weirdness

I was watching this DVD about portrait photography.
The third part was about a studio doing a shoot on an expecting couple.

Like, she was probably 5 month pregnant, and her husband was in the shots, and it was warm and romantic, and they did the shots where he puts his head on her stomach to "listen to the baby," when I realized this particular segment was hurting me, and I shut it off , really suddenly.

I didn't even think about it. It's like when you touch an object that is so hot it hurts, and you jerk your hand away. It's not about my girlfriend who was pregnant, though I'm sure the gut feeling and relation comes from it.

It's a weird feeling, and I can't explain where it came from. Some things are just hard wired into us, and when we're reminded of what we want, we're surprised. This is making little to no sense, and I wonder if it would happen if I tried to watch it again. Sighhssss

just bitching

I can't stomach this feeling again and again and again.

I should clarify that this is all my fault. I'm the dumb guy that gets excited, gets ahead of himself and the situation, and opens himself up to being burned. I seem to always need to have someone to get over, and it's completely stupid. Another face with memories to sting me.

I'm 27 and I'm no better than a teenager, it seems.

It seems also that the need for companionship trumps everything else, it's what I want more than anything else, and once it seems to be a possibility again, I let my defenses go, forgetting that all good things, whether short or long, end.

Bek says I'm the last good guy on the planet, and I shouldn't foget that.

I said, Thanks Bek.

"No, really," she said.

I said that may be true, but it doesn't matter under circumstance.

I can't help but care, and feel deeply what I feel for others, for the women I like. It's my only real weakness, but nothing, I mean nothing knocks me off balance like a relationship, or the warm possibility of one.

I may take this down as quickly as I type it. I really just wanted to vent.

bear share

It's a little after 1 a.m. and I'm now caught up on assignments from the Community papers at the 'Journal.

Until tomorrow.

I've missed blogging, just like I miss exercise. In the meantime I've written more stories, done a dozen community paper assignments,  did an extra photo shoot, and made personal and professional progress. I think I'm finally going to get my w2's back, and finally going to get my f*cking computer working.

tt! is rocking, I can't wait to play live. The title doesn't refer directly to the tt! song "Bear Share", but to the concept of being stacked with more than one person's share of tasks to complete (as bears often do).

I went for a walk last night around my neighborhood that ended up being double the length of time (and distance) because I can't navigate, especially at night, and ended up several blocks out of the way.

So I was able to think A LOT about what I need to do in the next two months. They're pivotal, because I need to graduate, while also figuring our how to survive on a server and a photographer's wages without student loans. I have to pass a spanish exam and create a compelling product from an independent study.

I'm figuring out ways to get things done that need to be done, with less energy and less time.

I'm learning more, quicker than I ever have before.

I have a lot of catching up to do, but I'm ready to work for the long haul, to get what I want out of life.

I also realized that I have no urge to get what another person has. I don't envy anyone, for anything they have. My cameras aren't brand new, but they serve me well. My drums are beat up, but only my drums can sound like me. My jeep's door doesn't open from the inside, but I know it will start for me. My home at Tunde's can be cluttered, but it's always warm (not necessarily temperature-wise though.)

My band members can bug me ( and I, them) but I love them.

I Don't want riches, or a trophy supermodel, or a fast car.... I want what I want, and that's to be happy.

Joel said that an indie-label signed artists should make 40- 50 thousand annually. Sounds great to me. That would feed the mind, body and spirit, and that's all I need. 

Now, just to get there.

preview for Jess...

They turned out pretty good, right?

A CD is coming.

Busy week hang over

Last week was a lot like Sunday at work.

It was busy. I was almost to my limit, four tables steady, and we were short handed and the shift leaders couldn't help too much. But I was keeping up with the work load, and then somebody asked if I could take a table. I really couldn't. But I did a math equation than led to me to saying yes.

Does any one know how bad I am at math?

I did this twice- gave myself a fifth table that led to being double-sat which led to A.D. taking the table from me, which led to a lot of...well I was upset with myself.

I was cut, I could have left, and then soneone asked if I wanted an eight person table (when I already had 4 tables,) and for some damn reason, I said yes. I put myself back on the board, and proceeded to loose another table to being far behind.

I may have to bend my rule that if someone asks me to work or take another table, I'll take it.

It was the closest I ever was to breaking down at work, and I'm fairly mentally tough.
I met my match and I didn't like it, there was physically too much work to do, and no one could help. Or I didn't ask hard enough.

I had already ran myself down, and was sick by wednesday night. I was literally stacked, and had to go grocery shopping at midnight after work because I was out of bread and eggs, (and I owed Tunde a six pack of woodchuck hard cider.) I skipped karate again on sunday because I still had work to do on the paper, the Michigan times.

Being stacked also led to me slacking a little at my internship and causing more work for someone who didn't really need or deserve it.

I really felt hung over monday morning, which is where it all ended, with shipping the paper out, and it looks grreeaat.

A lot of people are busy, but they're paid busy, Let's clarify this. 60% of why I'm busy is paid in experience, news clippings, and grades. That's as close to bitching as I want to get, ever.

The week's over, thank god. We won't even get into all the problems at the paper.

Hung out with Rebekah, played xbox- hitman 2. I'm dying to choke somone off with fiberwire in that game but it just hasn't happened.


So what's the f'ing point? I guess know your limit, and take care of yourself, if you don't you certainly can't help anyone else.

Freezing to death=Funny?

He's been referred to as the "Bumcicle," because his legs were sticking out of the ice like "Popsicle sticks" when the Detroit News found him.

A most likely homeless man had frozen to death in an abandoned warehouse. The body was encased in 2-3 feet to ice. The people that found it didn't call the police. The person who tipped off the reporter for the Detroit News called the reporter first.

A copy editor from the Detroit News spoke to my copy editing class yesterday about the ethics of running a graphic picture of the scene. But humor, really shouldn't enter into that story. I understand "gallows humor," a joke during a decidedly sad time, but cracking jokes to my class about it...it's... unprofessional? Cold?

We can't empathize with everything that goes on around us. We can't stop and give money to every cause that asks for it. We can't react with utter horror and sadness each time a new round of death errupts somewhere far away. We as people can't take an emotional connection to everything. We experience overload, or in the cases with a lot of professionals, becoming jaded.

But there has to be respect.

This man died alone, in the dark, on the floor of an abandoned Detroit warehouse, and people call him the "Bumcicle." They laugh about it. There are more horrible ways to die, but this person's history and life story ended atop cardboard in the dark, with probably no one around.

I woke up this morning and the furnace had quit working. It was 55 degrees inside, and it felt like 30. Freezing to death seems like a horrible way to die.


http://www.detnews.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090129/METRO08/901290400

This is the link to the story- hope it works.

...and then I thought, "I wish I had ice skates on."

I was to photograph people skating at a small out door ice rink in Grand Blanc. I arrived at dusk, and the light was low, and the shots were poor- although my strobe was working, and the subjects ( bunch of kids playing hockey) were willing. as Bruce Edwards would agree, I killed the photo's, not the strobe on my camera, or the fast lens and camera body I use.

So I returned the next day to the small but perfectly flat rink, which is no more than a section of field near a pavillion to try and re-shoot. No one was there, so the shoot was a bust, and I would have to run one of my less-than-perfect shots from the night before.

And then I thought, looking over the empty rink, "I wish I had ice skates on." It was perfect, sunny, and a generally nice winter day. Sometimes an open place to me is like a blank sheet of paper, a pile of copper wire, or a box of clay- I have to do something with it.

The same urge compells front flips in any open space I'm in. It's usually outside.

My mind is telling me to have more...kid fun. Not adult, go to the bar or a concert, but the kind of fun that leaves you soaked and tired and happy. It's time to go sledding, or ice skating.

I think I'll drag my sister out with me.

A cute assignment

This shoot was fun. I had to photograph a vietnemese baby named Lydia, adobted by a family from Flushing.
It was funny because whenever I crouched to line up a shot, she would plow into me for a hug.

I mean c'mon. It was adorable.
Kids tend to like me, and I have no idea why.

It also gave me an idea for family portraits. They don't have to be cheesy, posed and canned. This was shot journalist-style, and her mother Becky helped me make sure she'd be making cute expressions.

I especially like the one on the left with Lydia being held as she looks into the camera. Something is really beautiful about it.

The one in the middle was published last week in the Flushing News.

D.C.

My D.C. trip proved that history is difficult to see from the middle of it.

Whether critical, supported, excited, or disappointed by Obama's election, suffice to say history was made. Lisa told me not since LBJ has there been so many to flock to an inauguration.

To get a run down of the day, go to my twitter account, www.twitter.com/timdjagielo

My phone died right at the Washington Monument, and it was really too cold to take the gloves off and thumb-type.

The day is easy to describe. We arrived in the D.C. compound at 4:30 a.m. and were off the bus by 6:30. I loaded myself down with equipment. I probably looked like a combat photographer with two cameras, lenses, a strobe, a voice recorder and pen and paper. It was surreal with all the police lights flashing through the night, and catching glimpses of the outlines of military humvees at checkpoints.

We were on our feet and outside until we returned to the bus at about 6p.m. that night.

My friend John and I were either working on heading towards the inauguration, or getting out of it after it ended.

We flocked with people towards gates we couldn't enter and were turned away, we stood beside 2.8 million people watching a screen shivering with our cameras, while being jostled by the impatient.

We witnessed a protest by a conservative group, and have never seen a presidents face on so many buttons, hats, bags, and coats, bejeweled and in print.

We were probably 20% of the populatation of attendees as whites, demographically.

Despite the discomfort, people really tried to work together and be patient. It could have easily been a massive disaster with that many people, and that few restrooms and access to water food and heat.

I recorded an hour of sound, shot about 30 minutes of video, and took over a thousand pictures. My camera weighed about 30 pounds by the time I met my releif back on the bus, and my teeth stopped chatering and my body stopped hurting.

Poor John would have like to have been carried by the end of the day.

I learned that the ends make the whole trip worth it. I couldn't have gotten these pictures from my couch at home on TV (I actually don't have a couch or TV.)

It's worth discomfort and getting your hands dirty when your life is enriched in the long-run and you have a testament to the ability to handle an historic situation.

Mr Jagielo goes to Washington

I'm about to head via bus with UM-Flint to the Inauguration- It's a cliche' by now, but this is history- something to tell the kids about someday.

I'll be doing regular mini-blogs at

www.twitter.com/timdjagielo

I'll be taking 3 cameras, a voice recorder, and hopefully enough batteries.

I bought a field coat for the pockets, as bags aren't allowed on the parade route or the National Mall.

I've got toiletries, a book, MP3 player, extra socks etc, and cash.

I hope to get some portfolio-quality stuff.

After sleeping on a couch and even the floor for a week, I'm hoping sleeping on a bus for two days won't be too bad... actually I forgot a pillow, damnitt.

Pictured is John and I about to board the buses...

God, get me running

I really, really need to move.

I really really need to make a lot of things happen, fast.
I need to pull a career out of thin air in 15 weeks.

I need to make something of myself.
I can make enough to pay rent, but I need to work on the rest of my life.

I see the other students around me and I feel... behind, sometimes.
Whenever I feel like this, it's literally time for me to run, and run, and run, until my lungs burn, and put myself through enough to feel good about pausing, and sitting.

There is so much to do, and I feel like I don't know where to start. This is the trough of my moods, when I feel cold, like my feet, and the weight of what needs to be done is stopping me from doing what needs to be done.

I have a story to write, I have interviews to do, I have assignments, I have to change my address, I have to pay my insurance bill on time for once.

I have to feel complete where I am.
Where I am is 27, a server, almost done with a BA.
Living with a roommate, with a band I have dreams of living off of.
I'm waiting, and I'm working, but am I working hard enough? Sometimes I wonder just what the hell I'm doing. Like now.

Does this stuff get to anyone else?
Of course it does.

There is an expression, that if everyone was standing together in a circle, and we all agreed to throw our problems into the center of the room to maybe pick someone else's, we would immediately grab up our problems and worries when we see what other's are dealing with.

One of our servers at Lonestar wore a neck brace because she just had an accident, as did a friend from school. We're not even going to talk about Gaza.

Normally I'm pretty unsinkable. I guess negativity to me is like 5 or so shots on New Years Eve- you feel better when you let it out.

That was a joke.

So, if any one feels like I do ( I think only like two people ever occasionally even read this) When I need to run, I need to find my shoes, find my (clean) shorts, and walk my ass over to the rec center. Symbolically, and run, and run, and run.

Trina-Belle: Iguana, vicious hunter of cut bananas, roomate.

So I have a four foot long common green iguana.

She's how I got my last girlfriend, so I don't think it's a bad thing.
She eats bananas, spinach, cauliflower, broccolli, and ferrets, if she could.

At my last apartment, she spent about half the time in her cage, the other half atop the radiators where she took her meals. Towards the end, she was actually using the bathroom for a bathroom. Hitting the toilet would have taken a little more training.

Now she sleeps in my room, on my pillow if I'd let her. She'll have to settle for the carpet with a space heater.

The reason is, the basement, even with heat, is too damn cold for a wire cage. I had glass cut to insulate it, but not only did I measure wrong, but the company left everything an inch too wide.

So until I get the cage set up, I have a roomate, and her name is Trina, named after a rapper of subtelty and tact: The Baddest Bitch.

Change, change, change

Isn't easy.

Even as my life changed to a very good thing, I resisted. A little. Then I gave in 100% and it was great, like being in a warm room, where nothing can touch you, everything negative comes flipped and positive.

Everyday things are more fun, when shared. Everything is a little brighter. Your mind can drift on currents of recent memories and look forward to making new ones. We can go to heights never experienced before, as was my experience, and see how great simple things in life can be.
These heights sting the memory, and set the bar painfully high. These heights can make the stomach sick, and force the mind away from thoughts that once held warmth and fulfillment.

Change can give you the best you've ever had. But despite what you may want, you may not be able to keep it.

We have to welcome change because you never know what it will bring. If we remain stagnant, we also know what we will always get: more of the same. Change brings in great things, and change takes them away.

Sometimes we know why they happen, and it doesn't matter because it's out of our hands, and sometimes we're in the dark, shaking our heads, wondering what the hell hit us.

We can't ask, "Why did this happen?"
We can't say, "But it would have been so great..." because those thoughts lead to rot. We can never move on.

I deserved the experience, and inversely, I don't deserve to sit and ask the aforementioned questions. In plain English, I don't get to be a little whiny bitch about anything.

We don't need it.

I appreciated every moment Lisa, I really did. I stand by everything I said, though I have one regret, and that is you deserved red roses from me, because of what they mean, and because one beautiful thing deserves another.

Take care, I'm still here.