Devauld.ca

Besides the Flames losing in the first round of the playoffs, I've been having a tonne of problems with my car. It has had a shimmy in it since the last time I drove back from Edmonchuck, and I finally decided to take it in to get fixed.

It turns out the whole back end is falling apart, which can be expected as my blue baby is about to put on her four hundred thousandth kilometer. The cost of the repairs made me once again consider dumping the beast before it completely cranked out on me and getting myself a Toyota Tacoma. Since I'm not yet ready to drop thirty large on a new vehicle (I'd buy used but they're the same price), I decided to just fix my car, but start putting away funds and the next big repair would take her to the wrecker.

Anyway, there was a bunch of stuff that needed to be ordered in, and my vehicle spent the night in the shop. The next day Ray called me up to tell me that the wrong parts were delivered, and that he'd have to put in another order. Therefore, another night in the shop was required.

In the mean time, I've been getting around using public transit and for the most part it's alright. The mornings are a zoo, and you see all sorts of interesting people taking the buses and the trains. Strung out drug addicts, Emo kids, Gentlemen in suits, school kids, people yattering into their cell phones and people that haven't quite started climbing the evolutionary ladder make for some enjoying people watching. The way home is the best, because I try to catch the number three out of downtown, because it literally stops infront of my house. I get on, where most people get on the three leaving downtown get on, right infront of the Recency Palace. It doesn't matter when I go, inevitably fourty or so asian people all need to get on at the same time. They might as well call the #3 the Orient Express, and every time it loads, as soon as they get on the bus they stop moving, and the driver has to shout at them to move further into the bus.

I thought that my adventures within Calgary's public transportation were at an end on Friday when I jumped on the C-Train to go and pick up my car. That was, until I found out that Ray closes up his shop early on Fridays. Now, my blue beast of a Buick is going to spend the weekend inside of the shop, and I'm going to struggle to get about all weekend.

The part that pissed me off the most, was that Friday was the next get together of the high speed peeps, and we were going to experiment with liquids. I know that my absence didn't stop the photographic quest, but I had a knot in my stomache that felt like concrete when I called and said I wasn't going to be attending. It would appear that it was a good time, Mike has some nice photos up already, and I'm sure Mika and Jeff will have theirs up soon.

The icing on the cake, is all the running around I did, and still have left to do today. So far, I've cancelled three engagements I previously commited to attend, and have spent a grand total of four and one half hours either riding or waiting for public transit. It's not over either, because I now have to get to the other side of town for a lobster bake, which even in my transportationally handicap state, I will not miss.

PhotoFriday showed up at my place this morning, and as I brought up this week's challenge, I slammed into a huge hole in my photographic library.

'Adolescence' was what I need to fill the bill. I don't really like being one of those people who don't own a dictionary or something, and post pictures completely unrelated to the contest. It makes no sense.

Hense, I found that I don't have a single picture of anyone aged 13 through 20. It's not going to be an easy hole to fill, because I don't know that many people that age. Candids in public are probably the only way to go.

I attended the monthly meeting of the CPS tonight, and it was a mixed bag of happenings. First, the guest speaker we had was excellent. The kind of success story amature and professional photographers need to hear. He makes quite a decent living doing what he likes, and admits that he's only a 'good' photographer.

He offered up some great advice to those aspiring to make money on their pictures. Your picture, in order for someone to want it has to be: first, best or different. It's a theme that one notices often, when comparing photographs along the same 'theme'. The first one you see, that uses a particular interpretation of the theme, or a particular technique, will be remembered. You will also remember the absolutely excellent shots, and those that were a little bit different. It's something I'm going to try and keep in mind when I'm shooting in the future.

The speaker also brought to my mind another aspect of photography that I never envisioned using. Apparently the bulk of his income comes from a stock photography agency. He must have an amazing amount of pictures available, each of which sells for around $200-$400 dollars. He mentioned an individual that was in one of his classes who now clears $4000 a month, and all he's ever submitted is wildlife pictures, mainly of birds.

I'll take pictures of birds for $4000 a month.

The second half of the meeting degraded into the usual bickering and nitpicking that these meetings usually degrade into when we are judging each others prints. I took out my Thrasher/Combine picture which scored a measly 6.3. The score in itself is not the root of my problem (well, ok, it is), it's that my Barn Panoramic pictures scored a 7.6 and I don't think it's as good. The plus side is that we now have a consistant set of judges, so even though the scores will probably always be lower, at least we'll be able to look forward to some consistancy from month to month.

I spent the evening puttering around in my shop. I mainly worked on the project pictured here, but I did spend a little time making a push stick for my table saw, a bit working out what I'd need to set up my borrowed mitre saw on my workbench so I could work with long wood, and attempting to join two peices of scrap wood at a 45 degree angle.

It wasn't long and I was brought back to a time when I didn't have a space like this to work in. Back when I lived in the Heritage House, I often found myself wanting nothing more than to cut a board to length, and I had nowhere to do it.

Quite a shock for a kid who had a fully decked out shop as a child.

That all changed when I purchased the Bermuda home. I'll be the first to admit that this place was downright ugly when I purchased it. The baby blue cupboards, the yellow (think 20 years of open deep frier & smoking) ceilings, the techno bathrooms with false ceilings and a previous do-it-yourselfer that can-not-do-it allowed me to secure the deal that I did. The selling point for me, without a doubt, was the oversized, detached garage.

Childhood memories of firing the Hiltis into the foundation of the shop in Houston flooded over me as I wandered about the expanse of space that I could use to mold the physical world to my will. I think it was a couple of months that I lived here before I even thought of parking my car in the garage, instead of using it as a space for getting things done.

Well I managed to indulge in some good old fashioned physical labour, and loved it.

First I got my hands on a F350. It's primal when you sit above the road in an idling turbo diesel fortress. Nothing quite sounds like a torquing diesel engine, and being so high up the road makes you feel like a leader surveying his kingdom. It was a Ford, but beggars can not be choosers.

I drove out to Wall Street and finally got the first bit of production out of a deal I've been working. Old Wilbert is fine with me tearing down a couple old granaries, sheds and shelters out at one of his places.

Herman and I spent the afternoon ripping apart an old Coal Shed, carefully removing the nails and stacking it in the back of the Ford. It felt really good to just use brute force and ignorance to push over roofs and pull things apart. Although this morning, I do feel muscles that I have not used in a very long time.

As we worked, Herman and I gabbed about living in Houston and the who and the what from that little spot on Earth. I became rather reflective and started to wonder about some of the people. I have done a terrible job of keeping in tour. Whatever happened to the fun Timm's cousins, roudy Poznikoff and crazy Ian? Where is nimble Jessica, talented Laura and sleepy Greg? What are fisherman Jamie, stubborn Vance, megolomanic Craig and smart Ben up to these days? How are sexy Genevra, fit Leanna and partying Lindsay? It's been so long since I thought of the people at the mill, the tailgate partiers, the offroad fanatics, the drama makers and the watchers that names tumbled through my head as we gabbed, hammered, pulled and pried.

The day was long, and I finished it stacking lumber by the light of a cargo lamp, but when I went home and had a hot shower, there was nothing easier than getting to sleep.