"What's up w'me? . . ." Anyone know the hymn the title is inspired by? Anyway, that's the title I'll use to reflect the awe and majesty I experience in the world day in and day out. Just today, while driving around I saw what looked to be the equivalent of a Back to the Future/Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome car. It had stickers covering it, a silver-painted finish and some jet engine thing mounted on the tailfin of what looked like its Ford Falcon outer shell.
My jaw dropped and I was kicking myself for not getting next day delivery on my new point and shoot, the Canon Powershot SD 850 IS. Soon, I'll keep it strapped to my body, frantically snapping away at all things I find interesting/important and/or capturing video on the 4gb card I snagged along with it.
The superstitious tendencies mentioned in my previous post worked to a degree in a couple more baseball games. All told--in the last three games--I've gone 6 for 13 at bat. It didn't cure my continually aching bicep muscle on my throwing arm which I now have after every game in the field or hurling on the mound. It's becoming more and more apparent why they call it the Puget Sound SENIOR Baseball League.
I also got hit-by-a-pitch on the top of my foot last game. Tried my hardest to make it look quite spectacular by pulling off some aerobatic flip and rolling on my head, all in one motion to keep the weight off of the sting I felt. At first, no sign of a bruise, but today, I've got Fred Flintstone club foot:
I also got stung by a wasp for the first time in my life a couple weeks back. I was on a shoot, walking around with the photographer scouting our shots. We approach this little greenhouse, and as I'm rounding the corner of tall-standing plants, I feel a very sharp concentrated pain in my wrist. Thought I had brushed up against some prickly vegetation, but within seconds, my wrist was white and there was the most perfect little hole with something pulsing in the middle of it.
In the past, when I've dislocated my fingers or toes, I grew light-headed. With the same weary feeling, I pulled the little, pulsing thingamajig out without thinking--very much like the times I've reset my fingers or toes when dislocated. The photographer, David Atkinson, of Colorblind Images was like "Oh, cheers. . . we should watch that and make sure you're not allergic."
"Drats," I thought. "Allergic: Never thought of that, never been stung. . . " I pictured myself dying on the most beautiful plot of land I've seen in quite awhile. Owned by Colin-Schroeder-of-Colorblind-Images' parents, Swans Trails Gardens is located in Snohomish, Washington. As I drove up before the shoot, there was this perfect little church at the top of a hill. With the smell of livestock manure all around me, it reminded me of the South and my buddy's farm in Kentucky.
Other news: Sold a load of old cd's today. In that recycling effort, picked up Marcus Schmickler and Hayden Chisholm's release entitled "Amazing Daze," which is quite good in a very niche, electro-acoustic way. Have to thank my old Professor Lawrence Fritts for developing my taste in contemporary electro-acoustic music. 'Bout it for now.