But what is going to happen in the periods between ad perusing, resume submissions, call-backs, and interviews? One idea I had was to get a cat. Stupid, I know. It’s like a lonely teenage girl letting herself get pregnant to fill the hours with unconditional love and the romance of parenting. None the less, a cat has been on my mind for a while and the free time at home will be a good chance to lay the ground rules and develop the connection.

To be frank, I am not too hip on the idea of finding another ‘job’. Like I mentioned last time, I don’t want to latch onto the first available employer that seems bearable. I want to find the dream situation. Decent pay, good hours, and engaging work. It’s the golden trifecta. What the details are to that is what I am having problems with. It’s going to take time to fill that in.

What can I do between? At least there I have a few ideas. I am not going to give them away here. At least not yet. Suffice it to say that I have always been very self-entertaining. It was never a matter of me not having something to do. I always manage to find projects to keep me occupied. Now it’s a matter of finding projects that I might do that can contribute to either their own up keep or even be a primary or secondary income. For a project to work at those levels, it needs time to be put together and nurtured.

I am about to get that. Now, it’s a matter of not wasting it and having courage to use it.

What bothers me is that “I don’t know” isn’t bothering me! I like to know where my next paycheck is coming from. No more than thirty days has ever elapsed between jobs. I’ll find something quick when I put my mind to it. Now though, I think the source of my paycheck is very important. It’s more than just putting roof overhead and food on the table. The job itself has to fill the spirit in some way. Yeah, that’s hokey, but it’s close to the truth.

What worries me now is what worries many people: What do I want to do? Ah the angst, the uncertainty. I feel like I should be in a French art house film. Set me down in a cafe and give me plenty of cigarettes and coffee. Suck the color from the world and the scene is complete. Most of the anxiety comes from the fact hat I have learned to do so many things over the past couple of decades. I learned things to survive. Know I have such a varied skill set, I am not sure what I should do.

Instead of jumping into the first job that comes available, I am going to take time to find the job that suites me. In between, I am going to take stock and assess my needs.

Last year, had it’s changes. Big ones to be sure. I acquired several new certifications. You are reading the words of an Apple Certified Trainer. I also had a lapse in friendship. A choice of mine, not a falling out. There were vacations (see the pictures below). There were joys and hardships. All in all, my year was no different than yours. Just different details.

The new face of the site took me a month to develop. There was a lot of trial and error. The ironical thing of it is that what you see now was done in the last three days. I think, sometimes, that I think I have a good idea, begin to execute it, then subconsciously sabotage it. The first idea looked okay, but had no panache. It didn’t have a real tie to me. I struggled to get the code to lay out the elements and fought it tooth and nail. Then, I happened on Darkroom.

Darkroom, the theme you see now, was built from a memory. I am an old school photographer. Now that there is a new school (digital), I can say old school. I have logged several thousands of hours in darkrooms. All had their characteristic layouts. Also, all had the soft glow of the amber safety light. It was soothing and equalizing. All colors became an amber monochrome. I have had eureka and romantic moments illuminated by darkroom safety lights. This theme will be the standard for the site this year. It is the year that I return to photography more dedicated than in many years.I hope your have your passions. Live in them. Live in their amber glow.

I am actually tuckered out. The next vacation I take will be in some place with beaches and no technology (okay, the second part is a stretch). Visiting with the family is good. It reconnects me to them and grounds me. I remember where I came from. With a rested mind, I can get a clearer sense of where I am going. With the free time, I was able to work on my website, add a lot of images, and see new things. The last is especially important for the visual mind. This last two weeks may get me motivated again to create some new works. If nothing else, it has gotten me a lot closer to family again.

I spend so much time away from them that I forget their mannerisms and tastes. Dad and I can sit in silence for hours and miles. We enjoy the same shows and have many of the same habits. Mom and I…well we are decidedly different animals. A little idle conversation always travels around the room. When I am in my introspective mind, I have a hard time wanting to come back out. A long drive with Mom reminds that not all the world can sit in silence like I can. She re-socializes me. Instead of sniping at her for a little quiet, I worked my way out of my “brood”. This was the time I wanted to spend with her. She just wanted to engage me.All said and done, I go home today a little tired, refreshed, and ready to see what is next.

• Hooter’s Honeys Having Trouble Handing Outhttp://www.dailynews.com/news/ci_3987528It’s a crying shame when charities will cow-tow to conservative grinches. What charity can afford to turn away money? The best argument for those that squawk about the illicit source of donations is “Here’s the bill for the money lost. Please, pay the cashier at the door.”
• Penis Pumps are Medically Practicalhttp://www.slate.com/id/2144778/?nav=tap3It’s nice to know that because of one Oklahoma judge word is getting out about the medical usefulness of ‘vacuum constriction devices”. It’s not my bag, Baby. Really.
• Playboy to Privatizehttp://online.barrons.com/public/article/SB115111012429889617-RtzzWWNEl0bbQQ5x1NGsjFtSbbw_20060724.html
• After twenty-five years on the stock market (ticker: PLA), it looks like Heff (he let’s me call him that) will be pulling the shares. Flagging profits from the last several years are cited as the reason for the change. I’m sure the boys on the floor will miss the traders in their Bunny suits and blonde hair. Sigh.Related article: http://www.prnewswire.com/cgi-bin/stories.pl?ACCT=104&STORY=/www/story/06-26-2006/0004387020&EDATE=

This is the feeling I have had for the past few months. I am working on acquiring Apple certifications. The company I work for is putting me through the training classes I need, shuttling me to my destinations, and flipping the bill for the tests. While getting the certifications is an accomplishment, the company’s goal is to have me later teach the classes I am taking. The score required to be considered a teaching candidate is further beyond the score needed to just receive certification. I have already taken one test three times. The above example exactly illustrates my situation. I am four lousy points away from consideration. Another test and it’s in the bag. Hell, with the leap I made between test two and three, I could ace the fourth attempt. I figure that I must have answered all the possible questions at least once and correctly, but never on a single test. Bugger!I should be proud, but I can’t help feel disappointed. I made a huge improvement, but still missed my goal.

I make my way out of the hotel onto the front drive. There a Goth clad acrobat troupe are tumbling up and down the drive. A woman in a worn white slip and white body paint comes towards me. She spins laterally in the air. When she blinks, a large eye in the middle of her face opens. Once directly in front of me, she tells me that I need a lesbian girl friend. I ask why she suggested that. She just replies, “You look like you could use one.”Ed Bagley appears at the end of the drive and says some forgettable things about electric cars and the environment. Shortly after, a modern styled hybrid car drive by. Inside sits Steve Jobs. The car just drives to the hotel. I hope I don’t have to pay those assholes scale.

SEAF – March 24-26

The Seattle Erotic Arts Festival 2006 was better than the last two years. As I understand, jurors were tasked with limiting the amount of photography. After last year’s show, I can understand this. The photography of the last couple of years dominated the show’s content. Moreover, the presentation and quality of a lot of the photography was sub par. This year there was more classic arts represented.My laundry list of artists to research is lengthy. There were many exceptional photographers, but it was the painters and illustrators that left a strong impression. Jeff Faerber’s Nude sticks in my mind. His small acrylic contra posta nude looks like an oil painting by Rembandt. It’s eroticism was in the simplicity of the study of a waif figure under a men’s shirt. The little painting contrasted with the images of genitals that bookend its frame. John John Jesse, a show favorite, was represented by several prints. The gestural line art of Francois Dubeau also caught my eye. I also enjoyed, the 17th century themed miniatures of Jessica McCourt.

Two photographers did stick in my mind. Rik Garrett displayed painterly lighting techniques in his photos Elemental, Equinox Emergence, and Amphisbane. It’s rare in today’s digital demand photography market to see photographers still exploring darkroom and studio techniques. Garrett’s image displayed an understanding and control light. There were indications in Elemental of using a pen light to paint in shadow. And Amphisbane was composed under the enlarger. Erin Frost’s autobiographical images stood out because of their beautifully crafted compositions. She seemed willing to expose her most sensual thoughts through direct statement. Self-Portrait with Trench Coat has her sitting in a chair illuminated by afternoon sunlight. Wearing a trench coat indicates a desire to be an exhibitionist, but she stays in her living room.

Belle & Sebastian / New Pornographers – March 25th

What a great show. I was supposed to meet friends from work, but they were detained by drinks somewhere. I never did catch up with them. The New Pornographers put on a excellent set. The best was their nod to B & S – the entire band wore Scotland is For Me! t-shirts. This was my first B & S show. This group from Scotland put on an excellent show. I acquired much of their music through the friends that failed to show up on time. Everyone of my favorites were played. The best was an encore with the New Pornographers. Everyone held slips of lyrics while singing “Any Way You Are.”

Charles Gatewood Workshop – March 26th

This was a day that I waited nearly two months for. I schlepped five bags of gear to the workshop. When I saw that it was being held in the cinema, I became concerned that I was over prepared. Pretty normal for me though. I take three bags for a weekend trip. Gatewood talked for about half of the three hours allotted for the workshop. Much of what he talked about was in the book. But listening to him confirmed my impressions of him I got from the book. Here is a sincere man offering seasoned advice. The last thing he wants to do is tell others how to take pictures. Gatewood just wants that all parties involved be respectful of each other.

When it came time to take pictures, three lovely models showed up. A couple of attendees also offered themselves to our lenses. At first I was frustrated. Four of my five bags of gear were going to go unused. I snatched them all up and headed for the door. The room was going to turn into a shooting gallery. Twenty photographers were going to shoot five models. I am not very comfortable with paparazzi style shooting. The walk to my car cooled me off though. If I climbed into the driver’s seat, I would lose an opportunity. One deep breath later, I was back in the cinema. Gatewood was congenial and shoulder to shoulder with the other photographers. Once I shed the baggage (Literally and emotionally), I had a great time. The models were hot and Gatewood humorous. I even exchanged jibes with him.This was the busiest weekend and one of the most pleasurable I have had in a long time. Let’s see what I can do in the future.

Valentine’s Day is a concoction. Everyone knows that. But it’s history goes back further than the middle of the 1800′s. Are you surprised by that number? Try ancient Rome and the Lupercalia (traditionally February 15th). This day of love sung by troubadours romancing the European court ladies has roots older than Christianity. This means that “Singles Awareness Day” (I love that euphemism) is a deep-seeded part of the Western collective unconscious. Worse yet, the Catholics co-opted the Roman celebration and entangled a few obscure footnote saints to insure that it stuck.

The Lupercalia celebrates Lupercus, a goatskin clad fertility deity. Priests would sacrifice and skin a goat, then run through the streets with the bloody skin. Women would rush the skins hoping to be touched by the bloody hide. This was to insure that they would produce children. PETA would have a field day with this version of the holiday.

To tone down the celebrations that were still being followed well into the early Roman Catholic history, the Church pronounced a feast day celebrating St. Valentine and St. George and other men who were only remembered in name. This holiday was declared to occur on, you guessed it, February 14th. This didn’t start until the end of the fifth century AD. What gets muddy is which St. Valentine. There are three on record. None of them have any kind of extensive bios in the Who’s Who of Saints (aka – the Catholic Encyclopedia). Coincidentally, though, all three were martyrs (most saints are martyrs) and their great acts of faith and devotion are all ascribed to 02/14. As of 1969, the Catholic church no longer celebrates St. Valentine’s day. The events of the lives of these saints are apocryphal at best and the Vatican decided it best to only celebrate dates of well-documented saints.

This lapse of historical content didn’t keep the rest of Europe from celebrating the holiday though. In the 19th century, the vatican donated relics of St. Valentine to Dublin, Ireland. Relics are also supposedly in Roquemaure, France and Stephansom, Vienna. In Dublin, a gold casket carrying the relics are transported through town in celebration of the young and those in love. In 1989, Roquemaure created La Fête du Baiser, the kissing festival, occuring the Saturday after Valentine’s Day. Roquemaure history recounts the miraculous healing of grape vines four years after the arrival of St. Valentine’s relics in 1868.All this history is well and good. It even provides solid grounds for this holiday that causes mass hysteria in the addle-brained love lorn. But it doesn’t account for the mass commercialism. That didn’t begin until the 14th century when the era of humanism and courtly love were just beginning to flourish. From that point on, secular, rather than spiritual, love would be the main focus of the holiday. Songs, poetry, art all would focus on the passions of ancient kings and queens and the trysts of the gods. By the 19th century, the English custom of exchanging anonymous cards professing amour would transplant itself to the United States. At which point all hell breaks loose.

The next thing we know we are hip deep in chocolates and moonie-eyed teddy bears. The holiday has become a ridiculous caricature. Another western holiday with lost and muddied roots. Each generation defines it according to the sentiments of the day. With generation-x (my generation), it is attacked by the bitter lonely and covered in gelatinous sucrose by the 99-percenters. And after the superficial research I have done a ‘la Wikipedia.org (see the links below), I have come to my own conclusions.

This holiday, wether celebrated by the spiritual or secular, is about passion. The Saints Valentine died for their beliefs. Women rushing to meet the Lupercunian priests wanted deeply to bare children. The artists and troubadours of the middle-ages wanted to recount the acts of golden and lost ages. For all of them, each age wanted to celebrate passion. This is my vision of the holiday. It is the day that I tell family, friends, and those that share some aspect of my beliefs that I love them and that I want them to continue to live passionately for each other and for themselves. Valentine’s Day is the day that I remind myself what I live for – art and passion.

References:

• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valentine%27s_Day
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Valentine

Dream one is a sex party. Somebody gets lucky this time. The other dream belongs to my other favorite class of dreams: the flying dream. The freedom in this type of dream makes my waking day feel effortless.Dream number one opens in large room. There are plush chairs and couches, warm afternoon daylight is streaming into the room. Men and women lounge here and there. I recognize a couple of people from my waking life. They are casual acquaintances for the most part. The hostess calls the stragglers and wallflowers together. Those close enough drape across each other’s laps or shoulders.

Once settled in, the hostess calls out one of the group – petite woman. The woman is stripped except for heels. The hostess draws a rubber cat o’ninetails across the woman’s shoulders. At first, I think the woman slips a dildo into her vagina. A second look, I realize that the woman is a hermaphrodite and she is actually screwing herself. She squats over the floor and rocks up and down on her own penis. It’s strange and mesmerizing.

The hostess draws me out of the group and puts that cat o’ninetails into my hands. With a gentle guiding hand, she instructs me how to apply strikes against the dishy tush of the hermaphrodite. Each strike causes her to rock more vigorously. I can tell though that she is still not finding the pleasure she craves. I sit down behind her and wrap my arms around her. The hermaphrodite is pulled into my circle and falls against my chest. I fondle her breasts. Small soft hemispheres. Her pubic hair curls around my fingers. I handle her penis like a dildo and continue to slip it in and out of her. Meanwhile, I massage her clitoris. The depth of her moans as orgasm approaches. When it does, she convulses in my arms and we fall to the floor, and….

After taking care of bodily business and settling back into sleep, I hit REM again. Oddly enough, I woke up again. I shared a bedroom with trim brunette. We have separate beds. Sad to say, it wasn’t going to be one of those dreams. Twice in one night is too much to ask.We are both a little surprised by the other. Apparently we were never introduced and she had just moved in. I apologized for the mess. She didn’t seem to mind, though. I slipped into some clothes and excused myself to go take a bath.

In the hall, I knock on the bathroom door to make sure no one is in it. I manage to disturb two other roommates. When I get into the bathroom, I am shocked. It is an art deco masterpiece of wood and tile. Not only that, but the bathroom has three tubs. One was modified to be a jacuzzi. I strip and splash around in one of the tubs. Then it occurs to me that I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I’ll have to change in front of my new roommate. Awkward yes, but I have a exhibitionist streak.

After the bath, the clothes come back on. I step into a hall. It’s more like an enclosed alley. One end is opened to the street, the other end leads back into the building. Every few steps, my foot lands on a grate. I want to break the pattern. When I take a longer step, I lift off the ground and begin to float down the hall. It is my will that keeps me in the air. A cop tries to coax me down, but I refuse. She gets more upset and chases me down the hall. We wind up in a corridor. At the end is window. I decide to come down at the window….