Day 28

Tuesday | March 27th, 2012


Mondays have always been an existentialist’s slow drip down the spiral of work day contemplations. They’re like a catchy tune (The Bangels) or a cough that keeps coming around for more yummy red syrup. You never want to quit a MondayÔthey ain’t bad, just where they don’t necessarily need to be. You know, like right after Sunday.

Time is clustered and gooped; glue and oil at once. Time is off forming its own nations, stagnations, permutations, and alternations. Perhaps this is why a toy from a bag of Cheetos™ crunched down more than three years ago sits on my desk.

I don’t recall being as fascinated with tops in the last 30 years. Or maybe that’s just it: when was the last time things filled with so much hour sands to stall the time machine long enough to notice a top?

Work is now 25% complete before vacation. I’m not in a bear trap, but I’m ready to gnaw a limb anyway. Living shouldn’t be this easy. Certainly, a cluster of damned children are around just around a near corner looking for adults to commandeer.

Photography shouldn’t be this easy either. Last time I went around shooting every day, each shot had to be imported on a slow cable to a slow computer to be opened slowly in Photoshop. Then spent 10-15 minutes processing the RAW files into .psd, then tweaking the curves for contrast and depth, then resizing to the quaint format of the times, then saving to a folder, then opening a FTP program, then transferring the images to a server. And at last, many hours later, the coup de maĆ®tre: writing a post and manually linking the photograph(s). This is how and Trace were done for their time slots.

On my merry way to work, snapping and wondering, I happened on a glimpse and paused to shoot it. Once in my office it was determined that this shot had the stuff and was sent to I are Dream with none of the jiggery nonsense mentioned above. I shot, reviewed, and posted to the site from my phone.

Is it any wonder that I don’t really know what to do with myself?

Daily Report

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