My Fatty Photographs

My trip through the small town south yielded enough images that I got one on the cover.  It's not National Geographic, but it's still something of a milestone knowing that the first thing people will see on newsstands is your work in nice glossy print.  This is a first step, a confidence booster that says "hey, that wasn't so bad, let's do more."  It's also nice knowing that some of the little shops I took the pictures in sell this magazine, so they'll get to talk about their features and show off to their customers.

This week I'll be heading back out to Lafayette for a couple of nights.  There's a party I'm photographing and then I'll be out looking for trouble and/or non-trouble related interesting things to take pictures of.  Charlotte last weekend, Lafayette this weekend, Ohio next weekend.  Look for more photo-awesomeness soon.

I've never missed a kick

In general, people who watch football games on TV are all pretty good at telling the players and coaches what they're doing wrong.  If the stupid running back would've just cut left...  If the kicker would've made that simple 43 yard field goal from the left hash into the wind in the snowstorm...  Yes, we all know what to do, and if we just had a shot on the field, we could show'em how to do things right.

As it turns out, this stuff isn't that easy.  That might explain why there are so few players and so many spectators.  Last week we got a chance to walk the field, make some passes, catch some balls, and kick some field goals.  With no technique or practice, and a couple glasses of wine in them, the success rate for most people from 10-15 yards out was pretty low.  The ball would end up a few feet off the ground, to one side or the other, or shanking off into the pass throwing activity's area.

Personally, I never missed a kick.  Some people might bring up the fact that I didn't attempt a kick and regurgitate that motivational "you miss 100% of the shots you don't take" stuff.  My stance is that given my near complete lack of athletic ability, my miss rate would be about 100% anyway, so why bother?  At least now I get to say that I never missed and then quickly change the subject.

I did have fun watching other people attempt some kicks.

And another attempt.  Note where the ball ends up in the last picture.  

I didn't switch in a picture from another series, I swear.  

Business advice from Big Head

The agenda for Tuesday

I've been away from the corporate world for two months now.  As I sit and think, it doesn't seem like I've done much or made much forward progress.  But then I look at the easel with my giant notepad full of stuff to do.  Pages full of lists, most of them with items crossed out as completed.  In a couple of months I've become a legitimate business with local, state, and federal tax IDs.  I have a bank account, an accountant, and a registered trade name.  I have all sorts of insurance and can take credit card payments.  There are Photo Steevo ads running in print and online.  I've gone from working with one other photographer to three.  I've sold big prints, signed wedding contracts, and have a cover shot on an upcoming magazine.  I'm going to Toastmasters meetings and getting involved with the New Orleans Photo Alliance.  In the next two months, business will take me to North Carolina, Ohio, and Florida.

There's a little corner store two houses down from me run by a Vietnamese guy who calls himself Big Head.  It's a simple, cash only business, but it's his.  When we got to talking about me starting my business, he gave me one piece of advice - be patient.  Things will not always go as quickly or in the direction that you expect, but keep at it.

When meeting with my accountant to talk about how messy my taxes are going to be, she responded to my self loathing about this year's drop in income with "be patient, you're a startup."

Every day I wake up and look at how far I am from where I want to be.  Every day I have to remind myself to be patient.  The list above doesn't show any individual giant leaps forward, but taken together, the items show a gradual increase in forward momentum.

This is me being patient.

And this is me going to buy an energy drink from Big Head.  There's so much that I want to do...

It's Raining Men - Southern Decadence

Labor Day weekend brought three days of rain.  Non. Stop. Rain.  Not that something like a tropical storm or a hurricane could put a damper on the Southern Decadence celebrations.  In 2008 when Hurricane Gustav was approaching the city, the only party still going on was Southern Decadence.  While deciding whether or not to brave the rain this year I checked the festival's website and its statement "It's raining men" was too funny for me to not go to the parade.  Here's some of what I saw. 

It's 130 days after Mardi Gras, let's celebrate with a parade!

I love talking to friends and family in Ohio about all the stuff that goes on down here in New Orleans.  Last weekend was Midsummer Mardi Gras.  They ask what Midsummer Mardi Gras is and I tell them that it's the "six months after Mardi Gras" parade starting on Oak Street.  I never really thought about it like that before, but you gotta respect the city that marks time between festivals and holidays by having more festivals.

Guys - Put on something fabulous and grab your boyfriends because Southern Decadence Festival is next.

-10 points for our lack of costume planning.  +10 points to the photo bomber in the background.

Stinking like pork fat and loving it.

Yesterday I ventured west of New Orleans, through Baton Rouge, and into the outskirts of Lafayette, Louisiana.  The mission - stop by five different meat shops, slaughterhouses, and delis to photograph a staple of southern health food, the cracklin.  Admittedly, cracklins aren't the most photogenic of foods, being that they're essentially fried chunks of pig skin.  As much as I love taking pictures and working through issues such as unflattering subjects, the road trip itself was even more fun.

I hate driving.  There's no point in softening that statement.  My wife will tell you that I have trouble sitting still and fidget constantly, so being forced to sit in a chair with at least one arm and one leg dedicated to controlling a vehicle is akin to torture.  I try to lessen the pain by eating junk food and listening to lectures on tape (though most people would probably say that hearing recordings about diachronic linguistics would make the drive immeasurably worse).  Regardless of my distaste for piloting the car, a bag of beef jerky and two wrong turns later (thanks again Google Maps), I made it to the first stop.

The best part about these road trips?  Being able to walk into a small, family owned shop, start chatting, and within 30 seconds be on my way to the back of the house to watch them do what they do.  They're usually excited about any sort of exposure which certainly helps, but something tells me I couldn't do that if it were a corporately owned business I was walking into.  These people cared.  I got a slew of stories from the owner of the slaughterhouse. The others were glad to say why their products were special, while throwing the occasional jab at the competition.  Keeping in mind that I was shooting pictures in fully operation shops during lunch hour, everybody was incredibly nice and accommodating.

I got to see things cooked and cooled and packaged.  I swapped stories with people whose accents we perfect examples of south Louisiana cajun.  I got greasy pork fat splattered on my feet and clothes while seeing chunks of meat sizzle in giant pots.  Everybody gave me little paper bags with samples to take home.  Even before the two hour return trip, all of the bags were soaked through with grease and cajun spices.  The car smelled like a meat shop the whole way back, but is was definitely a great day on the road.

Dudes (and ladies) in dresses: Red Dress Run 2011

I had a great time at the Red Dress Run this year, despite some communications issues that led to there not being much of an actual run.  As usual, the crowds took liberal interpretations of what constitutes a "red dress" to make for some hilarious, beautiful, and downright disgusting sights.  I would've stayed in the quarter later into the evening, but I think the folks at the black tie gala that I photographed right afterward are glad I showered first.

Meet Romeo.  Partier, lady killer, ...bird. 

Mrs. Mad Hatter

There's a fine line between what dancing and stripping looks like.

Your earrings really bring out the color in your mustache.  

This off the shoulder piece allowed the meat cleaver tattoos to shine.

Lesson for festival goers:  Liquor results in less urine than beer.

Holding the swings while the kids waited in the beer line.

Why there are currently no red dresses in any stores within 30 miles of the city.  

The Red Dress... hula hoop?

"Dude, I'm serious.  Put on a dress and meet me in the French Quarter."

It's good to see our nation's first people represented.  

...sorry, man, that's not your shade of lipstick.  

Yes, I know what's down there, please don't raise the kilt. 

Just a typical Saturday in New Orleans.