walking.

The walks have been fantastically good lately.

One of the reasons why I slightly prefer New York to Seattle is that, even though it gets cold here, it's generally sunny. Sure it rains, snows, hails, ice storms and anything else one could bitch about, but when it does the previously mentioned things... there's some effort put into it. I'm seriously considering walking to work tomorrow.

I've got a ton of sun peeking out into my pictures behind this and that. Obviously it creates some lens flare, but I'm more than happy to have it. I can't wait for the summer. The music gets a little livelier, beer tastes better, it's finally warm and girls shed a few layers of clothing which never hurts anything.

Unfortunately I won't be heading to Wisconsin for my grandfather's funeral this weekend as the weather has gotten too bad to drive and my dad just needs to fly there. I was looking forward to going there, seeing what everyone had to say about the man, and taking some photos along the way.

My work is going along well. My pop wants me to shoot the promo for his agency in the next few weeks. This excites and scares me. It's a great opportunity, but I don't know what the fuck I should do. I'm not so great at chasing muses and so, in that spirit, I'm sure something will come. Also, I'm shooting Cursive in a club about the size of my living room in a few weeks. It should be good. I'll post some of that shit when I get it done.

Dear God, Help us all.

I was named after my father's father. I never met him. He passed away a week or 2 ago and, alas, I will embark on some kind of weird soul searching journey to Wisconsin to celebrate his life/mourn his death and maybe catch a glimpse into the life of a man I'm from but will never know. I'm not exactly sure what to think but I'm at least happy for another road trip (photos, family, etc.).

Things have gotten strange around here. Dad's taken a sudden liking to bourbon. He was a scotch man. His weed is higher grade than usual. He's eating from a George Foreman grill. I guess when your father dies from a 90 percent blockage in an artery you have one of the existential "oh fuck" moments. I hope it's not soon for me. His company has been beyond stellar in the last few years.

by and bye.