Fuck you, Dennis Brack. Fuck you and your photos of the President. Fuck you and your covers of Time magazine. Fuck you and your van full of equipment. Fuck you and your two assistants. Fuck you and your three day shooting schedule. Fuck you and your three week developing time. Fuck you and your twelve thousand dollar price tag ( Read more... )

Cursed insomnia. I am a little manic, doubtless due to some combination of rebound effect from my state over the course of the last couple days, the rather peculiar high that follows sexual activity for me, and the message that A. left on my voicemail this evening. Apparently, the poor deluded fools liked my pictures. They just need A.'s help ( Read more... )

I don't know how to react to the fact that, when I worry about not being a competant photographer, everyone tells me how pretty I am.

I guess like those early contestants on American Idol who couldn't really sing but Simon still deemed fuckable.

Now that I have sent the shitty photos off, A. revealed that the photographer I beat out for the contract was this fellow. He did not tell me before now because he knew I would be weirded out by the competition. He was right. Apparently, the guy is very pissed off with A. for costing him the contract.

Boy, do I feel... embarrassed.

Well, I am committed. The CDs shipped off this morning. I wish I could have spent several days fiddling with them in Photoshop, but people (read: A.) were getting antsy. There is some real crap, but a couple nice ones. Maybe they will have the good sense to pick and choose ( Read more... )

Things are progressing well. It looks like I should actually finish tonight. I have only three artifacts remaining - a silenced pistol, the same accursed sword from my test series, and that bloody shillelagh. Unfortunately, the last of that set promises to be the most torturous; there are eleven photographs of it and none are particularly great ( Read more... )

Well, I emailed in sick to work and the much-anticipated photoshoot was completed quite early, somewhere around three. I would argue that things went well, despite the fact that government buildings do not allow air conditioning before May and a thermostat in the first of the two rooms in which I worked read 80 degrees Farenheit before I ( Read more... )

Is the universe truly so unjust that I managed to catch another cold from spending the weekend milling around my apartment naked? I am skeptical that my immune system would fail me so completely ( Read more... )

I somehow owed the federal government nearly three hundred dollars in taxes. I could not even deduct my car donation because it would have needed to be a fucking ferrari to actually push me over the standard deduction. I like that I made roughly a thousand dollars in miscellaneous charitable donations and I am treated no differently than if I had ( Read more... )

This "publishing house" for which I am freelancing has no pre-canned contracts, so A. is just making one up (theoretically working from the sample provided by photographers whose contracts they rejected).

God save me.