The season continues this week for the Concordia Women's rugby team however I'm done for the season. They're off to Nationals in Vancouver, congrats to them for a season hard fought. A majority of the fall sports at Concordia have finished their seasons, soccer is done, the men's rugby team were eliminated the week before and it will take a miracle for the football team to beat Laval in another rematch (the last time the score exceeded more than 50 points for Laval to defeat Concordia). So how do I know all of this? I've taken on the role of "saving the sports section" each week for over the last month.
I usually have two sports photographers with telephoto lens who can do this however the one thing each don't have: time. There was wedding season to deal with at first and the other one was working and doing school. The other thing was that I had one guy who said would shoot sports however it meant that he wanted football and nothing else, somehow the rest of sports didn't matter to the "so called" sports photographer. So every Friday I ended up saving the sports. I own a portrait lens (85mm 1.8) which meant I can shoot at night with few complications however I lacked in range. I knew little about sports, I love watching them however sports photography is the most challenging out of press photography. So this was going to be a hard task, to pull off decent shots with what I got.
I've learned that soccer is quite a hard sport to shoot, there goes my chances at World Cup. Also, they were my casualty of a sports injury (as the men scored and celebrated by running me down). This happens when I shoot sports, I will get a sports related injury. We also had the preseason of hockey and basketball, where I get a chance to warm up and eat a hot dog. The other thing I learned is that the beer is cheap and is the only way to drink on the Loyola campus, for four dollars you get beer and sports.
Rugby became my favorite not because their teams were the better out of the ones I've shot, it was because it was the least challenging and most entertaining. Rugby is like football but with no pads, not real rules and the least likely to get injured (on my behalf). Both the men and women's squads in combination only lost three games. The women only lost one, to Laval.
All rugby games were at night and as the weeks go by, it got colder and darker but their drive grew harder and heated. I mainly shot the women, there was one game that was my turning point, the Dummond Cup against McGill. The Dummond Cup was started in dedication to Kelly Ann Dummond; a former Concordia rugby player who unfortunately was murdered by her boyfriend about five years ago. A girl I served at my day job recognized me from the game and told me she was a team mate of Kelly's, she would go to the Cup each year. Kelly's mom gave the trophy to the Stinger girls this year, a first win out of the years of the Cup.
To see such drive when one minute you see a girl get knocked down, winded and in pain, to see the med staff getting ready while in the next minute you see that same girl shake it off and get ready to be part of the next play. I've never seen so many hardcore girls running, grabbing or in this one case, a "head butt to the gut" on the opposing girl. Each week with a small crowd of friends and players boyfriends I think that there is a reason to keep coming to Loyola field. They only lost once, this was their best team in years. In the semi final against Ottawa, Ottawa held the lead by two points, then Concordia made a play for a kick. I've never seen them lose in the games I've shot, there was no way this starts. The final score was 18-7, finals here they come.
I gave up a day of work and trekked to Ste-Foy last Saturday, they were going to play Laval for the second year in a row. Last year the Stingers loss in a heartbreaker, the score was even however Concordia had more kicks than Laval but in a final kicks aren't worth anything. This was the rematch they wanted. It was also a day game, because Laval doesn't have lights in their field, the game started at 1pm instead than at night. So, there will be no lighting problems on this day. However, it was raining so break out the plastic covering.
I basically was living out some sports cliches here, it was my first final, the women were out for redemption, some of the men's team were there cheering for the ladies (all painted and drunk). Laval fans were loud and offensive, there was always some lone token flag guy sitting in the visitors section yelling every 2 minutes "Go Laval". He was quiet when Concordia lead 3-0 with a kick. The rain hit hard, the ladies hit harder, it was hard to see, the ball kept slipping while the girls kept sliding. All the ladies had to do was hold the lead, that's in and that's all. Laval on the other hand, didn't want to lose on home turf and tied the game up in extra time of the second half. The Stinger girls on the sidelines were pissed off, it wasn't their day when it came to the officiating. Overtime here we come, the rain tapered off so now we can see better.
Rugby girls and photographers share some things in common: to tough out the worst of conditions and keep their eye on the prize. I was looking for some good photo opts while they were looking for the ball. We were cold, wet and tired, will this game end? First overtime ended, if they remain scoreless after the second it will go into kicks. Luckily, Concordia kicked in the second and won the game. The emotions were everywhere, all hearts and heartbreak. On this day, a kick was worth the prize.
Strangely enough, the rain stopped.
We all ran on the field, girls getting their medals and holding back tears (both happy and sad), a majority of the all star players were Laval girls, holding a fake smile while we took their photos (the feeling of disappointment that the public had to endure). The trophy came on the field, the women huddled up and held it high to the sky, the rain held off for them as they celebrated a hard earned win. They're off to represent Quebec at the National rugby championships in Vancouver, because of a student newspaper budget myself and my writer cannot go and continue the streak. It would have been amazing, the national level. Alas, I guess I'll wait for the next team I have to save sports in.
This was a first, I rarely shoot sports but a majority of my month was sports photography, I understand it's as challenging as other forms. I hate how it gets under minded as a "jock thing", there are stories behind every play, these girls are students, have patient loved ones, sacrificing a lot for a moment like this. They're tough enough to do this despite some dirty plays, hard hits and weird weather. In the end, there's a lot that is gained than just a win. It's the same in every field, there are opportunities no matter what. For myself, for someone with a portrait lens, I managed be tough about it and come out understanding more about life on the sidelines.
I'm glad I got something out of the women's rugby team.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Photo Pet Peeve (the introduction)
I decided to start writing about the little annoying things people do with photography equipment or certain things that erk me about photography (I think maybe a few photographers might agree with some of these).
Photo pet peeve #7: Don't break your expensive gear in front of me!
The other week at the day job (disguised in a hat, apron and a mild Quebecois accent) I served a tourist who was lost and confused on where her chai latte was going to be served. I pointed to the direction of pickup when I noticed she had a Canon D40 with a telephoto lens (I figure a 70-200mm). It was dangling on her neck and she was not protecting her massive lens from what could have been one major bang onto the counter right in front of her. I made the face, yep, that face. The face where it's a combination of "what the f**ck" with a side of "why, you stupid bitch."
I hate it when people who can afford amazing equipment that don't know how to take care of it. Mind you I was in that boat before when I used to throw my camera in my knapsack, no casing at all and the look on my photography teacher in cringe (thinking: "she's going to hurt that camera"). My gear is now in a padded bag but still, there are people out there (mainly tourists) who can afford the hardcore gear but are the "point & shoot" type.
You have better gear than me yet I can put that gear into better use. Yes, I know you would want pretty pictures on your day trip however you can still use a "point&shoot" or buy a cheaper DSLR for your need to look like a photographer.
Or better, don't dangle your gear on your neck of your waist. You will break your lens, I know you can afford a new one but I really don't want to know that you can. Or please, put it in your bag, I know the chai latte is more important than your camera but at least it's a lot cheaper to have the chai than pay for a new lens.
Photo pet peeve #7: Don't break your expensive gear in front of me!
The other week at the day job (disguised in a hat, apron and a mild Quebecois accent) I served a tourist who was lost and confused on where her chai latte was going to be served. I pointed to the direction of pickup when I noticed she had a Canon D40 with a telephoto lens (I figure a 70-200mm). It was dangling on her neck and she was not protecting her massive lens from what could have been one major bang onto the counter right in front of her. I made the face, yep, that face. The face where it's a combination of "what the f**ck" with a side of "why, you stupid bitch."
I hate it when people who can afford amazing equipment that don't know how to take care of it. Mind you I was in that boat before when I used to throw my camera in my knapsack, no casing at all and the look on my photography teacher in cringe (thinking: "she's going to hurt that camera"). My gear is now in a padded bag but still, there are people out there (mainly tourists) who can afford the hardcore gear but are the "point & shoot" type.
You have better gear than me yet I can put that gear into better use. Yes, I know you would want pretty pictures on your day trip however you can still use a "point&shoot" or buy a cheaper DSLR for your need to look like a photographer.
Or better, don't dangle your gear on your neck of your waist. You will break your lens, I know you can afford a new one but I really don't want to know that you can. Or please, put it in your bag, I know the chai latte is more important than your camera but at least it's a lot cheaper to have the chai than pay for a new lens.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
We’re in Hipster Country: Oh, the Things this Photographer experienced covering POP Montreal.
This is a fresh start, a fresh entry and a step foreword to following a path I went off of a while ago. It’s been a week after experiencing the busiest, craziest time as a photographer and for myself. As a photographer I get to cover another festival, for the first time for another publication. For myself, to endure the craziest work and social schedule without losing a beat.
In a way, I’m glad I’m back doing this, mainly because I said this to my friend (in drunk) at 4 in the morning on day four: I love what I do and don’t want anyone to take this away from me, not even for the stupidest of reasons from previous experiences. I figure with the media writing their show reviews and ins and outs of the last 5 days, this photographer has her own little story to tell…
And yes, I will include the awesome guy I met on night one.
September 30: I finished another early shift, by day Cindy Lopez works in a coffee shop in the heart of the Plateau, in-between she checks her email as she’s also the Photo Editor at The Concordian: a student run newspaper at Concordia University. This week however, by night she’s Chartattack.com’s newest music photographer.
I met the guys at Chart at last year’s POP last year as I helped them out while doing Concordian work. Chart Magazine was my starting point about the music scene in Canada and now I’m part of it.
I was late to the opening party as I have too many jobs. I managed to run into some Fringe Festival buddies (either volunteering or working or checking out the festival). POP Montreal is a lot of things: music, arts, film, parties and well, one more thing…
The time where we find the most hipsters as the Plateau is invaded even more in ironic outfits and way too cool attitude. You can smell the effort at Espace Reunion (or the lack of showering). I walked around the space, art installations consisted of eating a house cake and a dead chocolate bird. The usual Patrick Watson sighting as he was playing with 16 theremins installed in the room making odd sounds Sounds that bought upon the headache that led me to go outside.
I went to check on my bike when I thought I recognized someone. Nope, it was a total stranger and do I have a habit of striking conversations with people I only met for 15 seconds (which sometimes is my downfall). He was not a hipster in a room full of badly dressed “what the f**k” attitude, in a scene where having a discussion with a musician is as entertaining as giving myself a root canal. I asked if he was a volunteer (in the back of my head thinking, “just great, another musician”). The guy was in no part of any art scene and has a useful role in POP Montreal (he did give me a business card as proof). I think at this rate this was worth having the conversation I gotten myself into. I had to go back in and find a spot for Fashion POP; I did talk to him again while the show was running 45 minutes late. We joked on what the collections would be, “I think it’s nothing but American Apparel tights and cowgirl boots”. Typical hipster wear.
My friend asked me before going in “How do you end up talking to the cute guys, I always see you with one?”
“I think it’s the camera.”
Fashion POP was filled to capacity, with industry people and last year’s winning designer (who all this time I’ve mistaken for a really dirty hipster). Patrick Watson sees my camera and starts making silly faces, for someone who is a well known working musician he can still be a ball of fun. Myself and the other photographers made a makeshift photo pit and started shooting designs outside the hipster milieu. Designs of dark colors, classic cuts and then there was the one collection inspired by futuristic qualities (one outfit had one tight made of plastic and had fringes on it).
I knew there was going to be tights.
My writer calls me about day one shows, “I got turned away at Sala Rossa and Club Lambi”. Not a good sign, that was night one for us. I did find the guy from previous, I told him what my writer told me, he said he was going to Lambi later. “If you have trouble getting in, you can text me.” Digging into my pockets and realizing that I have the worst pockets, he was nice enough to give me a new card.
I headed to Sala Rossa for No Bunny; I’ve seen them before on a night I shot three assignments. I was hoping for another go at them, unfortunately No Bunny was a no go. I headed to Lambi and ran into an industry guy I usually run into at shows; he told me that Lambi was sold out. “Try waiting if no one shows up on guest list”. I went upstairs to take a crack with the media pass, I forgot about the RSVP policy at POP, even if you’re media, you have to reserve a spot. I was about to give up when I went into my bad pockets. In the process of texting when the guy shows up and told him what happened. “Wait here.” He said. I waited in a dark stairwell thinking two things: I can get the shot I need thanks to this guy or there goes my chances of ever doing photos for a large based web site. My confidence lies on the power this guy has over a bunch of hipster volunteers.
The minute I saw the hooded stranger waved me up, I’ve never been so ecstatic to see a couple acts I only knew about a couple days before in a crowded space. “You’re awesome, I’m so buying you beer!”
Ninjasonik were a New York duo on before Matt & Kim. I talked with the awesome guy about photo and a blog I keep now and then (I haven’t written in months and would usually sidetrack). “Are you going to mention me if you write one on POP Montreal?” (Note: I didn’t start this up because of some awesome guy, I just had an awesome week). I went back into photo mode and climbed on two wobbly stools for a crowd shot and a close up. I went back to the guy and my beer before Matt and Kim. “I dare you to climb the speakers near the stage.” He said. Not normally risky with my shots, however with the implications of my night of almost not happening and letting some guy I met for nearly an hour determine how I do my job, I figure: “Yeah, I’ll do it.” It was packed and was sweating, I ran into the photographer from the Gazette (who made a deal with a girl who was standing on a stool if she can have her spot for a song). Meanwhile, the guy from Ninjasonik saw me and tickled me.
I made a deal with the photographer on the stage if I can have a turn, “When I get my shot it’s yours”. Matt and Kim, a duo on keyboard and drums playing symp pop were the reason why the room was filled to capacity at midnight on a Wednesday. The floor at Lambi was moving, was my music coverage going to turn into a news incident? The photographer on stage got his shot, it was now my turn.
“Holy crap, this is AWESOME.”
Matt & Kim got the crowd going, crowd surfers moving back and forth, nearing hitting the ceiling fan. I was enjoying the moment, the rowdiness, the mayhem, the loss of weight due to sweating heavily.
I got back to the awesome guy and my beer. He told me about a link on the POP facebook and would email me a link (I gave him a business card too). We trekked out, saw my bike.
“Why don’t I ride on your handle bars?” He joked.
“Nah, you can double up and you ride.”
He took a cab home instead and I pedaled home knowing that my first night as Chart’s photog was going to work out after all. Awesome.
October 1st: With 4 hours sleep under my belt, I turned back to Clark Kent in the morning. I managed the day anticipating a nap and hoping to turn into Photochick (my superhero name). Unfortunately the café was busy and became the kryptonite of my day along with covering an e-paper conference. I found time for a nap. At the last minute I decided on Teen Sleuth and the Freed Cyborg Choir. I’ve seen and met them at the Fringe as I did their promo photos. I hopped in a cab and made it. Teen Sleuth added three new songs, the band expanded and had a touch of Arcade Fire in their sound.
I trekked down to Trois Minots to see a friend while the 1st game of the season was going on (a friend gave me slack for choosing POP over hockey). The place was dead, once again I had a choice: hang out in a dead bar or take a chance on Fever Ray at Metropolis.
I left and took another cab.
I was 20 minutes into the set; Fever Ray was a 50/50 chance of being sold out. I flashed my pass and got in. Fever Ray was a Swedish based singer using theatrics such as costumes and lasers. I got a shot from above with her and smoke and lamps. The music was enchanting however wasn’t a big of a fan of theatrics (this coming from the girl who works at Fringe). I ran into some friends and after a 10-minute falafel wait, I trekked to Clues at Cabaret.
Clues reminded me of 1st album Radiohead for some reason. I had trouble shooting from the stage below and opt for the balcony, that’s where I found the guy from last night. Awesome, I got my balcony shot!
What to catch next before Sister Suvi at Balatou, needed to stay on St Laurent.
On the way up I showed the guy from day one Mainline Theatre and the porn place where So Called did his Porn POP show (he accompanied music to gay porn, gay porn became a running joke that night). We went to Balatou for some band and wondered if they were intending to sound bad or were bad (hipsters can be confusing at some times). The lead singer was drunkenly throwing free Cds at the audience hitting a girl on the head. The awesome guy made a joke about the many legal implications that could occur (he’s very familiar with the law). Sister Suvi went on at 1:30AM, had to cut this short as the day job awaits. My writer was going to show however he opted to crowd surf at a punk show at Il Motore. I left, thinking that the next couple of days will be POP heavy. In the back of my mind as I keep running into this guy who helped me, I was thinking am I going to keep running into him only at the festival (because from my experience, I don’t normally run into awesome guys on a normal basis). Just being realistic here.
October 2nd: Last day at the day job, I have the weekend off. I’m good for heavy coverage (Chart will like this). I then forgot that I had to take a portrait of a city councilor for the municipal elections (goodbye nap). My writer was kind enough to give me a ride home. I rested then got my bike ready for a night of trekking in the east Plateau. I reached McGill when I heard a hissing sound, my front tire was slowing running out of air. I had to be at Kid Koala by 9:15PM. I quickly called JR to see if he was open and rode on a flat to his bike shop for an emergency repair. I made it to La Tulipe and pushed through the crowd and made it to the front. Oh no, it’s red lighting. Red lighting is a photographer’s nightmare, where it creates saturation in the images to give a weird arty effect that is impossible to work on in Photoshop.
Thank god they changed lighting, still good to go.
There is a sense of genius where you get a guy with six turntables and a rhythm section consisted of ex members of Wolfmother. This has to be the highlight of my POP; the sounds of scratching and bass lines were pure genius and energy. Best show.
I had time before Japandroids and opt to go to Esgo for Whiskey Trench, side project from The Saint Catherines. After coming from a show like Kid Koala, anything else becomes a disappointment. Seeing a punk band in bad lighting, on no, red lighting.
I left and went to La Gymnaise and waited for Final Flash however running late, I didn’t want to miss Japandroids and left.
I reached Divan Orange and got turned away at Japandroids; I’m sure I RSVPed (or did I? I’m on very little sleep). As I was about to leave and anticipating the rainy bike ride home, the volunteer yells out my name: “We just found you on the list, get in.” I found my Concordian music writer along with the photographer. Japandroids are a BC based duo with a punk style and an audience that likes to push. I ran into my writer (who hasn’t RSVPed the entire POP) and got in through my name. I got pushed by a hipster and got fed up. I was about to leave when the merchandise guy decided to crowd surf and challenged the Montreal crowd to see if they can hold him up the longest. He went back and forth at the Divan Orange; I grabbed my camera and caught this grizzly looking guy surf the bar. He then came towards me and I got out of the way as fast as I could. The things I do to make it as a photographer, holding up a sweaty lumberjack isn’t one of them.
Oct 3rd: Got some sleep and uploaded. I had time(!) to check out World Press Photo in its final weekend. Looking at images of war, human interests and portraits had me thinking that there was a time one of these guys started covering music and weird events before making the leap. Hoping that one day I’ll be going somewhere with this.
In the meantime I don’t seem to be going anywhere. Because of last night’s rain, my bike lock is stuck and I can’t get my bike out. I struggled then a band walking by helped but it was no use. I was near POP Montreal headquarters when I remembered they were renting bikes for the artists, which means there has to be a toolbox. I asked the guy repairing bikes if he had lube; he gave me a powder like version that I put into my lock and worked.
The BBQ got moved because of the weather and caught D’Urbervilles at Green Room; I’m back in Hipster country. I ended up talking to a guy in a granny hat by the name of Beaver and well… I really should stop talking to strangers.
Correction: strange hipsters.
I met up with my writer over at the Copacabana for hockey and beer. We talked of the shows we caught and the strange stories we endured. Overall, it’s been a good experience this time, last year felt too much like work. Mainly because I was still recovering from a wrist injury. After two periods and a pitcher, I headed back to Hipster country to the Ukrainian Federation for FAUST. I submerged into slew of Hipsters sucking their cigarettes and got into the venue. I ran into (you guessed it!) the same guy from day one, whose head was throbbing from constant concerts and countless sleepless nights. I hoped to see him later at Think About Life; I had to do my job first.
After FAUST I swung by Green Room for the last two songs of a set. I noticed that there was a baby in the bar. I found out that her dad was playing in the last set and that it was her first birthday. I told her mom about Kids POP, where it’s an afternoon for kids. She’ll love it.
I arrived at Espace Reunion for Parlovr and Think About Life, I shot these guys a month ago at M for Montreal sur les Quays however my CF card got lost during the Duchess Says set when she went got the crowd going nuts and almost broke the fence. I get a second chance at this, Parlovr brought back the human microphone and head banged their way into the night. My writer wanted me to get a shot of Homosexual Cops, a duo wearing all white and dancing to early 90’s hip hop.
Think About Life were on at 1:30AM, there were about five photographers and the infamous Susan Moss, a well-known music photographer on the Plateau. I forgot that Think About Life crowds were rowdy and pushy so it got really intense for the entire set. I removed layers of clothing and got pushed onto the stage over and over, making sure my gear was still intact. Martin Cesar grew closer to the crowd; I got my shot however I couldn’t get out of the crowd. The girl from The Concordian wanted to crowd surf out, good luck!
This was my version of photojournalism, fighting the elements and a whole lot of risks. I was tired and sweaty, hanging onto a pole, a wave of crowd surfers to the left of me, the audience running up on stage to the right. I’m stuck in the middle of possibly the largest crowd of hipsters I’ve ever been in.
And one of them is wearing a cape and holding a plastic owl.
I did run into the awesome guy, whose head was feeling better. I told him about the after party at Mainline theatre (I don’t think anyone would forget an aluminum door with flames on it). I had a feeling that this might have been the last time I see this guy, I don’t know why but I doubt that I would see him on the last day. The nights are long, the shows are so many, I'm doing a job, there will always be complications. Maybe I'll see him around one of these days. The city is quite small, he would stand out as for one thing: he's not a hipster. My work has to come first however there was an after party to check out. The party was a mesh of musicians and Mainliners and partied until 4AM.
Oct 4th: I thanked god that this was a five-day festival. I had a quiet afternoon checking out the gear swap/vinyl sale then went to Kids POP at Metropolis. It was lots of kids and balls, mainly kids throwing balls (at me). Martin from Think About Life was hosting with a cowgirl and was dressed up as a Frenchman (with a beret and a baguette). Hard to believe how he had the energy to play a show late at night and host and event early in the afternoon, then again look who’s writing this. He did hit me with a ball by the way.
So Called did a set involving a magic trick and led a parade while playing his accordion. I found it strange as I saw him last year doing Porn POP. Nevertheless, it was a fun afternoon.
I went to the last Piknic Electronik of the season, with Mike Simonetti spinning. I ran into someone from the Quays show and he invited me to his international students picnic where I fell under the criteria of “hot looking international girl.” On behalf of my Chilean background, I guess it’ll come in handy when it comes to things like free food and added perks. The last day for POP is always the quiet one, too tired to catch shows.
I decided to go to The Hoof and the Heel at Il Motore where my writer was. I ran into a friend who was heading up there and we doubled it up on my bike (he was not on my handle bars however). The venue wasn’t opened yet and for the first time since my days of underage drinking, we bought beers and drank in an alleyway. With the last of my energy I got my last band of the festival. I was glad it was over.
I was hoping for another party however I never heard back about one. I think I would have been too much of a zombie and less of a photochick. I gave my friend a ride home (as in he did all the pedaling as I sat in the back) then finally went home.
This was a step foreword; this was possibly one of my better festival experiences in a long time. The fact that I was able to do all this and juggle the Cindy Lopez lifestyle of work and produce some work I appreciate (and surviving Hipster country). All I can say is this: Awesome.
So now it’s a week later, still uploading and recovering on sleep. Wondering what does one do after enduring a week like this, do we move foreword or look back on what happened. Either way, it was a great experience and will never complain. In my world, a regular photo assignment or even grabbing a beer with someone always seems to get me into a series of strange yet interesting stories. Glad to be back in the game.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Redemption Determination and Prevention
So it had been busy for myself the following had happened:
The Penguins won the cup
I shot the Montreal Fringe Festival
Michael Jackson died (it's everywhere and somehow I managed to put this in this post)
The two I refer to have a great tie in, Michael Jackson I will throw in somehow as it's the most topical, some may not get hockey but would know something about the King of Pop.
The 2009 Pittsburgh Penguins became this metaphor in the last few months. At first it was used as a good guy/bad guy metaphor as I started to see this new guy and wasn't sure if he was going to be one of the good guys (Pittsburgh) or another asshole who will kill the idea for me (Washington in the 2nd round). It went all the way to game 7 and Crosby and co, bad moustache in tow, scored one for the good guys.
The guy in the end is a bit of a dipsh*t however I'll stick to my belief for the time being.
As the conference and then the final was going on, I used the metaphor for myself. The Penguins were on a mission to wipe the slate of the last year, being the losers of the 2008 final against Detroit. No one thought that they would be back, let alone make the playoffs as they sat in 10th place back in February. Then a coaching change and key trades turned this around and so the dream playoff run occurred. Being challenged by gooners, scorers and a cocky Ovechkin standing in their way. They returned with the opportunity to take a 2nd crack at not only the final, but to challenge the team that took their chance the year before: Detroit.
This is where I come in, camera in hand.
The Penguins had a tough 2 games then took it back home, then got embarrassed in game 5 then redeemed themselves in game 6 for the chance at what could be the greatest comeback for the ages. To take in game 7. Cue in the cliches, it comes down to this one game, one moment, anyone can be the hero.
At that same time I was back taking pictures of the Montreal Fringe, the most intense 10 days of photography, little sleep, day job at the same time, calling my family to say I'm still in one piece. Trying to keep focus and redeeming after what happened to me last year also. Last year in the middle of the festival my wrists started to hurt, this is when I found out I had tendinitis and was stressed out at the possibility that my chances at becoming a full time working photographer was diminishing, leaving me heartbroken and confused at "what if this never going to happen".
This time I had to learn from my mistakes and had something to prove. Over the last year I struggled with my wrists and the uncertainty, throw in a lousy job with politics, the whole open relationship fiasco and well, I'm sitting in 10th place.
I kept thinking that I had to redeem myself, forget that last year occurred, I'm a good photographer who isn't ruthless enough to get jobs (or fast enough as missing an email by 2 hours is costly, I'm investing in a blackberry soon).
Game 7 was during day one of fringe shows, so far so good. I learned to not make the Fringe the big thing in my life as I used to anticipate it the most then the rest of the time becomes meh. I took little breaks here and there to make sure that the wrists would get a break before the next round of photos. I got the chance to catch the last period of the Stanley Cup Final and boy was it worth it. It had to have been the most intense 20 minutes of my life and theirs.
They were up 2-0 in Detroit, a series that only the home team would win. Can Fleury keep the puck out of the net? that's all they needed to do, Crosby got hurt but would return to guide his team, a kid who time and time had to prove himself as he has the League on his shoulders, the star attraction of the NHL, the one who had to shine in order to bring in fans, both in Pittsburgh and the sport itself. He's done his part, the team had to follow that lead too.
Then again, he's learned this from the master of redemption and determination (and landlord) Mario Lemieux.
I grew up watching Lemieux, a year after he won his 2nd cup, I missed the chance to see him win and hope to do so. Then I found out what kind of player he was, the kind with adversity in his way. I saw him fight cancer, back problems, a sabbatical, retirement and a return. He also saved the team on the ice and off it as he became a part owner to the franchise that employed him for nearly 25 years. He took in Crosby and helped him out in the rookie year until after many comebacks, a heart condition stopped him for good. The team in turmoil, hoping that the draft and a deal with a casino was to be the key to returning the franchise in it's former glory.
I felt like that that night, to return to something I enjoyed, photography had been nothing but a 9-5 job I despises. Where's the creativity, the feeling of a job well done? It had been hard as not only with the wrists and personal problems, I was taking pics the wrong way. Playing it safe, not being passionate about my craft. Watching 2nd rate photographers get the jobs that I could have gotten, that it was all for show, shiny equipment and a mouth to match. There are no Cartier Bressons or Mary Ellen Marks, only Joe whoever who just bought the latest in gear and running with it.
That is not how I play or shoot.
Game 7 is not photography but the passion is there, the idea that it comes down to this one moment, anything can go wrong, anything can happen. The idea of determination is wild and crazy, the fact that the emotions play a role in whether you will have the joy of winning or a painful loss replaying in your head. My tears while I held my wrist while I was taking pictures is something I play over my head to remind me that this was my lowest point in my photography career and I wish to never go through it again.
With only 3 minutes to play, 2-1 Pittsburgh, this might actually happen.
It was the most intense 3 minutes, come on Fleury, it comes down to you.
He lived up in the last 2 games after the embarrassing 5-0 loss in game 5, making one hell of a save on Lindstrom, the last 15 seconds felt like eternity. I screamed and stood up as I witnessed possibly the best win ever. I've waited 17 years for this, it's been 6 years since I picked the Stanley Cup winner. The Penguins pulled off a hell of a run, they wiped the slate of 2008 and now were champions. I got to see Sid the Kid live up, players who lost in last year's final make the most noise in Detroit. I got the chance to see Mario Lemieux hoist the cup, this time as an owner.
The next day I bought myself a Pittsburgh Penguins cap (my first one in 16 years) and wore it throughout the Fringe, it was a reminder that determination and redemption after a loss can be possible. I had fun, I was focused and did some good work. To me, it's the beginning of a series of events that will help me get back to the way I used to take pictures. I know you're all thinking: it's only a hockey game. I had read Ken Dryden's The Game a month before and the sport, the mentality, makes a great metaphor of the human condition whether if it's hockey, photography or even crossing the street.
Which brings me to now, on my way to Toronto to see if I can get the feeling back in my images, escaping some backlash from the wrists and some personal setbacks. I have had some issues to deal with: the uncertainty, the lack of confidence from when I had the wrist problems, the angry drinking and the feeling that I reek of "open relationship" (I still get angry that I did this, twice). Dealing with deadbeats, douchebags, jerkfaces and dipsh*ts is like going against media scrutiny, great expectations, rivalries, tough teams per series. I think to me, overcoming the wrists and the open relationship is my version of Detroit: they are tough, strong and coming at me.
So, this is where I throw in Michael Jackson.
Some people will love what you do but you know there will be others out there to make you feel bad and want to knock you down. To call you names, to not hire you after saying that you do good work (mainly personal because like I said about my job, it's politics). Everything is ruthless and when someone sticks out, out comes the green eyes. Michael Jackson was a gifted talent who could have been eternal however dealing with the wrong people, making bad choices, knocked him down. What he wanted was to be happy and entertained, happiness was a struggle, been watched to see if he was going to do another freaky thing. People he wanted to trust, instead would be the cause of his demise and shortly, his death.
All he wanted to do is redeem himself, to put on 50 concerts as his comeback because we all knew he had it. And he did, this was the 1st step, the 1st step is always the tricky part. Unfortunately it was too late.
I sometimes wonder if it's too late, a part of me is gun ho about the prospects of doing photography however I'm nearing 30 and still is nagging in my head whether or not I can do this. I then look at Bill Guerin, his last Cup was in 1995, he was with the Islanders until the trading deadline, he may not be a great scorer but man, can he play.
I took the 1st step, I have my camera on me now, been writing and all. I'm not going to predict what will happen in the next while, whether if it's Toronto, Halifax or New York, I know I that I've done this before and can do it again. To learn from my mistakes and go foreword but look back and avoid history repeating.
It took Mario Lemieux 17 years to hoist the cup again, I know in my field of choice, opportunities are like Stanley Cup finals: it doesn't happen that often but when it does, it's worth going after it again and again.
By the way, there are some awesome Montreal acts performing their hearts out in Toronto, the hockey metaphor works here as Toronto is no Montreal. You can either win the hearts or not be recieved, go support Montreal as they're in the final days at the Toronto Fringe.
The Penguins won the cup
I shot the Montreal Fringe Festival
Michael Jackson died (it's everywhere and somehow I managed to put this in this post)
The two I refer to have a great tie in, Michael Jackson I will throw in somehow as it's the most topical, some may not get hockey but would know something about the King of Pop.
The 2009 Pittsburgh Penguins became this metaphor in the last few months. At first it was used as a good guy/bad guy metaphor as I started to see this new guy and wasn't sure if he was going to be one of the good guys (Pittsburgh) or another asshole who will kill the idea for me (Washington in the 2nd round). It went all the way to game 7 and Crosby and co, bad moustache in tow, scored one for the good guys.
The guy in the end is a bit of a dipsh*t however I'll stick to my belief for the time being.
As the conference and then the final was going on, I used the metaphor for myself. The Penguins were on a mission to wipe the slate of the last year, being the losers of the 2008 final against Detroit. No one thought that they would be back, let alone make the playoffs as they sat in 10th place back in February. Then a coaching change and key trades turned this around and so the dream playoff run occurred. Being challenged by gooners, scorers and a cocky Ovechkin standing in their way. They returned with the opportunity to take a 2nd crack at not only the final, but to challenge the team that took their chance the year before: Detroit.
This is where I come in, camera in hand.
The Penguins had a tough 2 games then took it back home, then got embarrassed in game 5 then redeemed themselves in game 6 for the chance at what could be the greatest comeback for the ages. To take in game 7. Cue in the cliches, it comes down to this one game, one moment, anyone can be the hero.
At that same time I was back taking pictures of the Montreal Fringe, the most intense 10 days of photography, little sleep, day job at the same time, calling my family to say I'm still in one piece. Trying to keep focus and redeeming after what happened to me last year also. Last year in the middle of the festival my wrists started to hurt, this is when I found out I had tendinitis and was stressed out at the possibility that my chances at becoming a full time working photographer was diminishing, leaving me heartbroken and confused at "what if this never going to happen".
This time I had to learn from my mistakes and had something to prove. Over the last year I struggled with my wrists and the uncertainty, throw in a lousy job with politics, the whole open relationship fiasco and well, I'm sitting in 10th place.
I kept thinking that I had to redeem myself, forget that last year occurred, I'm a good photographer who isn't ruthless enough to get jobs (or fast enough as missing an email by 2 hours is costly, I'm investing in a blackberry soon).
Game 7 was during day one of fringe shows, so far so good. I learned to not make the Fringe the big thing in my life as I used to anticipate it the most then the rest of the time becomes meh. I took little breaks here and there to make sure that the wrists would get a break before the next round of photos. I got the chance to catch the last period of the Stanley Cup Final and boy was it worth it. It had to have been the most intense 20 minutes of my life and theirs.
They were up 2-0 in Detroit, a series that only the home team would win. Can Fleury keep the puck out of the net? that's all they needed to do, Crosby got hurt but would return to guide his team, a kid who time and time had to prove himself as he has the League on his shoulders, the star attraction of the NHL, the one who had to shine in order to bring in fans, both in Pittsburgh and the sport itself. He's done his part, the team had to follow that lead too.
Then again, he's learned this from the master of redemption and determination (and landlord) Mario Lemieux.
I grew up watching Lemieux, a year after he won his 2nd cup, I missed the chance to see him win and hope to do so. Then I found out what kind of player he was, the kind with adversity in his way. I saw him fight cancer, back problems, a sabbatical, retirement and a return. He also saved the team on the ice and off it as he became a part owner to the franchise that employed him for nearly 25 years. He took in Crosby and helped him out in the rookie year until after many comebacks, a heart condition stopped him for good. The team in turmoil, hoping that the draft and a deal with a casino was to be the key to returning the franchise in it's former glory.
I felt like that that night, to return to something I enjoyed, photography had been nothing but a 9-5 job I despises. Where's the creativity, the feeling of a job well done? It had been hard as not only with the wrists and personal problems, I was taking pics the wrong way. Playing it safe, not being passionate about my craft. Watching 2nd rate photographers get the jobs that I could have gotten, that it was all for show, shiny equipment and a mouth to match. There are no Cartier Bressons or Mary Ellen Marks, only Joe whoever who just bought the latest in gear and running with it.
That is not how I play or shoot.
Game 7 is not photography but the passion is there, the idea that it comes down to this one moment, anything can go wrong, anything can happen. The idea of determination is wild and crazy, the fact that the emotions play a role in whether you will have the joy of winning or a painful loss replaying in your head. My tears while I held my wrist while I was taking pictures is something I play over my head to remind me that this was my lowest point in my photography career and I wish to never go through it again.
With only 3 minutes to play, 2-1 Pittsburgh, this might actually happen.
It was the most intense 3 minutes, come on Fleury, it comes down to you.
He lived up in the last 2 games after the embarrassing 5-0 loss in game 5, making one hell of a save on Lindstrom, the last 15 seconds felt like eternity. I screamed and stood up as I witnessed possibly the best win ever. I've waited 17 years for this, it's been 6 years since I picked the Stanley Cup winner. The Penguins pulled off a hell of a run, they wiped the slate of 2008 and now were champions. I got to see Sid the Kid live up, players who lost in last year's final make the most noise in Detroit. I got the chance to see Mario Lemieux hoist the cup, this time as an owner.
The next day I bought myself a Pittsburgh Penguins cap (my first one in 16 years) and wore it throughout the Fringe, it was a reminder that determination and redemption after a loss can be possible. I had fun, I was focused and did some good work. To me, it's the beginning of a series of events that will help me get back to the way I used to take pictures. I know you're all thinking: it's only a hockey game. I had read Ken Dryden's The Game a month before and the sport, the mentality, makes a great metaphor of the human condition whether if it's hockey, photography or even crossing the street.
Which brings me to now, on my way to Toronto to see if I can get the feeling back in my images, escaping some backlash from the wrists and some personal setbacks. I have had some issues to deal with: the uncertainty, the lack of confidence from when I had the wrist problems, the angry drinking and the feeling that I reek of "open relationship" (I still get angry that I did this, twice). Dealing with deadbeats, douchebags, jerkfaces and dipsh*ts is like going against media scrutiny, great expectations, rivalries, tough teams per series. I think to me, overcoming the wrists and the open relationship is my version of Detroit: they are tough, strong and coming at me.
So, this is where I throw in Michael Jackson.
Some people will love what you do but you know there will be others out there to make you feel bad and want to knock you down. To call you names, to not hire you after saying that you do good work (mainly personal because like I said about my job, it's politics). Everything is ruthless and when someone sticks out, out comes the green eyes. Michael Jackson was a gifted talent who could have been eternal however dealing with the wrong people, making bad choices, knocked him down. What he wanted was to be happy and entertained, happiness was a struggle, been watched to see if he was going to do another freaky thing. People he wanted to trust, instead would be the cause of his demise and shortly, his death.
All he wanted to do is redeem himself, to put on 50 concerts as his comeback because we all knew he had it. And he did, this was the 1st step, the 1st step is always the tricky part. Unfortunately it was too late.
I sometimes wonder if it's too late, a part of me is gun ho about the prospects of doing photography however I'm nearing 30 and still is nagging in my head whether or not I can do this. I then look at Bill Guerin, his last Cup was in 1995, he was with the Islanders until the trading deadline, he may not be a great scorer but man, can he play.
I took the 1st step, I have my camera on me now, been writing and all. I'm not going to predict what will happen in the next while, whether if it's Toronto, Halifax or New York, I know I that I've done this before and can do it again. To learn from my mistakes and go foreword but look back and avoid history repeating.
It took Mario Lemieux 17 years to hoist the cup again, I know in my field of choice, opportunities are like Stanley Cup finals: it doesn't happen that often but when it does, it's worth going after it again and again.
By the way, there are some awesome Montreal acts performing their hearts out in Toronto, the hockey metaphor works here as Toronto is no Montreal. You can either win the hearts or not be recieved, go support Montreal as they're in the final days at the Toronto Fringe.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Will there be a version 5?
So I've been reading, taking notes, catching random thoughts and seeing things through different light. It seems to be that I'm going towards the right direction, the camera in my bag is loaded with film and I've been snapping away. The question lies:
will there be a 5th book project???
I've been wondering myself the same thing, the project has always been my training wheels into getting myself to do new portraits. The last version was such a journey and the result was positive. A third of my portraits were strong. The words were out there, colors were vivid.
That was me two years ago, in an age of naivety and exploration. Now, I've been exploited, used and defeated. It doesn't seem like an exploration I want to dive into, or do I?
Maybe cynicism can reflect in a different way in a story line or in images.
I don't know yet, still researching. I mean, I've approached photography as the medium of "making things look good." In all sorts, we try to find the good in everything, even in it's ugliest. However, after what has happened in the last year with:
Maximum mind, minimum wage
sh**ty wrists
constant drinking
the "open" relationship(s)
knowing too many dark secrets
I'm having a hard time seeing the beauty in souls. All I see is hate, all I see are lies. This new friend I made wants me to trust him, I can't, I won't. I really want to however I've been burned too many times my skin hasn't had the time to heal properly. It's covered in scars. Scars that I see and (I think) other people can see too, they see the weak in me and go after it.
Trust is a big deal for me, good people are rare. Good is pure beauty.
However all I see is anger and a load of crap.
This could make the process of creating a strong body of work complicated. It's there, the eyes, people have seen a glimpse of what I can really do, I can push it however I hold back because I know in the process, as a photographer and as a person, I will get hurt, might get knocked down, and I don't want to start from zero.
But I don't want to stall anymore either.
More notes to make, ideas to process, I know I will be taking pictures.
Question will be if it'll be my new project?
will there be a 5th book project???
I've been wondering myself the same thing, the project has always been my training wheels into getting myself to do new portraits. The last version was such a journey and the result was positive. A third of my portraits were strong. The words were out there, colors were vivid.
That was me two years ago, in an age of naivety and exploration. Now, I've been exploited, used and defeated. It doesn't seem like an exploration I want to dive into, or do I?
Maybe cynicism can reflect in a different way in a story line or in images.
I don't know yet, still researching. I mean, I've approached photography as the medium of "making things look good." In all sorts, we try to find the good in everything, even in it's ugliest. However, after what has happened in the last year with:
Maximum mind, minimum wage
sh**ty wrists
constant drinking
the "open" relationship(s)
knowing too many dark secrets
I'm having a hard time seeing the beauty in souls. All I see is hate, all I see are lies. This new friend I made wants me to trust him, I can't, I won't. I really want to however I've been burned too many times my skin hasn't had the time to heal properly. It's covered in scars. Scars that I see and (I think) other people can see too, they see the weak in me and go after it.
Trust is a big deal for me, good people are rare. Good is pure beauty.
However all I see is anger and a load of crap.
This could make the process of creating a strong body of work complicated. It's there, the eyes, people have seen a glimpse of what I can really do, I can push it however I hold back because I know in the process, as a photographer and as a person, I will get hurt, might get knocked down, and I don't want to start from zero.
But I don't want to stall anymore either.
More notes to make, ideas to process, I know I will be taking pictures.
Question will be if it'll be my new project?
Monday, May 18, 2009
Cindy's (shorten) playoff blog
It's that time of year again...
yes, I know it's the Conference final, the 2009 NHL playoffs started a month ago, my Canadiens ousted in 4 games and the Penguins (with an even sleazier Sidney Crosby moustache) are in the final four. This is the shorten version of the playoff blog because:
1) My home team has been long gone, gone before even qualifying
2) I really needed to think about this
The 2008-09 Montreal Canadiens had high expectations this past season, it was the centennial of the franchise. History and perfection were being sought for a franchise that were slowly inching towards being true contenders.
However...
things do happen. Hockey is like real life, things don't always pan out.
We had a great start then injuries and politics played a role. Fans in Montreal are finicky bastards who claim they can be better management than Bob Gainey.
However, can some Joe Shmoe run a franchise better than a man who has won 6 Stanley cups as a player and a gm. Can Joe Shmoe talk sense into a bunch of Russians. Can Joe Shmoe convince the star goaltender that things will be fine rather than threaten to trade the entire squad?
When the chips are down, the fans become impatient. This is where I hate being a Montreal fan. Being a Habs fan is like being in a roller coaster relationship: you're going to have to support and deal with it and not give up on it. It's work it in the long run, there are bumps on the road.
Last I checked, you can't trade your boyfriend, sometimes you wish to but you can't.
There were high points after the Kovalev drama, the Kostisyn's gangster incident and the loss of Carbo the awesome coach (who knew from day 1 of the pressures of being in the Montreal lineup). There is a reason why French Canadian players don't want to play here: they're not the Rocket or Beliveau or Lafleur. No French player can handle the expectations. It's understandable.
The high points were that the squad starting to win, look like how they were at the beginning of the season. They were healthy, they were in form under Gainey's reign they...
lost both Scheider and Markov with under 5 games to go. Oh no.
We lost the last set of games, an overtime loss gave us the point to squeeze into the 8th spot. And worse, we would play Boston, the reversal of roles from the season before. Boston was strong in scoring, defense, goaltending and yes, Michael Ryder wanting his revenge after being unloaded by Les Glorieux.
Game 1: Was at Hatter's in the heart of downtown with friends and 7 pitchers. The rule of thumb in the playoffs is to show up to the bar earlier. The game was great, the Habs looked good, but Boston played great.
This is where 7 pitchers does come in handy.
Game 2: My friend's house in the suburbs. The setup looked like a little hockey shrine, I'm always the only girl watching the games. Beer and pizza (made with halal meat) and a blowout.
Wondering if they will pulled Price for Halak. At least there was Halal.
Game 3: went back to Ye Olde on the Main where I watched them win back in the day (like 6 months before). Beer and chips, still the chips were down for Price. Come on, we can't get swept.
Game 4: I went with a friend to the fan zone, the atmosphere alive in bleu blanc rouge. You can smell the history, the 24 Stanley cups in the air. The time of year where hockey matters and anyone can be the hero each game. Guys that play hurt and broken because this can be their last game. We went to McKibbin's for a last meal (it was a deluxe burger, it felt like I was going on death row) and of course, beer.
The Canadien's played the best hockey in game 4 and had the lead...for 12 minutes. Then got blown away. The fans, god damn you fans, were booing Price, it's always picking on Price. Wanting another Dryden, another Roy. But Price is neither of them, he is a 21 year old finding his way. He lifts his arms up in the air stating "ENOUGH!" Enough of the scrutiny, enough of the past, this is now, this is the Montreal Canadiens of today. The NHL is not how it was in Beliveau's day, Roy's day, not even 2 years ago. We don't know what these teams are like if the results will happen in the long run or in the short run. Price has shown that he is a capable goaltender, goaltenders don't truly develop until a few years in the league. Mentality is key, 21 000 fans booing the crap out of you doesn't really build confidence. Patrick Roy, yes, but then again, he hated to lose. Maybe we've seen the glimmer of this in the arms but in time, ease up on the expectations.
Cut to now...
The best series so far was the Washington/Pittsburgh series. Crosby vs Ovechkin. Who's the better player, Ovechkin can score goals, Crosby can shoot goals, play defense, lead the team. Hmm, I think the slap in the face was in game 7 when Ovechkin lost the puck on a giveaway and Crosby takes it away on a breakaway to seal the fate of the Capitals.
Crosby can now extend his attempt at facial hair for another week.
So it's down to 4, in the west it's the best of the Original 6 (Detroit/Chicago) while in the east it's a family affair (Pittsburgh/Carolina each have a Staal brother). It could be a rematch of last year's final or a battle of young guns or a dynasty in the making.
Either way, it's great hockey and yes, there will be beer.
yes, I know it's the Conference final, the 2009 NHL playoffs started a month ago, my Canadiens ousted in 4 games and the Penguins (with an even sleazier Sidney Crosby moustache) are in the final four. This is the shorten version of the playoff blog because:
1) My home team has been long gone, gone before even qualifying
2) I really needed to think about this
The 2008-09 Montreal Canadiens had high expectations this past season, it was the centennial of the franchise. History and perfection were being sought for a franchise that were slowly inching towards being true contenders.
However...
things do happen. Hockey is like real life, things don't always pan out.
We had a great start then injuries and politics played a role. Fans in Montreal are finicky bastards who claim they can be better management than Bob Gainey.
However, can some Joe Shmoe run a franchise better than a man who has won 6 Stanley cups as a player and a gm. Can Joe Shmoe talk sense into a bunch of Russians. Can Joe Shmoe convince the star goaltender that things will be fine rather than threaten to trade the entire squad?
When the chips are down, the fans become impatient. This is where I hate being a Montreal fan. Being a Habs fan is like being in a roller coaster relationship: you're going to have to support and deal with it and not give up on it. It's work it in the long run, there are bumps on the road.
Last I checked, you can't trade your boyfriend, sometimes you wish to but you can't.
There were high points after the Kovalev drama, the Kostisyn's gangster incident and the loss of Carbo the awesome coach (who knew from day 1 of the pressures of being in the Montreal lineup). There is a reason why French Canadian players don't want to play here: they're not the Rocket or Beliveau or Lafleur. No French player can handle the expectations. It's understandable.
The high points were that the squad starting to win, look like how they were at the beginning of the season. They were healthy, they were in form under Gainey's reign they...
lost both Scheider and Markov with under 5 games to go. Oh no.
We lost the last set of games, an overtime loss gave us the point to squeeze into the 8th spot. And worse, we would play Boston, the reversal of roles from the season before. Boston was strong in scoring, defense, goaltending and yes, Michael Ryder wanting his revenge after being unloaded by Les Glorieux.
Game 1: Was at Hatter's in the heart of downtown with friends and 7 pitchers. The rule of thumb in the playoffs is to show up to the bar earlier. The game was great, the Habs looked good, but Boston played great.
This is where 7 pitchers does come in handy.
Game 2: My friend's house in the suburbs. The setup looked like a little hockey shrine, I'm always the only girl watching the games. Beer and pizza (made with halal meat) and a blowout.
Wondering if they will pulled Price for Halak. At least there was Halal.
Game 3: went back to Ye Olde on the Main where I watched them win back in the day (like 6 months before). Beer and chips, still the chips were down for Price. Come on, we can't get swept.
Game 4: I went with a friend to the fan zone, the atmosphere alive in bleu blanc rouge. You can smell the history, the 24 Stanley cups in the air. The time of year where hockey matters and anyone can be the hero each game. Guys that play hurt and broken because this can be their last game. We went to McKibbin's for a last meal (it was a deluxe burger, it felt like I was going on death row) and of course, beer.
The Canadien's played the best hockey in game 4 and had the lead...for 12 minutes. Then got blown away. The fans, god damn you fans, were booing Price, it's always picking on Price. Wanting another Dryden, another Roy. But Price is neither of them, he is a 21 year old finding his way. He lifts his arms up in the air stating "ENOUGH!" Enough of the scrutiny, enough of the past, this is now, this is the Montreal Canadiens of today. The NHL is not how it was in Beliveau's day, Roy's day, not even 2 years ago. We don't know what these teams are like if the results will happen in the long run or in the short run. Price has shown that he is a capable goaltender, goaltenders don't truly develop until a few years in the league. Mentality is key, 21 000 fans booing the crap out of you doesn't really build confidence. Patrick Roy, yes, but then again, he hated to lose. Maybe we've seen the glimmer of this in the arms but in time, ease up on the expectations.
Cut to now...
The best series so far was the Washington/Pittsburgh series. Crosby vs Ovechkin. Who's the better player, Ovechkin can score goals, Crosby can shoot goals, play defense, lead the team. Hmm, I think the slap in the face was in game 7 when Ovechkin lost the puck on a giveaway and Crosby takes it away on a breakaway to seal the fate of the Capitals.
Crosby can now extend his attempt at facial hair for another week.
So it's down to 4, in the west it's the best of the Original 6 (Detroit/Chicago) while in the east it's a family affair (Pittsburgh/Carolina each have a Staal brother). It could be a rematch of last year's final or a battle of young guns or a dynasty in the making.
Either way, it's great hockey and yes, there will be beer.
Friday, March 27, 2009
An Occurence, all worth an HOUR
I hit a breaking point.
So, after my meeting last week with the one (formally known as Jerkface), I was (you guessed it) contemplating. I was also by myself, editing my crazy Canadian Music Week photos when I get a call about the use of my riot photo from the anti brutality riots...
from the HOUR.
Not the show but a weekly (one of two popular ones in Montreal). Paid and published I was. It was a turning point to the Hell I had put myself, the fact I got the call, any call will do (as long as you credit the crap out of me).
I've been feeling good as of late, maybe the weather or the fact that in my head, I'm starting to put together pieces of an incomplete puzzle.
Funny that for a photographer I've lost focus, especially in the last year. I've been at my best but I've still have a ways to go, especially in the redemption dept. I've done this over and over and yet, these things keep happening, the fall from grace all because I'm not man enough for myself. Or the selection and perspective I have about who enters my heart (or in most cases, my pants).
It's not a man bash but more of, more me less them. I should never think of them in the higher sense or think that they might care or rely on their expectations.
I accidentally watched a new school episode of Degrassi, I was tired but still, it's Degrassi. A girl, typical bright, pretty, the usual: wants a guy to like her. She gives up her virginity, for what, so he can like her. She felt awful more because she gave it up for him, not herself.
I'm certain that I've lost it way too many times.
I'm thinking of the many times I've done things for him, not me.
The following come to mind:
lending him money
taking out a student loan
almost quitting my job
almost falling off a balcony
doing the open relationship
certain acts I can't even name (yes, they're dirty)
keeping quiet when you know he's dead wrong
keeping quiet about the no job situation
trusting he can keep a secret
letting him call me names
getting drunk when I can't drink no more
trying to be emotional unavailable (even when dangled for months)
I'm thinking if it weren't for all of the above, that I have to come first, then my photo career and degree, along with self esteem, confidence and even an apt, would have come sooner or happen...NOW.
So guys, love you to bits but look at the damage done. You are the most useless saving graces in the history of the lineup, I ask myself if it's all worth losing myself to. At 29, I shouldn't be weeping like a 16 year old all because I want to be liked. Yes, I would like to be liked but I think I've given enough of my attention.
I would like to give my attention to:
my flickr account
my contact list
people I meet on shoots
helping out someone who needs an ear (or a picnic)
publications I've interested in
I don't normally get the call but I figure if I do follow up, they will call more often than any guy I've seen in the last two years.
So, after my meeting last week with the one (formally known as Jerkface), I was (you guessed it) contemplating. I was also by myself, editing my crazy Canadian Music Week photos when I get a call about the use of my riot photo from the anti brutality riots...
from the HOUR.
Not the show but a weekly (one of two popular ones in Montreal). Paid and published I was. It was a turning point to the Hell I had put myself, the fact I got the call, any call will do (as long as you credit the crap out of me).
I've been feeling good as of late, maybe the weather or the fact that in my head, I'm starting to put together pieces of an incomplete puzzle.
Funny that for a photographer I've lost focus, especially in the last year. I've been at my best but I've still have a ways to go, especially in the redemption dept. I've done this over and over and yet, these things keep happening, the fall from grace all because I'm not man enough for myself. Or the selection and perspective I have about who enters my heart (or in most cases, my pants).
It's not a man bash but more of, more me less them. I should never think of them in the higher sense or think that they might care or rely on their expectations.
I accidentally watched a new school episode of Degrassi, I was tired but still, it's Degrassi. A girl, typical bright, pretty, the usual: wants a guy to like her. She gives up her virginity, for what, so he can like her. She felt awful more because she gave it up for him, not herself.
I'm certain that I've lost it way too many times.
I'm thinking of the many times I've done things for him, not me.
The following come to mind:
lending him money
taking out a student loan
almost quitting my job
almost falling off a balcony
doing the open relationship
certain acts I can't even name (yes, they're dirty)
keeping quiet when you know he's dead wrong
keeping quiet about the no job situation
trusting he can keep a secret
letting him call me names
getting drunk when I can't drink no more
trying to be emotional unavailable (even when dangled for months)
I'm thinking if it weren't for all of the above, that I have to come first, then my photo career and degree, along with self esteem, confidence and even an apt, would have come sooner or happen...NOW.
So guys, love you to bits but look at the damage done. You are the most useless saving graces in the history of the lineup, I ask myself if it's all worth losing myself to. At 29, I shouldn't be weeping like a 16 year old all because I want to be liked. Yes, I would like to be liked but I think I've given enough of my attention.
I would like to give my attention to:
my flickr account
my contact list
people I meet on shoots
helping out someone who needs an ear (or a picnic)
publications I've interested in
I don't normally get the call but I figure if I do follow up, they will call more often than any guy I've seen in the last two years.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Don't want to be THAT girl
More thinking, more to sort after this long winter.
It wasn't that bad this year however it gave me time to sort out what the Hell happened to me. The feeling is mutual in relation to someone being held captive for a long period of time and freedom is felt for the first time.
It's there, you suspect it and the memories of being held prisoner is not forgotten.
Call it a syndrome, I know it has been long since what happened. Not just the whole open relationship thing (it does play a part) but more the whole "I fell apart and nearly destroyed myself" part. I can't shake it off and it haunts me. It's going to take some time but it's there.
We all moved on but I can't seem to stop punishing myself.
I got into this mess more vulnerable than I've ever been in my life. The last known event of vulnerable with a side of self destruction was when I finished CEGEP and didn't get into a program at University. I figure I would go with the flow however I seem to be the type that needs structure and a schedule. I fell in love with an actor wannabe who would telemarket and smoke pot.
Great choice in guys.
He kind of dumped me for someone who wasn't boring: a hitchhiker/stripper who I found out not so long ago, kind of psycho.
I hit a low point and nearly hurt myself bad, for the next few months I drank heavily, scared my friends, tried to bash my skull in and nearly got raped.
Yes, I'm one of those, the kind who may self destruct if nothing falls into place. What fell into place was an application to a photo program that I placed in my sister's hand one day before the deadline. I had photos I took over the last two years and time before work to write one hell of a letter of intent.
Photography was and still is my saving grace and now I need something like that again. Before it was a hobby but now it's a career.
Cut to now where I fell down, my perspective went under when my ex found himself another girlfriend (still with her, probably because she has a better line of credit). Then someone in my circle started getting more photo jobs, when you find out that my job saved my ass 9 years ago you kind of figure out why I get pissed when I lose jobs to that guy. The battle between talent and networking rages on.
Then I went to that place, that dark and uncertain place where your perspective changes, it grows darker and you tend to trust anyone or any idea that can make you happy again.
So yes, the open relationship was a good idea (through clouded judgement).
I'm not really mad at the couple (or couples now) but mad at myself. I've become that type of girl. The one no one remembers, the one left behind while everyone lives happily ever after. The trash you take out, the drinking the night before that you don't quite recall. I don't want to be left behind or forgotten, no one knows how to end these properly.
I learned the hard way that I'm not that type of girl and shouldn't have vocalized it.
He brought the new one to the bar that night, I only knew of her as he met her which meant I was off the hook (not in the relationship but not part of the strings attached in the "other relationship). Just sex and hockey games for me.
I was insulted that he brought her, I don't hang out with the 'others'. I never meshed with the girlfriend, what gives guys ideas that girls that they are fooling around with would become the best of buddies. We are women: catty, jealous and capable of destroying self esteem.
My jealousy was of not wanting the guy but more that there will be no room for me. I knew she would be for keeps, the other relationship was on it's last breath (if it weren't for the open relationship they would have broken up months before). She was in, I was out.
Yes, in this you stay friends with the ex
you start committing to this new being
but what happens to me?
Left out.
I became THAT girl, she's cool and casual, this wouldn't bother her. It did and I made it evident. I didn't want to be responsible in destroying a couple but instead I destroyed myself. No guy is interested in someone who was leftovers, she smells of open relationship. To not factor at all.
It gets me thinking if I factor at all, do I have any impact in anyone's life. I question that a lot.
I learned recently that when you reach 29 this is when you ask the hardest of all questions: what is my place? Do I have a real identity? Am I a good person? I've reached that point where I can say this: I'm a good person who does stupid things.
I don't want to say that the situation itself was stupid, mainly the way I treated myself was. I was drinking badly, falling for my own worst enemy of loser guys with even bigger insecurities and drinking habits. Smoking (again and again), being offensive. Worst of all, I majorly did some damage to my wrist, now how am I going to work as a photographer?
Actually, can I still work as a photographer?
For the first time, my saving grace wasn't able to be there. I got scared, what am I going to do. Am I going to be THAT girl: generic and nothing special.
We all know that being generic is something I'm not, quirky stories and all. I'm not the one who likes to let people down but in the last few months I have. I'm let myself down and now I'm playing one Hell of a catch up game. Sure, the first encounter in a while was me filled with anger but I really can't be "la dee da" about what happened. I made a mess and I feel like I'm still paying for it.
I feel like sometimes guys have this ideal that girls are not supposed to fall apart or have "issues" if there are it has to be solved in two sentences. I realised that dealing with me hasn't been a cakewalk but that's what I'm facing right now. That we know (and I know) that I'm not meant to be THAT girl.
But I don't want to be left out too. That usually happens after dealing with drunk and destructive, you tend to make a lot of mends. That's why I needed the time off.
One of these days I could meet the new girl (not so new anymore) and not be mean to the ex. The fact that I've admit it is one step, however I still have lingering memories where I was held at my own will (mentally).
Time heals sh**ty wrists, let alone a shattered heart and a lack of ego.
It wasn't that bad this year however it gave me time to sort out what the Hell happened to me. The feeling is mutual in relation to someone being held captive for a long period of time and freedom is felt for the first time.
It's there, you suspect it and the memories of being held prisoner is not forgotten.
Call it a syndrome, I know it has been long since what happened. Not just the whole open relationship thing (it does play a part) but more the whole "I fell apart and nearly destroyed myself" part. I can't shake it off and it haunts me. It's going to take some time but it's there.
We all moved on but I can't seem to stop punishing myself.
I got into this mess more vulnerable than I've ever been in my life. The last known event of vulnerable with a side of self destruction was when I finished CEGEP and didn't get into a program at University. I figure I would go with the flow however I seem to be the type that needs structure and a schedule. I fell in love with an actor wannabe who would telemarket and smoke pot.
Great choice in guys.
He kind of dumped me for someone who wasn't boring: a hitchhiker/stripper who I found out not so long ago, kind of psycho.
I hit a low point and nearly hurt myself bad, for the next few months I drank heavily, scared my friends, tried to bash my skull in and nearly got raped.
Yes, I'm one of those, the kind who may self destruct if nothing falls into place. What fell into place was an application to a photo program that I placed in my sister's hand one day before the deadline. I had photos I took over the last two years and time before work to write one hell of a letter of intent.
Photography was and still is my saving grace and now I need something like that again. Before it was a hobby but now it's a career.
Cut to now where I fell down, my perspective went under when my ex found himself another girlfriend (still with her, probably because she has a better line of credit). Then someone in my circle started getting more photo jobs, when you find out that my job saved my ass 9 years ago you kind of figure out why I get pissed when I lose jobs to that guy. The battle between talent and networking rages on.
Then I went to that place, that dark and uncertain place where your perspective changes, it grows darker and you tend to trust anyone or any idea that can make you happy again.
So yes, the open relationship was a good idea (through clouded judgement).
I'm not really mad at the couple (or couples now) but mad at myself. I've become that type of girl. The one no one remembers, the one left behind while everyone lives happily ever after. The trash you take out, the drinking the night before that you don't quite recall. I don't want to be left behind or forgotten, no one knows how to end these properly.
I learned the hard way that I'm not that type of girl and shouldn't have vocalized it.
He brought the new one to the bar that night, I only knew of her as he met her which meant I was off the hook (not in the relationship but not part of the strings attached in the "other relationship). Just sex and hockey games for me.
I was insulted that he brought her, I don't hang out with the 'others'. I never meshed with the girlfriend, what gives guys ideas that girls that they are fooling around with would become the best of buddies. We are women: catty, jealous and capable of destroying self esteem.
My jealousy was of not wanting the guy but more that there will be no room for me. I knew she would be for keeps, the other relationship was on it's last breath (if it weren't for the open relationship they would have broken up months before). She was in, I was out.
Yes, in this you stay friends with the ex
you start committing to this new being
but what happens to me?
Left out.
I became THAT girl, she's cool and casual, this wouldn't bother her. It did and I made it evident. I didn't want to be responsible in destroying a couple but instead I destroyed myself. No guy is interested in someone who was leftovers, she smells of open relationship. To not factor at all.
It gets me thinking if I factor at all, do I have any impact in anyone's life. I question that a lot.
I learned recently that when you reach 29 this is when you ask the hardest of all questions: what is my place? Do I have a real identity? Am I a good person? I've reached that point where I can say this: I'm a good person who does stupid things.
I don't want to say that the situation itself was stupid, mainly the way I treated myself was. I was drinking badly, falling for my own worst enemy of loser guys with even bigger insecurities and drinking habits. Smoking (again and again), being offensive. Worst of all, I majorly did some damage to my wrist, now how am I going to work as a photographer?
Actually, can I still work as a photographer?
For the first time, my saving grace wasn't able to be there. I got scared, what am I going to do. Am I going to be THAT girl: generic and nothing special.
We all know that being generic is something I'm not, quirky stories and all. I'm not the one who likes to let people down but in the last few months I have. I'm let myself down and now I'm playing one Hell of a catch up game. Sure, the first encounter in a while was me filled with anger but I really can't be "la dee da" about what happened. I made a mess and I feel like I'm still paying for it.
I feel like sometimes guys have this ideal that girls are not supposed to fall apart or have "issues" if there are it has to be solved in two sentences. I realised that dealing with me hasn't been a cakewalk but that's what I'm facing right now. That we know (and I know) that I'm not meant to be THAT girl.
But I don't want to be left out too. That usually happens after dealing with drunk and destructive, you tend to make a lot of mends. That's why I needed the time off.
One of these days I could meet the new girl (not so new anymore) and not be mean to the ex. The fact that I've admit it is one step, however I still have lingering memories where I was held at my own will (mentally).
Time heals sh**ty wrists, let alone a shattered heart and a lack of ego.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A Long and Hard Look
I've had a full last few hours, mainly as a person and as photographer. We’re back to this. I know that this is becoming an ongoing theme however until this is resolved, this will be the topic in question to whoever listens, reads or understands. We can relate to being in a place in our lives where we think we should be at but we’re not.
The fact that I think its time to face the fact, I'm not at a place in my life where I should be.
Should is the word I tend to focus on:
I should be freelancing more
I should be writing more (less about me, more to an audience)
I should be more career, there is a place for creativity, less casual about
I should stop being lost and confused
I shouldn't go down.
I'm down, trying to get up. I've done this before, one too many times. I don't know if I have that feeling of achievement when it's been scripted. I know this play by heart.
Then why the Hell am I not performing this to the audience.
The last few weeks I stepped away from the spotlight, went out of the radar. I hid from the confines of my social life and thought about what my game plan should be. I've been stalling, I've been afraid...afraid that this could either go two ways: bad or good.
My feedback has always been good, she's got talent, she's got poise. However...
However there is this shadow, this darkness that has a hard time believing that there is good, there is hope. That this is too good to be true. And then, it goes away. The goodness is there, I wish I can believe it can be a permanent resident in my heart after years of revolving in and out of my life.
This past weekend I was in Toronto, I was covering Canadian Music Week, the perks of being a photographer with ideas, they actually take you places. I ended up taking pictures of bands in amazing venues in downtown Toronto. I've been focused on being a better photographer these last few weeks and it shows. I see what I'm about to shoot, I'm aware of my surroundings. I think I'm back at the level I was a couple years before I sort of lost interest.
Glad that it's there. Now if only I can do that in my personal work.
I was staying at a friend’s; he's actually a friend of my ex's (the one who took off with my money). He is normally an in your face, to the point, right wing, ADD driven asshole who pushes my buttons and well, I need someone to push my buttons to get the work done.
He unfortunately has fallen on hard times and like the economic crisis, is in need of a bailout. More for his mental well being than his wallet. Hasn't worked in months, living in a filthy bachelors and popping pills to sustain another day of numbed living. He has good days, I encountered the bad when you combined alcohol with self loathing and revealing a suicide attempt gone wrong. This was hardcore, this was real. This is something I am familiar with.
Suicide not so much, the fact that this being the true last resort means that I’ve not hit rock bottom. But the fact that I think it does cross some minds now and then. The fact that I know the role of the self-loather looking for answers, looking for a way out of these situations. I know this role and I know it’s hard to deal with this type of person but let’s face it; there are a lot of us out there. We’re living in not so ideal situations. In the last 18 months I’ve lost friends to other cities because of the job situations, I’ve seen friends struggle in search for work, relationships I’ve question and worst of all, the need of addiction in the form of alcohol and meaningless lust (or relationships consisted of nothing because of a fear of not having someone in the room).
That’s a lot going on in my head, hence the stuck feeling.
My friend is ok as it can get, I know he’ll get out of it. I hope he’ll get out of it. These are trying times, it’s hard to be creative when all there is is real, if you try to escape it feels like you’re neglecting the hard truth at hand, to face them head on.
I really hope he’ll make it out ok, I just don’t know when.
Hope, that word again. I hope for a lot of things:
To be happy without guilt
To take pictures without either intimidation or sheer frustration
To know that my friendships have no strings attached or limitations
To believe that there is such thing as stability
To know that when someone falls down, they can get up
Here’s the big one, to know that there is no such thing as running out of ideas.
I know this guy who tours from city to city, telling strange exploits from his eclectic life. I met him starting out freelancing and he gave me advice about the idea of making some money in the process. We found out we share a common connection of self-awareness in our storytelling. Curiously is what we craved, the sense of exploration in what is out there got me to explore some things about myself I didn’t know existed:
Such as true confidence.
I found my confidence form someone who only sees me 10 days out of the year. He sees it in my words, my images and in my doodles. I believed in that, I believed for the first time that this could be done, creativity as a job, because he’s doing it.
Then came last year, this was me out of it. My world crashed and I was self destructive, being the 2nd rate/3rd string in the “open relationship” and not doing great photo wise. He returned with a show where he struggled, he had a hard time writing it. He was having a tough tour.
This was not supposed to happen, he was my rock. He was the hope I needed and here he was, struggling. This was the first time I saw that no matter how creative you can be, you could run out of ideas. The jig was up, we’re doomed. I lost more confidence and drank some more. I didn’t want to admit it but even heroes can be mortals too.
He’s back on track doing other forms of performance however I won’t be seeing him in town. That’s the sad part; I’ll miss the insights and the strong hugs where it felt like he’s protecting me from the harsh world. I feel betrayed but do believe that there is only a small ray of hope that creativity will be back on track.
That word again. Will you stop giving me expectations?
Which brings me to today. I did take pics of bands all weekend, but when I got back I got a call to cover the anti brutality riots (it started as a demonstration however when I got there it gotten out of hand). At the same time I gotten out of hiding and decided to see the guy (formally known as jerkface) for the first time in months. I needed to figure things out; he didn’t want to deal with what I went through in Toronto with my friend (me playing the role of the self loather).
I knew that the clash between police and demonstrators would result in the destruction of property and udder chaos:
And I chose to be in the heart of the action.
At first I was pissed that we lost the photographer and I got back into town 20 minutes before. I was more pissed that jerkface bailed out on me for the 64th time (now here’s someone who knows more about bailouts). And with an angry, tired photographer stuck on a city bus while cop cars bombard the streets in search of an angry mob there were two things I could do: wait and fume on the bus or get out and find the mob. Helicopters swirled the city, crowds and cop cars going into a direction that would lead me to jackpot. I ran and ran until I found the show down between riot cops and crazy mobs. I ducked rocks, debris and anarchy. I was getting a high from risking my neck for photos. By the end of the day, it was this feeling of satisfaction knowing that I had the balls to sustain something I would have avoided. This rush of confidence of doing this without doing anything stupid. It wasn’t that hard.
What was hard today was looking at myself in front of jerkface, sitting down and talking with him for the first time and dealing with the problem at hand. If I had the choice between the riots or dealing with my problems I would settle for the riots.
That hard.
To deal with mistakes that feel like you would want to take the easy way out.
I had to do this, do you think it’s easy to stay angry with someone and with myself at the same time. I didn’t want to go there but it had to be, we share the same social circle and he now knows of my flaws. Real big flaws such as self-loathing and lacked confidence. Real sexy. No wonder I feel like I lost big time. The feeling of defeatism is mutual if you’re on a team that is going nowhere, not winning but not losing so much where you lose control and you miss the playoffs. I know the game plan was going to change, I was going to have to adapt to it. However a few things had to come out because for once I felt like I had to fend for myself:
I don’t befriend the girlfriend, either current or past tense
I am not 2nd rate/3rd string (I keep telling myself this)
I am currently by myself looking for trust and friends
Can I trust you as a friend?
I may not be hopeful but there is a part of me that still thinks that there might be good. Can I still find good after losing trust, losing myself. The fact that what I did before, the open relationship. I knew that this was wrong (my gut knew it) and yet, I kept going. Throwing myself into this mess over and over. Hurting myself on many levels. And worst of all, someone knows of this. He explored into my dark realm. Now, how can I redeem myself after what happened?
I kick myself all the time knowing I did this stupid thing, being a thing. I’m more than an object:
I’ve been told I’ve been awesome
Caring
Passionate
Honest
Wonderful
My all time favorite: confident.
He sees that in me but is not into me, I know that. I should know that, I haven’t been myself in a long time and here I am in the bar, facing the music to admit that I haven’t been a good person (to myself and to others). My friend in Toronto has pushed away people and has isolated himself. I don’t want to be that person, I also don’t want to be that person who is angry and writing these words this late in the night. I don’t:
Want to stay angry
I don’t want to keep hating myself for nearly destroying myself
I don’t want to stay stuck
I don’t want to lose trust or lose people
I don’t want to keep hurting myself.
I remember two years ago I was happy, I finished school, photo was great. I was making friends and had hope. I miss that person; I was naïve to believe that opportunities would drop on my lap. I knew that there was going to be dirt on my hands, instead I now have scars. Scars that show and tell a story of trying to figure out where I fit into the scheme of things. Of messes that I would have to explain, in a rare case, to admit that I did. I have to stop punishing myself and others. To search for answers in other people and when they let me down, to not rely on their hope when there’s have disappeared. It’s up to me now, I know there is some hope as I was gutsy to go into flying objects and mass destruction. It’ll take time for wounds to heal, the scars to remind me that I cannot be stupid about my life. I have to deal with the fact that it’s going to be tough, go with as little hope as I can. It’s better than no hope at all. I’ve been good the last 6 weeks; I’ll still be going. It’s up to me now to create my happiness.
I’m not done yet, I’m still here.
The fact that I think its time to face the fact, I'm not at a place in my life where I should be.
Should is the word I tend to focus on:
I should be freelancing more
I should be writing more (less about me, more to an audience)
I should be more career, there is a place for creativity, less casual about
I should stop being lost and confused
I shouldn't go down.
I'm down, trying to get up. I've done this before, one too many times. I don't know if I have that feeling of achievement when it's been scripted. I know this play by heart.
Then why the Hell am I not performing this to the audience.
The last few weeks I stepped away from the spotlight, went out of the radar. I hid from the confines of my social life and thought about what my game plan should be. I've been stalling, I've been afraid...afraid that this could either go two ways: bad or good.
My feedback has always been good, she's got talent, she's got poise. However...
However there is this shadow, this darkness that has a hard time believing that there is good, there is hope. That this is too good to be true. And then, it goes away. The goodness is there, I wish I can believe it can be a permanent resident in my heart after years of revolving in and out of my life.
This past weekend I was in Toronto, I was covering Canadian Music Week, the perks of being a photographer with ideas, they actually take you places. I ended up taking pictures of bands in amazing venues in downtown Toronto. I've been focused on being a better photographer these last few weeks and it shows. I see what I'm about to shoot, I'm aware of my surroundings. I think I'm back at the level I was a couple years before I sort of lost interest.
Glad that it's there. Now if only I can do that in my personal work.
I was staying at a friend’s; he's actually a friend of my ex's (the one who took off with my money). He is normally an in your face, to the point, right wing, ADD driven asshole who pushes my buttons and well, I need someone to push my buttons to get the work done.
He unfortunately has fallen on hard times and like the economic crisis, is in need of a bailout. More for his mental well being than his wallet. Hasn't worked in months, living in a filthy bachelors and popping pills to sustain another day of numbed living. He has good days, I encountered the bad when you combined alcohol with self loathing and revealing a suicide attempt gone wrong. This was hardcore, this was real. This is something I am familiar with.
Suicide not so much, the fact that this being the true last resort means that I’ve not hit rock bottom. But the fact that I think it does cross some minds now and then. The fact that I know the role of the self-loather looking for answers, looking for a way out of these situations. I know this role and I know it’s hard to deal with this type of person but let’s face it; there are a lot of us out there. We’re living in not so ideal situations. In the last 18 months I’ve lost friends to other cities because of the job situations, I’ve seen friends struggle in search for work, relationships I’ve question and worst of all, the need of addiction in the form of alcohol and meaningless lust (or relationships consisted of nothing because of a fear of not having someone in the room).
That’s a lot going on in my head, hence the stuck feeling.
My friend is ok as it can get, I know he’ll get out of it. I hope he’ll get out of it. These are trying times, it’s hard to be creative when all there is is real, if you try to escape it feels like you’re neglecting the hard truth at hand, to face them head on.
I really hope he’ll make it out ok, I just don’t know when.
Hope, that word again. I hope for a lot of things:
To be happy without guilt
To take pictures without either intimidation or sheer frustration
To know that my friendships have no strings attached or limitations
To believe that there is such thing as stability
To know that when someone falls down, they can get up
Here’s the big one, to know that there is no such thing as running out of ideas.
I know this guy who tours from city to city, telling strange exploits from his eclectic life. I met him starting out freelancing and he gave me advice about the idea of making some money in the process. We found out we share a common connection of self-awareness in our storytelling. Curiously is what we craved, the sense of exploration in what is out there got me to explore some things about myself I didn’t know existed:
Such as true confidence.
I found my confidence form someone who only sees me 10 days out of the year. He sees it in my words, my images and in my doodles. I believed in that, I believed for the first time that this could be done, creativity as a job, because he’s doing it.
Then came last year, this was me out of it. My world crashed and I was self destructive, being the 2nd rate/3rd string in the “open relationship” and not doing great photo wise. He returned with a show where he struggled, he had a hard time writing it. He was having a tough tour.
This was not supposed to happen, he was my rock. He was the hope I needed and here he was, struggling. This was the first time I saw that no matter how creative you can be, you could run out of ideas. The jig was up, we’re doomed. I lost more confidence and drank some more. I didn’t want to admit it but even heroes can be mortals too.
He’s back on track doing other forms of performance however I won’t be seeing him in town. That’s the sad part; I’ll miss the insights and the strong hugs where it felt like he’s protecting me from the harsh world. I feel betrayed but do believe that there is only a small ray of hope that creativity will be back on track.
That word again. Will you stop giving me expectations?
Which brings me to today. I did take pics of bands all weekend, but when I got back I got a call to cover the anti brutality riots (it started as a demonstration however when I got there it gotten out of hand). At the same time I gotten out of hiding and decided to see the guy (formally known as jerkface) for the first time in months. I needed to figure things out; he didn’t want to deal with what I went through in Toronto with my friend (me playing the role of the self loather).
I knew that the clash between police and demonstrators would result in the destruction of property and udder chaos:
And I chose to be in the heart of the action.
At first I was pissed that we lost the photographer and I got back into town 20 minutes before. I was more pissed that jerkface bailed out on me for the 64th time (now here’s someone who knows more about bailouts). And with an angry, tired photographer stuck on a city bus while cop cars bombard the streets in search of an angry mob there were two things I could do: wait and fume on the bus or get out and find the mob. Helicopters swirled the city, crowds and cop cars going into a direction that would lead me to jackpot. I ran and ran until I found the show down between riot cops and crazy mobs. I ducked rocks, debris and anarchy. I was getting a high from risking my neck for photos. By the end of the day, it was this feeling of satisfaction knowing that I had the balls to sustain something I would have avoided. This rush of confidence of doing this without doing anything stupid. It wasn’t that hard.
What was hard today was looking at myself in front of jerkface, sitting down and talking with him for the first time and dealing with the problem at hand. If I had the choice between the riots or dealing with my problems I would settle for the riots.
That hard.
To deal with mistakes that feel like you would want to take the easy way out.
I had to do this, do you think it’s easy to stay angry with someone and with myself at the same time. I didn’t want to go there but it had to be, we share the same social circle and he now knows of my flaws. Real big flaws such as self-loathing and lacked confidence. Real sexy. No wonder I feel like I lost big time. The feeling of defeatism is mutual if you’re on a team that is going nowhere, not winning but not losing so much where you lose control and you miss the playoffs. I know the game plan was going to change, I was going to have to adapt to it. However a few things had to come out because for once I felt like I had to fend for myself:
I don’t befriend the girlfriend, either current or past tense
I am not 2nd rate/3rd string (I keep telling myself this)
I am currently by myself looking for trust and friends
Can I trust you as a friend?
I may not be hopeful but there is a part of me that still thinks that there might be good. Can I still find good after losing trust, losing myself. The fact that what I did before, the open relationship. I knew that this was wrong (my gut knew it) and yet, I kept going. Throwing myself into this mess over and over. Hurting myself on many levels. And worst of all, someone knows of this. He explored into my dark realm. Now, how can I redeem myself after what happened?
I kick myself all the time knowing I did this stupid thing, being a thing. I’m more than an object:
I’ve been told I’ve been awesome
Caring
Passionate
Honest
Wonderful
My all time favorite: confident.
He sees that in me but is not into me, I know that. I should know that, I haven’t been myself in a long time and here I am in the bar, facing the music to admit that I haven’t been a good person (to myself and to others). My friend in Toronto has pushed away people and has isolated himself. I don’t want to be that person, I also don’t want to be that person who is angry and writing these words this late in the night. I don’t:
Want to stay angry
I don’t want to keep hating myself for nearly destroying myself
I don’t want to stay stuck
I don’t want to lose trust or lose people
I don’t want to keep hurting myself.
I remember two years ago I was happy, I finished school, photo was great. I was making friends and had hope. I miss that person; I was naïve to believe that opportunities would drop on my lap. I knew that there was going to be dirt on my hands, instead I now have scars. Scars that show and tell a story of trying to figure out where I fit into the scheme of things. Of messes that I would have to explain, in a rare case, to admit that I did. I have to stop punishing myself and others. To search for answers in other people and when they let me down, to not rely on their hope when there’s have disappeared. It’s up to me now, I know there is some hope as I was gutsy to go into flying objects and mass destruction. It’ll take time for wounds to heal, the scars to remind me that I cannot be stupid about my life. I have to deal with the fact that it’s going to be tough, go with as little hope as I can. It’s better than no hope at all. I’ve been good the last 6 weeks; I’ll still be going. It’s up to me now to create my happiness.
I’m not done yet, I’m still here.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Seeking the Best out of the Worst dating Lineup
I was in a slew of emotions, trying to contain rather than let them out. Once they come out, they won't stop. I don't know if it's the weather to blame but it does a number on the water works.
I decided to not write during that period because let's face it: we've heard it all before. Yes, I'm not the best girl in Montreal (right now), yes, I'm still angry about Jerkface the "open relationship" guy who now has killed relationships for me...
...for now.
Previously it was the douchebag who took my money and said that I wasn't suited to be his wife or bear his kids. He's seeking work in the diplomatic area and so far dodging the ex and getting some drunk sibling to call me scum, hmm, does that sound diplomatic to anyone?
A Michelle Obama he seeks who is more background than stand out.However, Michelle Obama would never go for a douchebag.
Prior to that there was the yuppie that would make me cry every Friday. The type who talks of nothing but about his surround sound speakers, would exfoliate more than I do and thinks he's better than everyone (creatively). I don't see you writing scripts and putting on shows, you do however bankroll them then sleep with someone in the cast.
And so forth and so forth...
This all triggered after watching my friend's play about seeking for the right mate, to commit to someone he would put on a pedestal and dubbed "the best girl in Montreal". I met him when in the play, he ran out of the country for these girls. A couple friends filled me in on the "actual" story behind what really happened prior to the play.
Then I started to go through my track record, hence the water works. Also at the same time, my beloved Montreal Canadiens were having the week that they wish to forget, not letting Kovalev play and a link to mobsters by the kiddies of squad. We went back in time in a lifestyle common to the Mob, live fast, drink hard, women you have for one night only.
Hockey and relationships do go hand and hand, having a good relationship is like going to the Stanley Cup final: take full advantage because it's never going to happen again.
If I were to compare my dating record, I would have the hardest time making the playoffs. It would be a miracle to make it far, seriously, I need to reevaluate the lineup cause it's the laughing stock of the league.
In Montreal, it's easy to find the best girl because let's face it, there are a lot of amazing girls out there. For us, the reversal of fortune is nothing but a game of Russian Roulette. Too many chances, fewer and fewer guys out there. I feel like I'm not the best because there are more girls better than me then it becomes harder to compete. Or lack of competition as most guys will like anything, picky I know they're not. As long as they can make the playoffs (in whatever capacity) it's fine by them.
I think guys are even more insecure about being alone. It's just not as well played.
True fact: the douchebag started going out with a generic blond after he dumped me, 2 weeks later. When jerkface broke off with his girl, he was with his blond replacement a week later.
Then again, they were going on while still with the girlfriend, me as the extra.
BTW, I hate blonds. Unless you're Alex Kovalev.
I downplay in the game because since there is a lack, you really can't be picky. I got lucky with the douche, I loved his curiosity and the ability to make me feel like a better person. We were good, except the part where he couldn't keep a job and got clingy during my final year of University. I couldn't cope, snapped at him, then he thought, well this isn't going to work out.
Like I wasn't already stressed out enough as it is.
I tried seeing it from a Bob Gainey approach, he does the hardest job on earth making sure what is best for this squad and this happens, the kiddies drink hard with strippers, Carey Price is as useful as a plant. I know that the plant would stop the puck more. Expectations were high at first but now it's "let's just make the playoffs."
The same way I see guys. Why should I have expectations when clearly I will be disappointed no matter what. I will lose to blonds, when I do get mad then they think it's the end of the relationship. I no longer have the pressure of being the best when in theory there will be times when I will be at my worst.
Which happened to Kovalev then the whole city wants him out, then he does that magic thing he does and then we love him again.
STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT.
What I learned out of relationships and hockey is that the expectations are high for someone who has to do all the work while the other lounges around and makes it hard. It's hard for me because like I said: it's rare to go to the Stanley Cup final. I'm reaching the age where it gets even harder, selection is so scarce. For guys they can find whoever is "best" until it doesn't mesh. Stop seeking the best and seek what is real, sometimes there will be confidence in one night, a collapse in the next. I think women are more understanding about that (and this is why most of us date douchebags and jerkfaces). But yes, I want to make the playoffs but I will have to do this with an actual team that works as a team, no superstars, no spotlight. Nada expectations.
Who would want the ideal when the real has more surprises. Maybe this could be the year or maybe, who knows. I am doing my best here, right?
I decided to not write during that period because let's face it: we've heard it all before. Yes, I'm not the best girl in Montreal (right now), yes, I'm still angry about Jerkface the "open relationship" guy who now has killed relationships for me...
...for now.
Previously it was the douchebag who took my money and said that I wasn't suited to be his wife or bear his kids. He's seeking work in the diplomatic area and so far dodging the ex and getting some drunk sibling to call me scum, hmm, does that sound diplomatic to anyone?
A Michelle Obama he seeks who is more background than stand out.However, Michelle Obama would never go for a douchebag.
Prior to that there was the yuppie that would make me cry every Friday. The type who talks of nothing but about his surround sound speakers, would exfoliate more than I do and thinks he's better than everyone (creatively). I don't see you writing scripts and putting on shows, you do however bankroll them then sleep with someone in the cast.
And so forth and so forth...
This all triggered after watching my friend's play about seeking for the right mate, to commit to someone he would put on a pedestal and dubbed "the best girl in Montreal". I met him when in the play, he ran out of the country for these girls. A couple friends filled me in on the "actual" story behind what really happened prior to the play.
Then I started to go through my track record, hence the water works. Also at the same time, my beloved Montreal Canadiens were having the week that they wish to forget, not letting Kovalev play and a link to mobsters by the kiddies of squad. We went back in time in a lifestyle common to the Mob, live fast, drink hard, women you have for one night only.
Hockey and relationships do go hand and hand, having a good relationship is like going to the Stanley Cup final: take full advantage because it's never going to happen again.
If I were to compare my dating record, I would have the hardest time making the playoffs. It would be a miracle to make it far, seriously, I need to reevaluate the lineup cause it's the laughing stock of the league.
In Montreal, it's easy to find the best girl because let's face it, there are a lot of amazing girls out there. For us, the reversal of fortune is nothing but a game of Russian Roulette. Too many chances, fewer and fewer guys out there. I feel like I'm not the best because there are more girls better than me then it becomes harder to compete. Or lack of competition as most guys will like anything, picky I know they're not. As long as they can make the playoffs (in whatever capacity) it's fine by them.
I think guys are even more insecure about being alone. It's just not as well played.
True fact: the douchebag started going out with a generic blond after he dumped me, 2 weeks later. When jerkface broke off with his girl, he was with his blond replacement a week later.
Then again, they were going on while still with the girlfriend, me as the extra.
BTW, I hate blonds. Unless you're Alex Kovalev.
I downplay in the game because since there is a lack, you really can't be picky. I got lucky with the douche, I loved his curiosity and the ability to make me feel like a better person. We were good, except the part where he couldn't keep a job and got clingy during my final year of University. I couldn't cope, snapped at him, then he thought, well this isn't going to work out.
Like I wasn't already stressed out enough as it is.
I tried seeing it from a Bob Gainey approach, he does the hardest job on earth making sure what is best for this squad and this happens, the kiddies drink hard with strippers, Carey Price is as useful as a plant. I know that the plant would stop the puck more. Expectations were high at first but now it's "let's just make the playoffs."
The same way I see guys. Why should I have expectations when clearly I will be disappointed no matter what. I will lose to blonds, when I do get mad then they think it's the end of the relationship. I no longer have the pressure of being the best when in theory there will be times when I will be at my worst.
Which happened to Kovalev then the whole city wants him out, then he does that magic thing he does and then we love him again.
STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT.
What I learned out of relationships and hockey is that the expectations are high for someone who has to do all the work while the other lounges around and makes it hard. It's hard for me because like I said: it's rare to go to the Stanley Cup final. I'm reaching the age where it gets even harder, selection is so scarce. For guys they can find whoever is "best" until it doesn't mesh. Stop seeking the best and seek what is real, sometimes there will be confidence in one night, a collapse in the next. I think women are more understanding about that (and this is why most of us date douchebags and jerkfaces). But yes, I want to make the playoffs but I will have to do this with an actual team that works as a team, no superstars, no spotlight. Nada expectations.
Who would want the ideal when the real has more surprises. Maybe this could be the year or maybe, who knows. I am doing my best here, right?
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Happy Hour?
Here I am writing my blog out of all places: the bar next to my work. It is in a way my office as I am here for hockey games, 5 a 7 and yes, even the occasional rendez vous with someone that fancies me (more recent, the jerkface from the open relationship). Yes, I’m still on this as he’s in my doghouse now, hiding like a coward as if he does show his face in my scene then it would be true: that he is a total jerkface, a liar and the most insecure person on earth. Wanting the attention as if he were a child tugging at his mother’s skirt, wanting her to validate his achievement (or simply his presence).
So why should I even give him the time of day when all he does is waste my time?
Other than that, it’s a loud night, the Habs play the Leafs, which means the bar, will be packed. Louder than normal when it’s hockey night, nearly impossible to hear one’s self amidst the patrons filled with chicken wings and beer. However the voice in my head these days outprojects the table of six next to me.
The bar of late, has been a place for me to think, to contemplate what’s been on my mind in the last while. I have realized this week the significance of a photo project that I’ve been doing for years. That yes, every two years I do become a different person and not the same as the two years previous. I compared myself from two years ago and realized:
I don’t like this person.
Where’s the self determined being that plays the underdog card and comes out on top with nothing to lose? The quirky, crazy, wanting to explore being that was (and can still be me).
She’s in this bar somewhere and I got to find her or else what was the whole point to what I’m doing. I don’t like wasting so I don’t want to be considered a wasted person.
The scenario as follows: the fear in me has been installed due to the consequences that have occurred: bad taste in guys, bad judgment in the jerkface, the sh**ty wrist that has limited me, the economic crisis and post university. All of these have added to this:
I’ve lost photo jobs to someone who barely knows the rules of photo yet has all the time in the world to shoot (I don’t, have a job), there are more politics in the paper I work at and would want to freelance more but the opportunities you can do at a student paper sure beats covering a bake sale. I’m questioning on whether or not I am a good photographer, or even a good person. I yell at one person…
I’m at a low point where: 29, lives at home, minimum wage, pushed around, no confidence at all. However, I do admit that since I realized this, maybe I can turn this around completely. I think the open relationship/sh**ty wrists are what’s preventing me, who wants to hire someone who may be prone to injury and bad judgment. People do talk.
I think jerkface did and I got blackballed.
I can’t seem to forgive myself for being the other woman. I think all the time I’ve done this awful thing and shouldn’t deserve anything. The fact that I have bad judgment, think about it, if you actually have me in a real life situation, life or death type of deal, would you really want to have your faith determined by the girl who decided to be in the open relationship with the same guy twice and not come out with something?
Really?!?
I remember being a lot smarter about this two years ago.
Man, no wonder why everyone stays in University, we’re a bunch of useless stupid people with no purpose to serve without the shelter of the ivory tower. I’ve become a total douchebag, the being I’ve been trying not to be however it crept up behind me as I was becoming vulnerable to the real world adjustment. You know the theory of the little fish/big pond and big fish/little pond. As I figured out how to become a big fish, the ponds would be easy to adapt and become smaller, I have no other form of level to go up to now, actually, it’s a Hell of a lot bigger than I can handle. I am now in the ocean and if I don’t adapt, I’m going keep on drowning.
I think it would be better if I were to drown my sorrows in the beer right next to me but I won’t, the fact that I’m writing my blog in a bar on hockey night has me thinking that this could actually be a good sign. I am writing again, right?
The whole notion of what could happen now then where I was two years ago is quite different, the rules and attitude is supposed to exceed intelligence however my scenarios are so childish and immature the only thing I can think of is:
At least you know, do something about it.
I know that’s something I would have never done two years ago.
So why should I even give him the time of day when all he does is waste my time?
Other than that, it’s a loud night, the Habs play the Leafs, which means the bar, will be packed. Louder than normal when it’s hockey night, nearly impossible to hear one’s self amidst the patrons filled with chicken wings and beer. However the voice in my head these days outprojects the table of six next to me.
The bar of late, has been a place for me to think, to contemplate what’s been on my mind in the last while. I have realized this week the significance of a photo project that I’ve been doing for years. That yes, every two years I do become a different person and not the same as the two years previous. I compared myself from two years ago and realized:
I don’t like this person.
Where’s the self determined being that plays the underdog card and comes out on top with nothing to lose? The quirky, crazy, wanting to explore being that was (and can still be me).
She’s in this bar somewhere and I got to find her or else what was the whole point to what I’m doing. I don’t like wasting so I don’t want to be considered a wasted person.
The scenario as follows: the fear in me has been installed due to the consequences that have occurred: bad taste in guys, bad judgment in the jerkface, the sh**ty wrist that has limited me, the economic crisis and post university. All of these have added to this:
I’ve lost photo jobs to someone who barely knows the rules of photo yet has all the time in the world to shoot (I don’t, have a job), there are more politics in the paper I work at and would want to freelance more but the opportunities you can do at a student paper sure beats covering a bake sale. I’m questioning on whether or not I am a good photographer, or even a good person. I yell at one person…
I’m at a low point where: 29, lives at home, minimum wage, pushed around, no confidence at all. However, I do admit that since I realized this, maybe I can turn this around completely. I think the open relationship/sh**ty wrists are what’s preventing me, who wants to hire someone who may be prone to injury and bad judgment. People do talk.
I think jerkface did and I got blackballed.
I can’t seem to forgive myself for being the other woman. I think all the time I’ve done this awful thing and shouldn’t deserve anything. The fact that I have bad judgment, think about it, if you actually have me in a real life situation, life or death type of deal, would you really want to have your faith determined by the girl who decided to be in the open relationship with the same guy twice and not come out with something?
Really?!?
I remember being a lot smarter about this two years ago.
Man, no wonder why everyone stays in University, we’re a bunch of useless stupid people with no purpose to serve without the shelter of the ivory tower. I’ve become a total douchebag, the being I’ve been trying not to be however it crept up behind me as I was becoming vulnerable to the real world adjustment. You know the theory of the little fish/big pond and big fish/little pond. As I figured out how to become a big fish, the ponds would be easy to adapt and become smaller, I have no other form of level to go up to now, actually, it’s a Hell of a lot bigger than I can handle. I am now in the ocean and if I don’t adapt, I’m going keep on drowning.
I think it would be better if I were to drown my sorrows in the beer right next to me but I won’t, the fact that I’m writing my blog in a bar on hockey night has me thinking that this could actually be a good sign. I am writing again, right?
The whole notion of what could happen now then where I was two years ago is quite different, the rules and attitude is supposed to exceed intelligence however my scenarios are so childish and immature the only thing I can think of is:
At least you know, do something about it.
I know that’s something I would have never done two years ago.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Really contemplating....
I've been looking at myself really hard and asking myself: really?!?
Nothing right now is making me happy, everything (in my mind) feels wrong. My voice, is not coming out. My soul has nothing to believe in. Trying to find the right words, the right speech to make things out, instead anger and frustation comes out and scares away people.
In one case, thinking that I am crazy and need to be on medication.
Everyone is medicated, numbing themselves in believing that they can be content rather than face the fact: things are hard, you're going to have to deal with it. No ammout of booze, lust or even perscription will make this go away.
I'm aware of my situation, giving me a pill will make me deal with my emotions. However, the problem will still be unresolved. I can't live with that. I'm the type of person looking for answers, in the meantime I'm trapped in situations that (in theory can be resolved) however...
I'm afraid that either I'm going to fall flat on my face or (the greater fear)
that I might actually succeed.
It's like playing the lottery, we believe in the idea that it could happen and we keep trying, but what if...
I've been hearing the what if over and over, playing my numbers and knowing that it will never happen. Wasting my four dollars per week on a supposive solution, yeah right.
Yeah right that I can actually make it as a photographer and get out of my coffee shop job and move out of my folk's apt and get on with my life.
My doubts have trapped me into the situation above, the holder of a Bachelor of Arts who has been published and paid, overqualified in the art of latte making. My parents are old, that scares me thinking that if I win my lottery, it'll be too late for them to enjoy.
So far the words are still the same, still no answers.
I guess I can break it down this way:
-I hate my minimum wage job because I think I'm better than it, yet I'm still there dealing with stupid and stupid only.
-I work at a student paper with more politics (and more exciting) than what is happening in Ottawa (yet I think we have a better chance at a better fiscal solution).
-I don't trust my friends who can't be there for me as I am there for them, listening to them word for word (as I think they're afraid that they won't be heard either). The dominating type who are even more alone if they don't have someone in the room, the type to take charge but no one wants to march with them.
-My family...I don't talk about them in this however, they are core to me but I don't know if they're good for me (right now).
There are situations that have solutions however where to start? And is there room for me, my voice, my eyes and my heart in this?
I've been looking at this long and hard, asking what a 29 year old is doing stuck in this vicious cycle. I can't keep doing this. Don't you think it's about time that there is a solution...
or do I keep playing lottery tickets.
Nothing right now is making me happy, everything (in my mind) feels wrong. My voice, is not coming out. My soul has nothing to believe in. Trying to find the right words, the right speech to make things out, instead anger and frustation comes out and scares away people.
In one case, thinking that I am crazy and need to be on medication.
Everyone is medicated, numbing themselves in believing that they can be content rather than face the fact: things are hard, you're going to have to deal with it. No ammout of booze, lust or even perscription will make this go away.
I'm aware of my situation, giving me a pill will make me deal with my emotions. However, the problem will still be unresolved. I can't live with that. I'm the type of person looking for answers, in the meantime I'm trapped in situations that (in theory can be resolved) however...
I'm afraid that either I'm going to fall flat on my face or (the greater fear)
that I might actually succeed.
It's like playing the lottery, we believe in the idea that it could happen and we keep trying, but what if...
I've been hearing the what if over and over, playing my numbers and knowing that it will never happen. Wasting my four dollars per week on a supposive solution, yeah right.
Yeah right that I can actually make it as a photographer and get out of my coffee shop job and move out of my folk's apt and get on with my life.
My doubts have trapped me into the situation above, the holder of a Bachelor of Arts who has been published and paid, overqualified in the art of latte making. My parents are old, that scares me thinking that if I win my lottery, it'll be too late for them to enjoy.
So far the words are still the same, still no answers.
I guess I can break it down this way:
-I hate my minimum wage job because I think I'm better than it, yet I'm still there dealing with stupid and stupid only.
-I work at a student paper with more politics (and more exciting) than what is happening in Ottawa (yet I think we have a better chance at a better fiscal solution).
-I don't trust my friends who can't be there for me as I am there for them, listening to them word for word (as I think they're afraid that they won't be heard either). The dominating type who are even more alone if they don't have someone in the room, the type to take charge but no one wants to march with them.
-My family...I don't talk about them in this however, they are core to me but I don't know if they're good for me (right now).
There are situations that have solutions however where to start? And is there room for me, my voice, my eyes and my heart in this?
I've been looking at this long and hard, asking what a 29 year old is doing stuck in this vicious cycle. I can't keep doing this. Don't you think it's about time that there is a solution...
or do I keep playing lottery tickets.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Where did I go...I guess I'm back.
It's taken me a few days to think about this.
Where did I go, here I am. It's the 27th day of the New Year and I've returned (somewhat) to seeing things the way I used to. Well, attempting. Long story short, haven't been myself in months, I've been doing the things I've been doing, just not with heart and soul (no voice too).
Consider me the prettiest doormat in the city, no longer the ATM machine like I was before.
I missed out on commentary and experience such as the many elections endured, one more democratic than the other (while down South has become "Obamafied") her sister of the North is now a big fat joke with shaky Govenment, sliding economics and a shattered reputation.
How the tables have indeed turned.
Been out of the loop in the Montreal scene, full of more hipsters, trendoids and holes in the brain (more than ever). I then wonder if these people think they're better than me when they can't order coffee properly, I think then I may be the most overqualified person in the room and yet I still buy Apparel and look so normal.
I had a friend comment that the Plateau/Mile end have the worst dressers he's seen in this country, come on people: wear (proper) pants. Or simply wear pants.
In the last while I've lost respect to the elitists and the deadbeats (as to me) are the same: treat me like I'm second rate yet are useless without a mate to put down or make them look good. I lost a friend in between girlfriends as I was the in between in a thing we call an "open relationship".
Jerkface has now replaced douchebag in my books.
For a while I didn't feel like drawing, writing this blog and slowly taking pictures will be on that list (these are the "Big Three" of what keeps me going). Without these, I'll be the norm that is at my job during the morning shift, mudane talk of deadbeat boyfriends, wishing to do other things than watching TV and yes, hockey.
For my two cents about this: the Habs are good, Kovalev is not a bum, we're not going to get Lecavalier, if you don't know who the Hell is Jean Beliveau or anything reguarding the history of this franchise then you're a faux fan to me. Out of my face please.
You can guess that lately I've been angry, angry can work on many levels. Here, I'm choosing to put it out there rather than take it out on someone (mainly Jerkface, you can see why I'm pissed).
Mainly because I thought I was going to be hampered by my sh**ty wrist that plagued me last summer, made me misrable and not myself. Now, I'm doing what I can to not let this win, by writing, drawing, taking pictures (even if it bothers me a little). So far, so good via this blog.
I'm slowly getting back, I don't know if this will be consistant. However, the good news is that I'm trying and will keep trying till I feel that I've gotten my point across: as a person, as a friend, as a photographer, as someone creative.
As me.
I guess I'm back to work.
Where did I go, here I am. It's the 27th day of the New Year and I've returned (somewhat) to seeing things the way I used to. Well, attempting. Long story short, haven't been myself in months, I've been doing the things I've been doing, just not with heart and soul (no voice too).
Consider me the prettiest doormat in the city, no longer the ATM machine like I was before.
I missed out on commentary and experience such as the many elections endured, one more democratic than the other (while down South has become "Obamafied") her sister of the North is now a big fat joke with shaky Govenment, sliding economics and a shattered reputation.
How the tables have indeed turned.
Been out of the loop in the Montreal scene, full of more hipsters, trendoids and holes in the brain (more than ever). I then wonder if these people think they're better than me when they can't order coffee properly, I think then I may be the most overqualified person in the room and yet I still buy Apparel and look so normal.
I had a friend comment that the Plateau/Mile end have the worst dressers he's seen in this country, come on people: wear (proper) pants. Or simply wear pants.
In the last while I've lost respect to the elitists and the deadbeats (as to me) are the same: treat me like I'm second rate yet are useless without a mate to put down or make them look good. I lost a friend in between girlfriends as I was the in between in a thing we call an "open relationship".
Jerkface has now replaced douchebag in my books.
For a while I didn't feel like drawing, writing this blog and slowly taking pictures will be on that list (these are the "Big Three" of what keeps me going). Without these, I'll be the norm that is at my job during the morning shift, mudane talk of deadbeat boyfriends, wishing to do other things than watching TV and yes, hockey.
For my two cents about this: the Habs are good, Kovalev is not a bum, we're not going to get Lecavalier, if you don't know who the Hell is Jean Beliveau or anything reguarding the history of this franchise then you're a faux fan to me. Out of my face please.
You can guess that lately I've been angry, angry can work on many levels. Here, I'm choosing to put it out there rather than take it out on someone (mainly Jerkface, you can see why I'm pissed).
Mainly because I thought I was going to be hampered by my sh**ty wrist that plagued me last summer, made me misrable and not myself. Now, I'm doing what I can to not let this win, by writing, drawing, taking pictures (even if it bothers me a little). So far, so good via this blog.
I'm slowly getting back, I don't know if this will be consistant. However, the good news is that I'm trying and will keep trying till I feel that I've gotten my point across: as a person, as a friend, as a photographer, as someone creative.
As me.
I guess I'm back to work.
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The story so far...
- Cindy Lopez
- Montreal, Quebec, Canada
- Cindy is trying her best to make a career as a photographer and throws in her writing as a balance (as she did a degree in Creative Writing). Cindy may have this background however still wants to understand what makes people tick, have strange stories of their own and why is it so hard from them to order coffee (really, it's not that hard).