(no subject)
I feel like I want to reiterate for the umpteenth time that my life is awesome. I’ll do a short run down. I have the majority of my necessities paid for, and have enough spending money to buy basically all the stuff I want. I spend my days sitting in coffee shops tap-tap-typing away on my laptop, like I’m doing right now. If I’m not doing that, I’m engaging in any multitude of leisurely activities, adventures, or learning skills that I think will better me. Or I’m working at a job where I get paid too much for doing too little with awesome community.
Is there such a thing as a mid-college-crisis? And if there is, does it apply to you if you haven’t yet lived away from home? There probably isn’t, and if there is, it probably doesn’t.
This has been freaking me the fuck out. Lately, I have been under some sort of ineffable duress about my photographic aspirations. Like when I sit down, look myself square in the brain and compare myself to a LOT of photographers who are not even that much older than me, I fail miserably in comparison in regards to aesthetic perfection, originality, creativity, and overall quality of work. Maybe I set the bar too high? I really don’t think that’s it because I have a good eye for quality of work and I know that the majority of my stuff just sucks ass.
I might just be barking up the wrong tree? For the majority of high school I wanted to be a photojournalist and had a lot of success with that. I still am having success with that when the chances arise. But then when I was a senior I decided the life for me would be that of a fashion photographer. I had access to the studio and Ms. K let me skip half my classes/come after school/take home the equipment/do whatever I want to work on independent projects. Those were extremely good times. Kathryn is always afraid we peaked in high school.
Here is the deal with becoming the photographer I want to be (i.e. Avedon, Selliger, LaChapelle, Parry, Schoeller and an assortment of others.) To do so up until the 60’s you needed mainly raw talent, a good eye, passion for the subject, and a little know how. Fast forward to today and you need all of those things x12 as well as a fuckload of industry connections, like $30,000 in gear and you have to live in Upper Eastside Manhattan where you attend hipster/trendsetter parties, living off your parents dime. What I wrote is a bit of a generalization, but with the human variable, what isn’t? I mean obviously a lot of people make it other ways, but trust me, the price is right.
I have been making some serious bank through photography too. Here is the offbeat catch, I make all the money from taking jobs that I don’t enjoy, like weddings, family portraits, pregnancy pics, and random other event gigs that I hate almost as much as I hate sway kids. I hate sway kids. Okay, so here is the thing, I have been getting offers for some gigs that are, in theory, exactly what I want to be doing; like doing This Time Next Year’s promo shots. But then when I get those jobs I STRESSSSSS out and the stressing leads to a lack of ideas. Actually anytime I am put on the spot, my lack of artistic ability shines through and I draw several hundred blanks in terms of any possible good ideas for photo sessions. Then I make stupid mistakes during the actual shoot like metering incorrectly and losing all synapse connections that deal with what makes people look good.
Here is what I would say is one of my other biggest pitfalls. I get embarrassed doing shoots that aren’t in private. This would most likely stem from my overwhelmingly negative tendencies to care oh so much about what strangers think of me. Hooray for media enforced masculinity.
Facebook has severely damaged my interest in posting pictures on LJ, considering most of the events I feel are photo worthy get covered by 6 other people and posted on there.
That’s another thing I have problems with. I find the majority of photography so boring now. Does that make me jaded? Basically ridiculous fashion photography or extremely classic portraiture are the only things that have been sparking my interest.
God what the fuck?
The only reason I decided to come to Starbucks tonight is because I figured there was a slight chance she might be here. I’m flaking on Open door, Z, and Liz&Amy over the slightest, off chance that she might walk in to get some coffee. That is fucking pathetic.
I’d really like to know where the border between hopelessly in love and creepy is because my over analytical, paranoid mind worries that people think I’m approaching it. Probably worse than that is that I occasionally think people care about this. I had a dream about this stuff last night that was pretty positive and when I woke up wanted to bang my head against the wall. HOW do I have it this bad? There is no logical reason. Iron Balls would call me a woman. I literally, literally, got weak in the knees last time. When she said “hello” I lost the strength in my legs and my knees started shaking and I tried desperately to play it cool. Prior to that debacle I wasn’t actually aware that that really happened.
Jake just walked in and came over to say “what’s up” to me in his black fedora, with feather, and overcoat. That kid looks like a fucking gunslinger, I swear.
If I get married, I think I want one of the first songs to be “Mother, We Just Can’t Get Enough” by the New Radicals. This song is out of control.
The biggest bummer of my day was when I was driving to get lunch with Jer, David and Nick and Konstantine started skipping. It was the only scratched song on the whole cd. That is the definition of a bummer attack.
In regards to senseless rantings of an over-privileged suburban man-child, this has been enough I suppose. It’s been therapeutic I think though. I’m pretty sure? I have no clue.
Is there such a thing as a mid-college-crisis? And if there is, does it apply to you if you haven’t yet lived away from home? There probably isn’t, and if there is, it probably doesn’t.
This has been freaking me the fuck out. Lately, I have been under some sort of ineffable duress about my photographic aspirations. Like when I sit down, look myself square in the brain and compare myself to a LOT of photographers who are not even that much older than me, I fail miserably in comparison in regards to aesthetic perfection, originality, creativity, and overall quality of work. Maybe I set the bar too high? I really don’t think that’s it because I have a good eye for quality of work and I know that the majority of my stuff just sucks ass.
I might just be barking up the wrong tree? For the majority of high school I wanted to be a photojournalist and had a lot of success with that. I still am having success with that when the chances arise. But then when I was a senior I decided the life for me would be that of a fashion photographer. I had access to the studio and Ms. K let me skip half my classes/come after school/take home the equipment/do whatever I want to work on independent projects. Those were extremely good times. Kathryn is always afraid we peaked in high school.
Here is the deal with becoming the photographer I want to be (i.e. Avedon, Selliger, LaChapelle, Parry, Schoeller and an assortment of others.) To do so up until the 60’s you needed mainly raw talent, a good eye, passion for the subject, and a little know how. Fast forward to today and you need all of those things x12 as well as a fuckload of industry connections, like $30,000 in gear and you have to live in Upper Eastside Manhattan where you attend hipster/trendsetter parties, living off your parents dime. What I wrote is a bit of a generalization, but with the human variable, what isn’t? I mean obviously a lot of people make it other ways, but trust me, the price is right.
I have been making some serious bank through photography too. Here is the offbeat catch, I make all the money from taking jobs that I don’t enjoy, like weddings, family portraits, pregnancy pics, and random other event gigs that I hate almost as much as I hate sway kids. I hate sway kids. Okay, so here is the thing, I have been getting offers for some gigs that are, in theory, exactly what I want to be doing; like doing This Time Next Year’s promo shots. But then when I get those jobs I STRESSSSSS out and the stressing leads to a lack of ideas. Actually anytime I am put on the spot, my lack of artistic ability shines through and I draw several hundred blanks in terms of any possible good ideas for photo sessions. Then I make stupid mistakes during the actual shoot like metering incorrectly and losing all synapse connections that deal with what makes people look good.
Here is what I would say is one of my other biggest pitfalls. I get embarrassed doing shoots that aren’t in private. This would most likely stem from my overwhelmingly negative tendencies to care oh so much about what strangers think of me. Hooray for media enforced masculinity.
Facebook has severely damaged my interest in posting pictures on LJ, considering most of the events I feel are photo worthy get covered by 6 other people and posted on there.
That’s another thing I have problems with. I find the majority of photography so boring now. Does that make me jaded? Basically ridiculous fashion photography or extremely classic portraiture are the only things that have been sparking my interest.
God what the fuck?
The only reason I decided to come to Starbucks tonight is because I figured there was a slight chance she might be here. I’m flaking on Open door, Z, and Liz&Amy over the slightest, off chance that she might walk in to get some coffee. That is fucking pathetic.
I’d really like to know where the border between hopelessly in love and creepy is because my over analytical, paranoid mind worries that people think I’m approaching it. Probably worse than that is that I occasionally think people care about this. I had a dream about this stuff last night that was pretty positive and when I woke up wanted to bang my head against the wall. HOW do I have it this bad? There is no logical reason. Iron Balls would call me a woman. I literally, literally, got weak in the knees last time. When she said “hello” I lost the strength in my legs and my knees started shaking and I tried desperately to play it cool. Prior to that debacle I wasn’t actually aware that that really happened.
Jake just walked in and came over to say “what’s up” to me in his black fedora, with feather, and overcoat. That kid looks like a fucking gunslinger, I swear.
If I get married, I think I want one of the first songs to be “Mother, We Just Can’t Get Enough” by the New Radicals. This song is out of control.
The biggest bummer of my day was when I was driving to get lunch with Jer, David and Nick and Konstantine started skipping. It was the only scratched song on the whole cd. That is the definition of a bummer attack.
In regards to senseless rantings of an over-privileged suburban man-child, this has been enough I suppose. It’s been therapeutic I think though. I’m pretty sure? I have no clue.