Curiouser & Curiouser

Life’s short. Get curious.

I Don’t Know Why You Say Goodbye April 26, 2010

Grown up version of playing in the sandbox??

Day 100 of 365

Hello again, mes amis!!

Were you starting to think I’d abandoned you?

Never fear, I’m still here, still making it and things have actually been looking up. Steadily. So let’s keep our fingers crossed that I can maintain this forward motion sans stalling out any time in the foreseeable future. I’ve been working like a  maniac, both at the restaurant where I’m moving up slowly through the ranks taking on increasing responsibilities daily it seems, and on my 365 project (it appears some of you have been keeping an eye on my Flickr photostream to the right there – thanks for checking in!).

I can’t think of any other creative outlet that so perfectly encompasses the way I try to live my life. This project gives me all the excuse I need to be adventurous, creative and, yes, often ridiculous, every single day (that, and every bit of camera shyness I once had was obliterated sometime around Day 26. Bonus?).

I’ve just passed Day 100 of this project, and already, less than a third of the way through, I’ve become so much more familiar and comfortable with my camera, with my post production software and with the art itself. The first time I opened Lightroom on my computer, I had a minor meltdown. I’m a creative type with an aversion to technical guides or owner manuals of any type. But I realized my creativity would drown in a pool of cheap gear if I didn’t give it the boost it needed in post, so I broke down and read up a little and spent many hours playing with all of Lightroom’s tools.  So my confidence grows, my imagination gets a pretty tough workout, and I definitely put my problem solving skills to the test. How DOES one fake a home studio when you don’t own a single professional grade light? The answer, so far, includes everything from hording every lamp in the house in the bedroom, shooting in the bathtub (or closet), using bowls, mirrors and poster board as reflectors, and the occasional single bare bulb in a dark room.

Most importantly, though, I feel a deep satisfaction in what I do with a good deal of my free time. Not a minute of my life feels wasted, and there’s a massive body of work (100 images deep as of today!) to show for it. Should you be so curious: http://www.flickr.com/1201photography/sets/72157623087853539/

Hope you’re all finding your own ways to explore your world. Here’s to all of us staying afloat and staying curious!

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Apology September 9, 2009

Dear Guy at Table 26,

I wanted to take this opportunity to express my deepest regrets for your family’s experience at my restaurant the other night (in case the five times I apologized to you that evening were not enough). But first, please make yourself comfortable – this could take a while.

I’m sorry, for starters, that on the Sunday before Labor Day (which might as well be a Saturday), I was one of only two servers scheduled.

I’m sorry that you happened to arrive along with four other families and a couple of two-tops, so that when the server assigned to you failed to notice you and was too overwhelmed to take your table, I stepped in to make sure you didn’t wait any longer.

I’m sorry that at that point I had 5 other tables, one with a special needs child who had tipped over a full bowl of soup that nearly ended up in his mother’s lap (consequently, she was thanking me profusely just before you told me what a horrible job I was doing).

I’m sorry that under pressure, I failed to enter two of your sushi rolls. I’m also sorry that when I tried to correct the error, the sushi chefs (who are still working on their English) could not understand my request.

I’m sorry that you brought three small children to a sushi restaurant, and that your two young girls were squirmy. And that your son was screaming and had to be taken outside at one point. And that you and your wife do not appear to be on the best of terms. (Or even in love anymore).

I’m sorry that you decided to cancel the rolls as they were being made. They looked good. Reee-aly good.

And I’m sorry that you had to tell your server how to do her job. “Maybe if you just slowed down and listened, things like this wouldn’t happen.” You’re probably right – or I’d have five other tables also upset with me for not moving fast enough. But whatever. At least YOU would have been happy, and that’s what we’re really concerned about here.

Most of all, sir, I am sorry that you probably treat other people this way. Some of us have learned to roll with the punches, and even so it stings a little. Other people are not so lucky.

I can only hope that you now feel like a bigger man (because no one else who’s heard this story so far seems to see it that way), having put your waitress in her place.

My sincerest regrets,

~a

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