She emailed me and said something so simple. When are you going to start selling your work? I read it and laughed. I have no idea how to even approach such a thing. Plus, who'd want to buy, as in pay money for, my pictures? Silly right?
Then I told Martin what she said and chuckled as I did at the ridiculousness of the idea, waiting for him to laugh back. Except he didn't.
Now I'm reading stuff online and asking questions and putting together a group of pictures for friends to critique, all the while hiding under the couch waiting for them to laugh and tell me I'm silly. Your pictures are nice, but they aren't professional. You need to know everything in this here big stack of books if you want to be good enough to sell your pictures. Then I'll crawl out and laugh and say I know, I was just checking.
What do I know? Nothing. Well, I know I don't even dare breathe the words and I feel bare naked in front of the whole world when I don't like being in public in a bathing suit. And I can't even remember the password for my paypal account if it still exists and I'm not good at remembering to mail stuff and I have cows so I can't possibly have time for this. I know that.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
The stuff you remember
I went to school with both of them. She was the cousin of an elementary school friend. He was just a kid from Hebron that lived close enough he walked to school. I met them in grade 7 when our elementary schools combined in junior high.
She was awkward and religious and didn't celebrate birthdays or Christmas or anything else. I understand more now, but at the time, that's all I knew. She played the flute in band. I forget what year it happened but she was in a bike accident and knocked out all her front teeth and had to get an insert of fake teeth. She wasn't pretty, her long brown hair was drab and often greasy. She dressed like an old lady in clothes that looked like they were going to be thrown away. The difference between her and most was she didn't seem to care. She was the opposite of cool.
He was the definition of cool. With good looks and nice clothes, he was popular. He pretended to be a bad ass but it was clear to see he was a softy at heart. He hung out with the cool boys, all of which I think I had a crush on at one time or another. The popular girls hung at his side and held his attention, but I don't recall him with a girl friend. With a word, be it a compliment or insult, he could sway the school population and change your position in the social ranks. He was funny. We shared a home room in highschool and sat next to each other in typing class. He called me Mistybush Rouge Cheveux, of course curious if I was a true redhead. In his group of friends he was apparently the last to get laid and the most curious about it. On his own, without peer pressure, he was a really nice guy.
In the six years they shared a school and likely classrooms, they must have known the other existed. Our school was small. But I don't think I ever saw them speak to each other, or even acknowledge the other. They were after all, pretty much complete opposites. Their circles did not over lap.
A few years after graduation I heard that they married and lived in the same neighbourhood he was born.
And that he killed himself.
Our graduating class has never had a reunion. If we did, I wonder if she'd come. I wonder if people, who never cared about her one way or another back in school, would suddenly see her. I wonder how loud the whispers would be.
Highschool is a strange place. I'm left wondering about a lot of things that happened back then. How the paths of people cross, intertwine and veer away again. I've always wondered about theirs. How their paths came to cross. How it started, how it ended. If anyone else wonders too.
She was awkward and religious and didn't celebrate birthdays or Christmas or anything else. I understand more now, but at the time, that's all I knew. She played the flute in band. I forget what year it happened but she was in a bike accident and knocked out all her front teeth and had to get an insert of fake teeth. She wasn't pretty, her long brown hair was drab and often greasy. She dressed like an old lady in clothes that looked like they were going to be thrown away. The difference between her and most was she didn't seem to care. She was the opposite of cool.
He was the definition of cool. With good looks and nice clothes, he was popular. He pretended to be a bad ass but it was clear to see he was a softy at heart. He hung out with the cool boys, all of which I think I had a crush on at one time or another. The popular girls hung at his side and held his attention, but I don't recall him with a girl friend. With a word, be it a compliment or insult, he could sway the school population and change your position in the social ranks. He was funny. We shared a home room in highschool and sat next to each other in typing class. He called me Mistybush Rouge Cheveux, of course curious if I was a true redhead. In his group of friends he was apparently the last to get laid and the most curious about it. On his own, without peer pressure, he was a really nice guy.
In the six years they shared a school and likely classrooms, they must have known the other existed. Our school was small. But I don't think I ever saw them speak to each other, or even acknowledge the other. They were after all, pretty much complete opposites. Their circles did not over lap.
A few years after graduation I heard that they married and lived in the same neighbourhood he was born.
And that he killed himself.
Our graduating class has never had a reunion. If we did, I wonder if she'd come. I wonder if people, who never cared about her one way or another back in school, would suddenly see her. I wonder how loud the whispers would be.
Highschool is a strange place. I'm left wondering about a lot of things that happened back then. How the paths of people cross, intertwine and veer away again. I've always wondered about theirs. How their paths came to cross. How it started, how it ended. If anyone else wonders too.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Domesticated
I love dogs. If you know anything about me at all, you know that. But when it comes to dogs vs. cats, I have to say that dogs drool and cats rule.
I read recently that cats are the only animal to domesticate themselves. They chose to live with us. Which makes me believe that really, they domesticated us. They are so cunning that they decided to train humans to keep them, house them and feed them. The best part is they did so while having us believe it was our own idea. That was a key part of the plan.
They likely saw us a an attraction for rats. Where there are humans there is food to catch. Then they saw the food on our plates and our warm soft beds and decided they needed to get in on this deal. I don't know how they communicated this plan to all cats across the globe (another reason they are the superior species) but they did and now we're spending large percentages of our income on feeding them, tending to their comfort and their bathroom needs. The amount of forethought this required is astounding.
I read recently that cats are the only animal to domesticate themselves. They chose to live with us. Which makes me believe that really, they domesticated us. They are so cunning that they decided to train humans to keep them, house them and feed them. The best part is they did so while having us believe it was our own idea. That was a key part of the plan.
They likely saw us a an attraction for rats. Where there are humans there is food to catch. Then they saw the food on our plates and our warm soft beds and decided they needed to get in on this deal. I don't know how they communicated this plan to all cats across the globe (another reason they are the superior species) but they did and now we're spending large percentages of our income on feeding them, tending to their comfort and their bathroom needs. The amount of forethought this required is astounding.
Perhaps the real reason they domesticated us was because they saw what we did to soft pelted animals and thought it would be best to train humans not to hunt them. It's probably a good thing they did, because Hobbes has the softest pelt I've ever touched.
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