Naw. Robert might have fucked up when he was around my age, but I can't reasonably hold it against the man. After he left I suddenly did much better at school and it made me take on more responsibility. I've always been of the opinion that fostering independence is the most important thing you can do for children.

After all, years later when the man cuts me a check for 1k USD for a car and seemed genuinely interested in my progress, how can I be therapy carrion and spit it back in his face? No, I genuinely appreciate the help and respect him for being a man. Speaking of which, he wanted to know what I wanted for my birthday. So I need to call him today, wish him a happy Father's Day, promise to get a card late.

Lack of money leaves no room for histrionic bullshit; I've been poor all my life. Practicality is good, yes?

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I finally made my month long promise to myself and went out to Redondo Beach again to do some sunset and long exposure waterscape shots. I felt mildly foolish carrying a full tripod against my left arm, but by and large people didn't stop and comment; I got a few "Say, how was the sunset?!" remarks, but it makes people happy to have contact with artsy types; gives them something to talk about at the office/venue.

I got some architectural symmetry shots, some wind swept trees against the sunset and even this 'Phantom Tollbooth'esque shot of two lanterns framing a bench looking out to sea. I don't think I'm going to publish any of them, though. I keep looking at what I shoot and getting the feeling that my work is derivative. It's nice, sure; it's composed well, sure, but it doesn't seem to have the bite that most people are looking for.

This general lack of response has brought me to my extremist idea of the month: a "faces of death" series. I figure I can get close up shots of dead things just starring at you, in full rigor mortis, glassy eyes distending from a soul-less shell, taking up the whole photo. Ugly, very ugly. I think it'd be rather striking. I also have plans for a B&W or sepia shot of me holding a light-refracting butcher's knife with a wistful or apathetic expression. I'd call it "self-medication". I hate photographing myself, but I'm getting nowhere with subtle nature shots.

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Aside from photography, though, I'm probably going to go see the Rocky Horror Picture Show over in Long Beach (south of here) at the request of a young friend; he does tech. and wants to get me laid. I have no qualms with this arrangement. The method is simple: according to him--after 6 months--you become re-virginized to the spectacle that is RHPS (even if I have seen it 16 times). Their version of popping virgin cherries is to sell us off like slaves to the highest bidder. Of course, we get some say so in whom we feel comfy with. I have two interested bidders already, he says. He thinks I'll rake in 3 bucks. I say he's full of shit and I can make at least 5. I figure with some coffee, I can do the 12-3am thing.; 12am to 3am on monday morning if I hit it off with my prospective master.

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Speaking of coffee, I have four shots of espresso percolating through my system. Mom and I have this telepathic link for when we need caffeine or going to a restaurant. I can't decide between running around in circles, blasting through some of my stories or talking to people. I've done all three more or less at once before, so that's a fourth option.

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Right, so I'm off to do that dutiful son thing and make a polite request for money. Hope the weekend is kind to you.

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