on posing and posers

I have a dichotomous feeling about asking people to pose for me.

On the one hand, I am the first person who would encourage you to try something new, or to go ahead and do something even though it might feel strange or even though you might feel uncomfortable. If it’s something you want to do, or something you’re interested in or curious about, or whatever, go for it, even if it makes you nervous. As long as it’s not something dangerous (actually, slightly dangerous might be okay, like bungee jumping) or harmful, and especially if it’s something that might be fun or help you grow as a person, why not do it. Don’t let nervousness, or mild to moderate discomfort make you stop.

But, on the other hand, I don’t want to be the person who keeps bothering you about doing something that you just do not want to do. If something is really uncomfortable, maybe you shouldn’t do it. If it brings up all sorts of horrible memories or feelings, then maybe you’re not ready to do this hypothetical activity, and you should work on yourself a bit and deal with those issues.

I was thinking yesterday about contacting an acquaintance with whom I’d talked in the past about modeling for me. She has done a little modeling, and earlier this year we had sort of tentatively decided to shoot some pictures. But it never happened. And yesterday I considered asking her again if she was still interested.

I didn’t, though. I’m tired of asking people I know if they’re interested in modeling for me (or doing anything with me, really), and getting either one of those non-committal, “maybe when I’m less busy”, “I’m never really comfortable in pictures” sort of answers, or no response at all.

It’s okay to just say, “no.” Or, “I’m afraid you’re gonna ask me to get naked, and I’m even more afraid of that.” Or even, “I think you’re creepy, leave me alone.” I would prefer that. It’s unambiguously clear, and if I really know what you mean, then I’m not going to bother you with it again.

I’m not all that great at picking up on people’s subtle actual meanings. I used to believe people most of the time, only to be disappointed and hurt when I eventually understood that they didn’t mean what they’d said. Of course, sometimes some people do mean what they say. I’m just not always sure how to tell the difference, especially when it’s in a facebook message (etc). So, unfortunately, I often just assume that people are lying. Maybe not “lying” exactly, but not being honest and open and direct and clear. (One of my shortcomings as a writer is that I don’t generally deal much with subtext.)

Anyway… With all that having been said (written), let me mention again that I have a new camera that I need to learn how to use in the next couple of days. So hey world, come model for me. You don’t have to be naked. And, just to be clear, while I am often naked here at home, I won’t be naked while taking your picture, whether you are or not.

(By the way, I’m very suspicious of the “not comfortable” response. The people who’ve told me that all have many wonderful pictures of themselves on the facebook.)

hiding from the facebook

There is a handful of people whom I have found so very interesting…or appealing… Actually, I guess “attractive” is the most accurate word here. I find them so very attractive, and I really wish I could get to know them. It’s not just that they’re simply “pretty”, though that’s part of it. They are women, these people I’m referring to right now. It’s not that I want to date them, though I might consider it if I really got to know them. I just, for whatever reason, find them attractive… “appealing” works too. 

And I have, from time to time, tried to get to know these women—attempted chats on facebook or in real life, invitations to meet sometime for lunch or dinner—but with no success. They just don’t reciprocate the level of conversation I’m attempting, or they outright turn down my invitation. 

When I see the people post anything on facebook, it’s just…disheartening. It’s like an intensified version of what I feel with most people—that I vaguely know them, but we’re not really friends, not close, not in any significant way. And with these people, it’s even worse. So, I’ve hidden them from my facebook timeline. (Of course, there are people I’ve hidden for other reasons—for example all they ever post is conservative political stuff or religious stuff or football stuff.) I don’t want to unfriend them—though I’m not truly friends with them—but I can’t stand seeing their posts pop up randomly when I’m on facebook. It’s just too shocking and heart-breaking. 

It’s probably just as well that I don’t get to know them. I figure (based on my life experience) there’s a pretty good chance that if I did spend much time with any of these women, I’d either find them ridiculously un-interesting, un-appealing, and un-attractive, OR I’d lose myself in some unrealistic fantasy relationship with someone who’s not available. 

stuff I bought today

I’m going to New York City next week, to do a show I’ve co-written. While I’m there, I don’t really have plans except a few rehearsals and the 2 performances. So I’m thinking I’ll just wander around a bit and take lots of pictures.

In preparation for this trip, I went out and bought a few things today:

Paper and printing ink.

This actually has nothing to do with the NYC trip. I was just out of these and figured I’d get them while I was out buying stuff.

Shoes.

I noticed a week ago while climbing around Noccalula Falls that my shoes weren’t quite up to the task. I sort of slipped a few times. I didn’t fall, but there were moments that made me a bit nervous. I hadn’t intended to buy two pair of shoes, but there was a “buy one pair, get a second pair half-price” sale. So, I went ahead and got 2.

MY FIRST DSLR CAMERA! Whoo!

I’ve been feeling for a while now, that I wanted a camera that made me look more like a photographer. Such a focus on image definitely goes against my usual feeling that substance is much more important than image. It’s an odd dichotomy, because as a photographer, I’m capturing and editing images. I suppose I’m trying to make images that are pleasing or interesting or whatever, but that are still “real”…whatever that means. The image in a photograph isn’t reality, especially once you start playing around with contrast and color.

Hm. This may deserve much more thought than I’m willing to put into it at just this moment. Instead of thinking, right now I want to put this camera together and start learning how to use it. I want to at least sort of know what I’m doing with this thing in NYC. 

So, along those lines…MODEL FOR ME!!! This week. Come on…headshots, or out in a park or downtown, or (if you’re so inclined) nudes. I just want something to photograph other than myself and maybe things around my neighborhood. 

High School Reunion & makeup

I dreamed last night that I attended a high school reunion. I don’t what a high school reunion is like, as I’ve never been to one. I missed my 10-year reunion because I was working at a theatre in Wisconsin that summer. And I missed my 20th because I was working at a theatre in New Hampshire that summer. Next year, it’ll be 25 years since I graduated high school, but I don’t know that there will be a reunion.

Anyway, I dreamed about a reunion. I was there early, helping to set up the space. There were other people there setting up, but I seemed to be working alone. And then all the high school folk showed up. I hung out a bit with some of the people I hung out with during high school.

But I felt that I didn’t entirely fit in with them, which was also probably true back when I was in high school. I think my group of friends were probably all better friends with each other than with me. That’s certainly how I feel about my friends now.

Reunions aren’t something I think of much, but…

A week ago I was at my parents’ house, where I found some old pictures—some from when I was in high school. Just a couple of them were pictures that included people from my high school. Anyway, I scanned those and put them on my computer. Also, while there, I got to thinking about the past and my lack of connections.

And last night I went to see Our Town (the play by Thornton Wilder). It sort of deals with time passing and things changing and not changing. Also with relationships, family connections.

So, I don’t know that those things led to this dream. It wasn’t a really deep meaningful dream. Just another in a series of thoughts and ponderings by me on the theme of loneliness and my dissatisfaction with my life.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

Toward the end of the dream, a teacher showed up at the reunion. But it wasn’t a teacher from my high school. It was someone who worked at a university where I worked several years ago. I never worked with this person, and don’t know her well. But there she was at my high school reunion. She was wearing way more makeup than I’ve ever seen her wear, and aware and worried about the makeup. I’m not sure if this has anything to do with the rest of the dream. It was almost a separate little bit that was just tacked on to the end.

I’m not a fan of excessive makeup. I wrote a paper about it my freshman year in college. This is not a new development in my thinking. I sort of feel that wearing makeup every day is crazy. Dangerous, even. Okay, sure, if you’re onstage or on camera, that’s a little different, because of the lighting and such. But just for average everyday people, it’s just not necessary and not good. I mean, if you feel the need to “fix your face” before you go out into the world, that’s got to be harmful for your self-image.

Just be who you are. Look the way you look. Yes, exercise and eat healthy and all that. Take care of yourself. But don’t let other people and your “culture” tell you that you don’t look good enough without painting four face. You look good enough. 

against the rules

When I was a kid, my family moved around a bit. Not like every year we’d move, but from the time I was born until I graduated high school I think we lived in 5 different cities. I’ve often thought that was the reason why I still tend to move around a bit and don’t have any roots anywhere I’ve been.

Well, turns out that it’s even more true than I’d remembered. The reason that we moved was my parents’ job. The worked for the Salvation Army.

Many people don’t know that the Salvation Army is a church. It is its own separate church—a fairly standard Protestant Christian denomination—and not a part of some other church. They just have a strong emphasis on actually helping people in need, and they use military terminology (the idea being the church is at war against sin and Satan). So, Salvation Army officers (Lieutenants, Captains, Majors, Colonels…there’s one General at a time: “General” = “Pope”) are, in fact, ordained ministers.

My parents were officers, so from time to time we’d be re-assigned to some different city, and off we’d go.

Well, I spent the past several days at my parents’ house, and for some reason we ended up talking about moving when I was a kid. My mom brought up something that seemed vaguely familiar, like maybe my parents had mentioned it once when I was a kid. It’s that when the Salvation Army sent them to a new assignment, it was against the rules for them to maintain contact with the people from the previous assignment. In other words, we were not allowed to maintain friendships. Of course, we might see some of those people at summer church camp or other regional church gatherings, but officially, my parents weren’t supposed to actively keep in touch.

Apparently that rule is no longer in effect. I think the reason for it having been a rule was that the Salvation Army wanted to discourage officers from being involved at the local level in a city where they were no longer assigned; and the local members wouldn’t feel they could go complain or gossip about “the new guy” to the former boss. I’m sure it was a well-intentioned rule, but, at least for me, it had the effect of separating me from people in a very real way. I don’t know how actively my parents discouraged us kids from contacting old friends, but I definitely picked up on and obeyed “the rules”.

So I never learned how to be part of a community long-term. When my family was re-assigned, we left the place, but we left the people too. The thing is, I still do that. I move around a lot. In the past ten years, I’ve probably lived more than 20 different places. And when I leave someplace, often my brain just sort of let’s things go. So even though I’ve sometimes returned to the same city, during the time I’ve been gone, I often have not maintained much contact with people there. So I end up with a lot of acquaintances, but not many actual friends. 

Knowing that there was a rule restricting my parents from maintain friendships and that rule filtered down to me, emphasizing my own tendency toward isolation, is a little bit of an “Ah-ha!” moment. It makes a certain amount of sense. But it also makes me angry. Yet another way that growing up in church with preacher-parents helped to mess me up. 

Institutions and their damn rules. Ug. 

ninety-nine percent

Last week I drove from North Carolina to Alabama, and I drove back today. I listened to a few CDs, but I also heard a fair amount of radio—almost as much searching for channels, hearing a snippet of something I didn’t want to listen to, then continuing the search.

There are certain accents and certain vocal cadences on the radio that, when I hear them, my brain immediately says, “NOOOOO.” Often they’re preachers—lots of them on the radio in the South. They’re easy to recognize, even when they’re not quoting the Bible or saying “Gahd” or “Ja-eezzuss!” Another is morning talk guys, or “crews”. I just find that whole type of “topical humor” bland and tiresome. And there’s the good ol’ boy (usually) on a country station talking about politics. Ug. No way.

Well, today, I found I had the same sort of reaction to “99%”.

It could be a legitimate statistic, and in such a case, it’s fine. But what I’m talking about is the use of “99%” (or even worse, “99.9%”) as a euphemism for “I don’t have any real data on this, but I FEEL LIKE it’s obviously this much.”

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s an example. Imagine a not-quite-but-similar-to Rush Limbaugh voice: “Sure lots of people are going online to get their Obamacare, but 99.9% of ‘em can’t sign up because the website’s broke!”

I’m not sure if that’s the best example. I heard “99%” used earlier today. I can’t recall the exact context; it was a comparison, like “___ was more than 99% of ____ for all the ____.” The accent didn’t help either. It was a version of good ol’ boy. 

Anyway… I find that usage really annoying, unless it really is a statistic someone has measured. So…stop it, radio hosts. If you wanna talk about the news, that’s fine and absolutely reasonable. But the problem is, 99.9% of you don’t know what you’re talking about; you just make up numbers to reinforce your point. 

poem

An uncomfortably negative poem I wrote today:

Small Southern City Pastimes

Mall-walking, people-watching
just to break the boredom of the day.

Wearing hair and make-up
unchanged since high-school hey-days,
these provincial passersby
overheard to say
their tepid thoughts out loud
in their lazy, local accents, proud
of their talking-point ideology on display.

Meanwhile…
Over-sized sugar addicts
Ponder the desert tray
With over-priced, flavored coffees—
a double-shot of flavoring today
for parent and child, their waddling
inherited, in a way.

If not for them, how could I feel
superior? Yes, that’s my deal:
thinking my loathing of them will somehow
          help to make self-loathing go away.

4 November 2013

Gadsden, AL