Category: grief

I’m So Pulling out my Textbooks

Back in 1890, they passed into law this little ol’ thing called the Sherman Anti-Trust Act.

From the wiki: “The purpose of the act was to oppose the combination of entities that could potentially harm competition, such as monopolies or cartels.”

Yes, this is a good thing. Boon to a free economy and such.

Well I’m ready to invoke that act on a little institution known as Getty Images.

If you look around the web and you see an image you like, look closer…odds are Getty already owns it. And don’t both trying to “borrow” it, Getty wants their money and they want it bad.

Oh, and they are large enough to bring a whole passel of lawyers along for the ride.

Getty owns most shots from any professional sporting event. Getty owns the photos of most individual players too.

Getty has hoovered up many of the great images on Flickr, too. In many cases, photographers *gladly* gave over rights to their photos in hopes of making a little money or at least getting a little exposure.

Understandable, but I don’t have to like it.

Ever visited iStockPhoto, a place where you can find a lot of for-pay great stock images? Getty.

And now, oh now, my fave royalty free photo site, stock.xchng is under new management.

You guessed it, Getty has booted the original team (ok, they probably received a nice sum for their time and trouble) and is now in charge.

I’ll betcha some cold hard cash that many of these formerly free images will no longer be free. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that stock.xchng will soon be blended entirely into iStockPhoto and s’long high quality royalty free photos.

This make Hulk maaaad.

I’m just a little personal blog. I don’t make big ad bucks. I make no bucks from my blog. I do it for the satisfaction. And oh so sorry, can’t pay for high quality photos with just my sense of satisfaction.

Bah!

Photo below, found by searching “greedy” on stock.xchng.








Photo by Svilen Milev and used royalty free (for the time being) from stock.xchng.


Oh The Indignity!

Do you know what I had to do today?

It’s….it’s…a shock!

I had to SCRAPE ice off of my windshield so I could drive my car to work.

I know! Startling!

Back when I lived at a mile high, it was pretty standard stuff to walk to my car and have to deal with all that the frost laying on the windscreen (<- that's for my UK readers). I remember it well. Oh those were the days....I'd fire up the engine, get the defroster blowing some heat then I'd take a firm hold of my deluxe long handled easy-to-use ice scraper. While shivering in my long coat, work clothes and nice shoes, I'd scrape that bad boy squeaky clean. I was rather proud of my ice scraping capabilities back then. Heck, I don't even own an ice scraper anymore. I think I held on to that deluxe ice scraper for about two years after moving here to so-called sunny California. I remember cleaning out the Jeep and lobbing my scraper into the trash with a satisfied "I live in California now, dammit" smile. Let me just say this....an ice scraper doesn't help much with the fog. I simply traded one road hazard for another, really. So this morning, my lack of ice scraper ownage was never more apparent. I looked at the thin but sturdy layer of frost, and sighed. It was time to make do, and my library card was placed into service. Maybe later today I should go to my local library and check out "Call of the Wild” just to remind myself about what being really cold is all about.

(Thank you Albuquerque Public Schools for making me read Jack London so I can reference it now…. From great literature to a blathering blog post in three easy steps.)

There I was, shivering in no coat and my work clothes with nice shoes cursing and fuming as I scrape, scrape, scraped the frost. My old skills came in handy as I quickly knocked down the road hazard and got on my way.

What a way to start my Monday.

Can I get a pobre cita?

No? Fine. I’ll be a grownup today. But I’m not going to like it!






It appears that I’m derivative of myself. It was a year ago that I discussed this same topic. Only back on that day, I was in the haughty position of having parked my car in the garage. No such luck today, The Good Man got the good spot. *sigh* Love AND marriage.


Perhaps a Sunlamp Is Required

On this post-holiday rainy day, I reserve the right to be melancholy.

Holiday blues, weeping gray clouds, and general lethargy. Sure. It’s my prerogative.

I am loath to say the next seven words I’m about to say but…

I heard this great story on NPR.

You may not realize how pompous I think the people are who quote NPR. Now here I am committing the crime I rail against.

The story was of a musician named Shawn Camp who had a record set for release back in the year 1994.

Through a series of events, the record was shelved until recently. Camp met the new studio head at Reprise who gave Camp’s record a fresh listen and it was finally released in September of this year.

What’s got me going here, got me writing a whole blog post about this story, is one of Camp’s songs that they played on the air.

It was a beautifully written song about being at the funeral of his grandfather. For some reason, the words reminded me of the incredibly sad funeral I attended back in August.

Despite the passing of four months, I find I still grieve for my friend. I guess there’s still something left to grieve, because lately he’s been showing up in my dreams.

Listening to Shawn Camp’s song reminded me of a dream I had just last night.

It was me, and my friend, and we were dancing. Just a simple two-step, nothing fancy, but we danced and he was whole and healthy and grinning from ear to ear.

My best friend was there too, and before I was even done, she got the next dance with him. The three of us laughed like it was, well, 1994, and it was good.

Now, this dream was particularly odd because in real life, my friend wasn’t much of a dancer. Oh, he was long legged and tall, a perfect partner. But he had a farmer’s sensibilities and didn’t dance that much. He could, and did, but it wasn’t something he did a lot.

But there in my dream we danced. When I woke up, I remembered seeing my friend’s body laid out there in a casket inside the El Paso First Baptist Church.

The old Southern saying is “now, don’t he look natural?”

No, he didn’t look natural. In my dream smiling and laughing and giving me seventeen kinds of heck…that was natural.

I’ve always been pretty glad that at the end of the line for my dad, one afternoon when my mom had run into town for errands, my dad and I had a talk. It was uncomfortable and weird, but in that talk, a lot of things were said that needed to be said. I can happily say I have no unresolved issues there.

But with my dear friend, I have something unresolved. It niggles at the corners of my mind and sits on my chest when I have another dream in which he plays a cameo. I owed him an apology. I’d planned to deliver that apology when he came home from the surgery from which he never returned.

Perhaps in dreams I can find the way to lay my issues to rest, to lay down the burden I carry around, to feel at peace with the loss of my friend.

Or maybe we can just dance and forget about I’m sorries.

After my best friend is done (which may take awhile), I got the next waltz.

Cuz these Fat Babies were made for dancing

Photo by Karen Fayeth

An Open Letter To My iPod

Dear Shuffle Function on my iPod Shuffle:

Today, after a really long day at work that started WAY too early this morning and ended WAY too late, I climbed my large and rather tired behind up onto my treadmill and fired up the big machine.

Normally I can rely on you, my long suffering iPod, veteran of many miles, to get me through the agony of exercise.

Not today.

Here’s a hint, little musical device: when I need a little inspiration, how ’bout we avoid every single four bar blues available on the playlist, huh?

Minor chords don’t really scream “get that heartrate up!” Albert King and John Lee Hooker are really better suited to competitive whiskey drinking, not sweating for my health.

And that John Denver song? Yer killin’ me! (yes, I have John Denver on my iPod. No, I’m not ashamed)

Workout time is also not time for Colbie Callat, John Legend, or Coltraine.

Damn, iPod Shuffle, that skip function got more of a workout today than I did!

That said, dropping a “Stayin’ Alive” on me near the end of the hour? That was inspired.

Occasionally, you still got it, Shuffle.

Sad iPod cross stitch from benjibot‘s Flickr photostream.