Two blogs or one for creative expression?
I had hoped that Communicating Arts, my DBA. would have its own more business-like face and that this blog would be more intimate.
But that would take discipline.
Nonetheless, I may give the other place some attention (and Katie is 480×599 pixels over there).
One thing I’m figuring out is people love to look at pictures!
But most, perhaps, don’t like reading much — and forget it for less-than-firebrand political expression (just my way of saying I’m not sure what to do with Backchannels or its precursor, the neglected mother of all my blogs, ol’ Oppenheim Arts & Letters).
I may have overdone it a bit with this self-publishing business, but I’ve had (and may be having) a great experience going for broke.
It’s time to settle down some.
By which I wish I could mean “Grab a Nikon and fire up the ‘Stang!” Or “Grab a guitar and find an open mic!” Or, “For Pete’s sake, nothin’s happenin’ — go for a walk, get in some groceries, do some home cookin’, and start getting some value back out of that expensive Netflix subscription!” Or “The bedroom has its own heater and Wistrich’s book on anti-Semitism is a long one . . . .” Oh, yeah — like that last one will get me away from shooting window blinds and treetops!
One thing about “Katie” up there and “model-photographer culture” not too far back there (I think have still a free account at modelmayhem.com): cyberlife seemed more simple back then.
Among the catalogs that get in here — either Orvis or the Barbour (which catalog long ago had a great influence on my photography) has got me on the Sundance and Gorsuch catalog lists (count among my favorite movies The Talented Mr. Ripley) — there’s one — 32 Bar Blues — devoted to clothing blues musicians (THAT’S got to be a niche!). It’s got me thinking that the thought that I couldn’t be anything that has propelled this monstrous branching (even though it might all turn out pretty good — stay tuned), and had I just one my one-track-mind thing (from 17 to 27 it was music: sadly, most of it down in the basement with the exception of some spectacular local moments, like that night I put on a wig and opened with an a capella “Frank Mills” — from Hair — at the Takoma Cafe, recently converted from the “head shop” ne “Maggie’s Farm” down there in that nuclear-free “Bekeley of the East” on the eastern edge of the District.
Could it have been all downhill from age 25?)
could have easily been avoided by walking out of a house at 17 and never, ever, never going back.
It would have been a different life.
In some ways, I’m glad I haven’t done 20 years at “Chuck’s” — maybe.
Strangely, that would have made for a more conventional life — I imagine movin’ air pushin’ inventory, getting a wench in trouble, raisin’ brats to raise the roof!
Instead: looking at 60 alone (today) with cancer.
Bum deal, man.
So I look at this 32 Bar Blues catalog with its $600 satchels and +$200 cool daddy beads and think, ain’t that the life?
I really should get somebody into the Mustang’s shotgun seat, ya think?
Winter might give us in Western Maryland a nasty “See you later” this week, but as I should have a long time ago, it’s clearing out fast.
And life’s short!