaker, mostly due to another quick rescue from our guide, and I got out of the raft as enthusiastic and excited as everyone else. And that right there is just plain weird. If anyone tells you that you will find sheer terror and freezing cold to be an absolute blast, you would probably question their sanity, but there you have it.
After I finally regained the use of my frozen legs, I walked down to the edge of darling Troublemaker to sit in the sun and watch the other maniacs attempt this thing. After watching a large number of people go flying out of their rafts when doing this, I realized we must have been pretty good to have all stayed in. I must say I felt pretty darn proud of myself right about then. Not too shabby for a middle-aged chick.
That night by the campfire, however, I did draw the line when offered a S’more. After all, some things are better left in the past, right?
I am dating a member of the Walton Family. And the Walton’s, as you know, have many gatherings. This latest gathering was a camping trip by the American River. It was a beautiful, peaceful setting right next to the river that was going by calmly and serenely when we arrived late Friday.
Somewhere around 6 AM Saturday I hear this tumultuous roar and the river is no longer calm, but raging. I marveled at what was clearly a level three (or four) rapid below me. Apparently, they open the damn in the morning to get this river really going for rafting trips. And, apparently, Boyfriend and the younger set are all going. Ten minutes later, I’m informed I’m going too. What?
Have you ever done anything as an adult that you used to love doing as a child and wondered what ever possessed you to do them? Like eating S’mores? When I tried one as an adult, I nearly gagged. Climbing trees is another adult bozo no-no. Up is no problem; down is another story. Over forty jump roping became a near-death experience for me, and belly flops over the age of ten are a very, very bad idea. Skate boarding is also now out, as is the trampoline (just plain ugly) and drooling over the likes of David Cassidy. Things change. Do I grasp this concept? Apparently not, because what came out of my mouth was, “Cool! I haven’t been white water rafting for years!!” (“Years”, Sharon, check on the word “years” – it could serve to be key!)
They say that we forget pain. Which must be true or none of us would go on to have a second child. Cold is pain. I forgot about the part where rushing rivers never warm up and was immediately frozen solid upon getting in the raft in my little helmet and big life jacket. We sit through our safety lecture, learning things like how to position ourselves if we should fall out of the raft so that we can float down the river safely and use our legs to fend off the rocks. Alrightie then, I’ll be sure to do all that while I’m freaking out completely! I’m praying that this is an extreme case situation and not the norm on this river.
Then our guide announces that we are going to do something called “surfing”, which is really “fun”. This good time amounts to maneuvering the raft below a rock where water is rushing back in on itself, sitting down in the boat and holding on for dear life while the thing tips one direction to another, nearly flipping over and saturating you with ice cold water. I kept getting hammered by the waterfall and by the time he pulled us out of there, laughing with the maniacal glee I often associate with young, testosterone ridden males, I was sputtering like a cat. The equally youthful Walton’s were all over it when he suggested a repeat performance, but I was not so sure. I opted for a quick drop-off on the shore to “watch”, but was instantly met with a barrage of “Oh, come on, Sharon!”, “You can do it, Sharon!” and “Don’t be such a wuss, Sharon!” Boyfriend’s youngest daughter even offered to trade places with me after I brought up the whole drenched-by-waterfall issue and for a moment I almost succumbed to peer pressure. Then I remembered that people 25 years younger than me do not qualify as peers, so I pulled the Almost Fifty Card and got out. Off they went.
I’m here to tell you that this thing looks as harrowing as it feels. There they were, tipping precariously to the left and to the right, while the guide was doing the “yeehaw” thing and giving me the thumbs up. And then the youngest daughter was gone. Simply gone. I watched in horror until she finally reappeared on the opposite side of the boat, stuck in that darn waterfall. Of course they can’t pull her out there, or they will all wind up in the river, so she has to swim in sub-zero water, eyes as wide as Texas, until they can rescue her.
I looked at her in awe when they picked me up. “That would have been you!” she says to me. I’m quite aware of that fact. Fortunately it wasn’t me, because I doubt I would have been recounting the episode with the same excitement and pride that she was. There probably wouldn’t have been much pride involved when I burst into tears and proceeded to get back on the bus and abort the mission. But she’s a trooper and was laughing and slapping high-fives with her cousins as we set off down the river.
Golly! A whole ten minutes into the trip and so much to talk about already. The only upside of being soaking wet was that it was impossible for anyone to differentiate between the water on my face and the beads of sweat that were breaking out.
Another thing that I had apparently forgotten was my mother telling me, “Avoid the back end of the boat”, because here I was, in the very back of the boat next to the guide. Its tricky back there, because you can’t hook your feet the same way, and you can only hook one foot or you risk tossing the guide out of the raft, and, well, that would suck. He demonstrates how “easy” it is to just hook one foot and lean waaay out of the boat to use your oar, and how you can actually lift your other leg right up in the air and still keep your balance. Isn’t that nifty? By our second rapid he learned that me trying that wasn’t such a hot idea as I suddenly became airborne and he had to abandon guiding in the name of grabbing my life jacket to ensure I returned inside the boat instead of outside the boat. The boat did a full 180 at that point and we had to take a rapid backwards, but it was better than doing the darn thing solo, if you ask me.
After awhile I got back into the swing of it and was having a good time until I foolishly asked where we landed. Back at the campground, isn’t that convenient? Back at the campground on the other side of that crazy rapid I saw this morning? Yes, the crazy rapid that they named “Troublemaker”. Well, I figured if I could survive things like “Hospital Bar”, “Triple Threat”, and “Meat Grinder”, I could probably survive “Troublemaker”. If not, at least the swim would end near my towel.
I did survive Troublemaker, mostly due to another quick rescue from our guide, and I got out of the raft as enthusiastic and excited as everyone else. And that right there is just plain weird. If anyone tells you that you will find sheer terror and freezing cold to be an absolute blast, you would probably question their sanity, but there you have it.
After I finally regained the use of my frozen legs, I walked down to the edge of darling Troublemaker to sit in the sun and watch the other maniacs attempt this thing. After watching a large number of people go flying out of their rafts when doing this, I realized we must have been pretty good to have all stayed in. I must say I felt pretty darn proud of myself right about then. Not too shabby for a middle-aged chick.
That night by the campfire, however, I did draw the line when offered a S’more. After all, some things are better left in the past, right?
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