Time, You Thief!

After almost a full year of being on college admissions overdrive, I’ve come to the conclusion that Tom Petty was correct; “The Waiting” is indeed the hardest part.

Had you asked this past October, I would have said that getting my daughter to complete her applications was the most challenging of the admissions-related tasks. A few months before that, I would have sworn that convincing her to expand the rather small list of schools she was considering was the most arduous of my jobs. And this time last year, I have no doubt I would have told you that getting my girl to focus on grades and standardized testing was impossibly exhausting.

Now that this is all behind us, I can say with absolute certainty, that the period between December 6 and December 15 (the final week and two days before decisions were released) was by far the most difficult time of all.  And that’s because all we had left to do was wait.  And wait we did. I’ve never known time to pass more slowly—and I’ve been pregnant twice! If you haven’t experienced pregnancy yourself, I am here to tell you that nine months spent walking around with another human being lodged in your gut does not pass quickly.

But this felt worse.

And then, with the click a MacBook Pro trackpad, everything was good again.

I will never forget the moment that my daughter learned that all of her hard work had paid off.  And I will always hold in my heart the memory of the two of us, her hands clasped inside of mine, jumping up and down and screaming in absolute joy. Her dream school said: yes!

And now, several months later, I find that time won’t slow the hell down. The universe is playing a sick joke on me. The days are flying by; and in just a few months, my baby will be heading out.

My daughter asked me recently if I would “feel sad” when she is away at college. I responded that I would definitely miss seeing her on a daily basis and would also miss the pleasure (and that is exactly what it is) of her company. I added, making sure to stress every syllable, that as long as she is happy, I could never feel sad.

Now, I have to work on putting that into practice.  And I better hurry… because time is flying.

*sigh*

I was named, in part, for the title of this poem. How appropriate it feels today:

Jenny Kissed Me

by Leigh Hunt

Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in.

Time, you thief! who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in.

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad;

Say that health and wealth have missed me;

Say I’m growing old, but add-

Jenny kissed me!

 

Pin-fessions

I have a confession to make… I really wasn’t all that into Pinterest when I first joined the site. So not into it was I, that I left my profile basically bare (not one pin did I tack) for almost nine months. During that time, I received notifications left and right about Twitter and Facebook friends who were embracing the pinning craze, but not being someone who follows just for the sake I following, I was not swayed.

And then all of that changed…but not really.

I posted a few token pins and checked the site out a bit more thoroughly. And still… nothing. No magical harp played in my head while I was there. I experienced no mighty rush of endorphins. And I did not forget to eat and bathe. I found my reaction (or should I say non-reaction) a bit perplexing. I had read article after article detailing how fast Pinterest was growing. And all of the social media experts–the really cool kids–seemed to be gushing about what an unbelievable marketing tool it was. Why was I the only person who didn’t feel the magic?

And then… it happened, for real.

I had an idea for a cause I wanted to champion and Pinterest, as it turns out, was the perfect outlet. And now I am sucked in like nobody’s business.

So… I am here not only to admit to my initial lack of interest in Pinterest, but also to humbly ask you to check out my profile. I have boards with titles like: Books That Stick, I’d Wear That!, Now I Lay My Head to Sleep and If I Owned a Radio Station. My personal favorite, though, is the one that got me hooked on Pinterest: Henry the Rescue Pug. 

Are you on Pinterest? And if so, what is your assessment? I’d love to hear. And I’d also love it if you would leave a link to your profile in the comment section.

Who Did it Best?

I can’t remember the last time I posted something in this category… and for that reason, I am going to tweak the formula just a bit. Today, I thought it would be fun to get your thoughts on the topic of television theme songs. This is far too subjective (and broad) of a category to ask you to vote on just a couple, so I am offering the comment section as a place to share favorite(s).

Here are a some of mine:

“The Munsters Theme” was written by composer/arranger Jack Marshall. According to Wikipedia, the song originally contained lyrics but those never aired on CBS. It was nominated for a Grammy in 1965 (which makes me feel even better about this choice), but alas, did not win.

I have already admitted to having sentimental ties to this show, so probably not a huge surprise that I would select the theme song as one of my favorites. Once again (yes, my chest is puffed up with pride), I am not alone in my assessment of  theme song goodness.

Extra props to The Courtship of Eddie’s Father theme song for including the adorable father-son banter at the beginning. And also, for Bill Bixby–he was pretty awesome.

And finally, because I do feel a tiny obligation to follow the original Who Did it Best format, I have included this:

vs.

Husker Dü, in my opinion, is the victor when it comes to The Mary Tyler Moore Show’s opening track.

Okay, now it is your turn. Which TV theme songs do you think are the best?

Boxy but Safe

The mail carrier (that’s the term we use now, right?) showed up at my door the other day with a certified letter. I couldn’t make out the contents while signing for it, but I did notice that the return address was Texas and that the envelope had the words: Auto, Title and Legal Notice stamped in red ink on the front.

The purpose of the note, as it turns out, was to inform me that someone had dropped a Volvo convertible that I used to own off at a repair shop in Houston, Texas and–oops!–they forgot to return for it. The certified letter went on to say (keep in mind that I haven’t owned this car since May 2009) that the car had a mechanic’s lien attached to it and would be auctioned if I didn’t pay the almost $3,000 that was owed for replacing the transmission.

Wha?

I immediately placed a call to the service station. The woman who answered the phone told me that the mechanic wasn’t there and that he didn’t have voice mail, so I would have to call back. I don’t like having stuff hanging over my head, so I dialed the dealership that I purchased my current car from. I had traded the Volvo in as part of that transaction and was hoping I could put this off on them–and go back to enjoying my life.

Not exactly…

Josh, (the manager who had the good fortune to answer my call), did some digging and sure enough when he plugged in the VIN for that particular Volvo, my name and address showed up as the last registered owner. This meant that whoever bought the car from the auction house (the one that Josh’s dealership sold it to) never bothered registering it.

Josh told me that in all likelihood the Volvo was taken across state lines and operated *gasp!* illegally. And then, to add injury to insult, the jerk blew out the car’s transmission and abandoned it.

Who does that?

I feel bad for the Volvo. She (yes, it was a she) was a good car. And though her top malfunctioned a few times and her acceleration left a lot to be desired, she was the primary mode of transportation for me (and my kids) for almost eight years. And she served us well. I should add that I also feel sorry for the mechanic, who in what I am sure was an act of good faith, repaired my old girl. He deserves compensation.

My husband and son suggested we go to Texas and stage a rescue operation. We were after all still listed as the last registered owners, couldn’t we just pay the ransom bill and buy the Volvo’s freedom? I quickly shot that idea down (though, to their credit, a customer service agent from California’s DMV made the same suggestion a few days later).

The moral to this story (it’s my story and I want a moral, so bear with me) is that some people do bad things. Also, and this is kind of important, when you sell (or trade-in) a vehicle make sure you fill out a Notice of Transfer and Release of Liability form. The first DMV rep I spoke with said I had not done this for the Volvo and could be held responsible for all tickets, liens, children birthed out-of-wedlock, etc.. The second rep, (he’s the one I like), said that I had in fact filled out the form and it was on file.

So my question for you: How connected are you to your car? Connected to the point that you assign it a name and gender? And kind of miss it once it’s gone?

This, by the way, is not the type of connection I am talking about…so don’t even go there.

My-Strange-Addiction-A-Man-In-Love-With-His-Car-517267555

Polyvore: Take Two

Being the social media fool that I am, I (like everyone else) have been pinning away on Pinterest. And while perusing other people’s boards (that is not as wrong as it sounds–I promise), I was reminded how much I enjoyed using Polyvore–the one time I actually, you know, used it. So, I revisited the site this morning and created the above. Pinterest is fun–but Polyvore–at least to me, is a lot of fun. Ignore your kids, forget to bathe or eat kind of fun. And with football season still months (months!) away, I am in desperate need of a diversion. So… Polyvore it is!

Can someone please notify my kids?

Take Me to The River (but don’t drop me in the water)

A very good friend of mine, who lives on Coronado Island, asked recently if I would like to have lunch with her there. If you’ve never been to Coronado, it is a lovely place; home to the famous Hotel Del, unique shops and some very good restaurants. Despite all of that, I declined my friend’s invitation. You see, I just couldn’t force myself to go to Coronado. Yes, force myself.  The reason I won’t visit my friend?

(*whispered*) It’s the bridge. I don’t like the Coronado Bridge. To be fair, I don’t like any bridges–but the thought of this one in particular makes me break out in a cold sweat.

As is often the case with irrational fears, this one dates back to childhood. When I was a pre-teen, my family often spent weekends in the summer sailing on Virginia’s Rappahannock River. Most of the time, I enjoyed these excursions. But, there was one part of the trip (two if you count the fact that I had to encounter it coming and going) that made the barely there hair on my arms stand at attention:

 Rappahannock River Bridge. (source)

I absolutely dreaded, hated, despised–and was terrified of–the Rappahannock River Bridge. Why, you may wonder would a little girl have a bridge phobia? I am not 100 percent certain, but I think it has something to do with overhearing a conversation (an adult conversation) about a nurse who had driven off the side of the bridge during a storm. A story like that, I am sure we all can agree, will freak a child out.

I didn’t have a choice back then about bridge crossing, so I made a deal with myself: if I could hold my breath the entire drive over the bridge, nothing bad would happen. Problem solved.

According to Wikipedia, the Rappahannock River Bridge is 9,985 feet long, which equals 1.89109 miles. I find it very hard to believe that even as a child I could hold my breath that long, but we always made it across safely– so I must have (wink, wink).

For most of my adult life I have lived in landlocked areas, so avoiding bridges has been fairly easy. That was until we moved to San Diego and I started hanging out with my Coronado-based friend. And had to face this:

Coronado Bridge (source)

The first trip I made over the Coronado Bridge was with my husband. I was driving (natch) and made sure our car hugged the inside lane.  That excursion went pretty well. I kept my eyes focused on what was directly in front of me, not daring to take even a peek to my left or right. And I think I might have held my breath… just a little.

A few months later, I starting hearing about “delays” and “incidents” that were occurring on the bridge. These weren’t ordinary, run-of-the-mill, traffic-related happenings, noooooo… these delays were due to jumpers. The idea is incomprehensible and very sad, but there are actually people (many of them) who want to end it all by leaping from the bridge.

My Coronado buddy, (not knowing at this point about my phobia), told me that on multiple occasions she had been stuck on the bridge while negotiators tried to coax people down. I find the fact that someone would be so desperate or despondent that they’d even consider suicide, awful.  But… the thought that I could be trapped on the bridge while they receive help? Uh… no.

I finally confided to my friend that I didn’t really enjoy being on the bridge. I told her about the nurse, and about holding my breath, and about my sweaty palms–I confessed it all. And how did she respond? She told me a story about a truck driver who drove over the side of the Coronado Bridge! Yes. She. Did.

Even knowing all that, I still managed to eek out three or four more visits. And then, some time passed, and I realized that my friend didn’t seem to mind if we got together in La Jolla, or Hillcrest, or somewhere between.  And just like that I decided I wasn’t going to cross the bridge again unless I absolutely had to. I told my friend that if there were an emergency, (or a really great party), I’d be there, but otherwise, I wasn’t visiting Coronado, at least not via that damn bridge.

I always encourage my children to not only look fear in the face, but to sneer at it. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve done (and do) that myself. Yet, I have decided that at this stage of my life I am allowed to have a couple of untreated phobias–and I am putting unnecessary bridge crossing near the top of the list.

How about you? Anything you fear/dread/hate so much you would classify it as being a phobia?

Takin’ it to the Streets

After decades of driving, and practically a lifetime of being a pedestrian, I have decided that you can tell more about a person by the things they do when they are in a street than you can by the words they use to your face.

For example, the way someone reacts to being let into traffic speaks volumes about them. If they wave, or in some other way acknowledge the act with gratitude, I’d classify them as being good. You want to marry or go into business with people like that.

Those who look you in the eye, take the spot you’ve opened for them, and do not offer thanks? They are self-entitled. Spoiled. Rude. Or maybe they are just really distracted. Regardless, you want to avoid those people at all costs.

Another reliable personality indicator? The manner in which someone crosses the street. You will get more insight into who a person is (at their core) by watching them cross the street than you would from a swab of their DNA. Really, it’s true.

People who are cocky enough to wander into the middle of the street (with a phone or other device affixed to their ear) and expect traffic to just immediately stop?

They are jerks.

Also jerks, but not quite as bad, are the people who practically crawl across the crosswalk. Yes, we get that you have the right of way, but would it kill you to speed up the process? You know, just a bit?

Conversely, those who hustle through the crosswalk, all the while smiling and thanking drivers for stopping? Those folks are destined for a long life filled with good things.

And what about people who take up extra space in the road by riding their bikes side by side, rather than single file, the way the law requires? There is a name for them and it is: Lout.

And last, but definitely not least, individuals who scrape the paint from the rear of your car (the one you have babied since you drove it off of the showroom lot) and don’t leave a note?  They are the worst of the worst. Really, really bad people. The type of people that deserve to have chronic halitosis… and a plague on their homes.

Needed to get this off of my chest. Anything you need to vent today?

I’m (not) with the Band

I photographed my first concert this week. The headliner was Fitz and the Tantrums, a Los Angeles based band known for their hit single “MoneyGrabber.” Fitz and the Tantrums are quite animated on stage. Being animated is good. Except, as I learned on this particular night, when it leads to eyes being closed, tongues that appear (accidentally, and not Gene Simmons’ style) outside of the mouth, and excessive sweating. Other than that? Concert photography is a piece of cake.  A piece of cake with an ingredient list that includes: funky, and unpredictable, lighting; 700 music fans, who paid for their ticket and don’t really want someone poking them in the back of the head with a telephoto lens; and a bunch of mic stands and amplifiers that have a way of blocking crucial parts of the band’s anatomy.

This was not an easy assignment, yet, I had a blast! I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge and am looking forward to shooting another concert next month.

I don’t know about you, but I get bored pretty quickly when I look at concert photography that only includes photos of the band. Even if it is a band that love. I prefer shots that include, or feature, the audience. As I learned this week, it is not always easy to capture the crowd and band in the same photo. I was part of the audience for this show, and I took photos the entire time.  In the future, I’ll stand in a photo pit and will shoot only the first three songs of the band’s set, standard protocol when it comes to concert photography. It will be interesting to compare the two experiences.

You can see my photos and read a bit about the Fitz and the Tantrums show here.

As is always the case, some of the photos I took didn’t get posted. I try hard to tell a story with my images and as I shared in this post, editing is key. Here are a few of my favorites that did not (was trying to avoid redundancy) make the cut.

Michael “Fitz” Fitzpatrick is the lead singer for Fitz and the Tantrums. I wound up using a few other shots of Fitzpatrick in the photo essay I posted on Patch, but I really liked this one too. 

I liked this shot of Noelle Scaggs, Fitz and the Tantrums vocalist and tambourine player, quite a bit. But, in the end, I decided to use a slightly different shot of her shaking her tambourine in my published story. 

Yup, I liked, but didn’t post, this shot too. 

What do you think makes concert photography interesting? Do you prefer shots that capture the energy of the crowd? Or images that show band members interacting with each other? Or, are you all about the instruments? I’d love to hear, even if your answer is that you don’t like, or have any interest in, this type of photography.

30 Years Ago: I Want My MTV

Regular readers of The World According to Jennifer are probably aware that I spent a lot of time watching MTV when I was a kid. If you are new to the blog, or somehow missed those posts, or forgot that I wrote them, or pretended to read them, but really didn’t… you can check them out here, here and here.

I was in front of my TV on August 1st, 1981 at the exact moment the moon man first appeared with the MTV emblazoned flag. When it came to Music Television, I was, as we like to say now, an early adopter.  So… is it any surprise that I would acknowledege the network’s 30th anniversary? Well, maybe a bit of a surprise since along with posts professing my love, I also wrote about how ticked I was to be kicked to the curb now that I am no longer a member of MTV’s desired demographic.

Admittedly, I wasn’t thinking about being shunned when I tweeted the following:

Which led to this:

and…

And… a Billy Squier reference! Unfortunately, I can’t share that tweet because the person who tweeted it has their Twitter account set to private.

Anyway, all of this got me thinking that I wanted to challenge myself to see if I could come up with one bit of #MTVturnsthirty trivia every day between now and August 1st.

I’ll probably tweet the trivia relatively early in the day– here. That is of course unless I am struggling to come up with something, in which case it could be midnight or… (not at all).

Sometimes, Less Really is More.

One of the most challenging (also fun and rewarding) aspects of working as a photojournalist is editing. My job is to tell a story, using both photographs and captions. But sometimes, no matter how much I’d like to include a specific image, it just won’t fit. That might seem weird, given that I took the photo during the course of the event–how could it not fit?  Believe it or not, it happens frequently.

This past weekend I covered two events for the La Jolla Patch:  The 25th Anniversary of the La Jolla Festival of the Arts and Survivor Beach, a fundraiser for UC San Diego’s Moores Cancer Center.

Here are some of my favorite photos that didn’t make the cut:

This image is from the La Jolla Festival of the Arts. In the story posted on the Patch, I included a different shot from the milliner’s booth, but liked this one as well. The salespeople were going out of their way to be helpful to this particular customer. If you look closely you will see that there is a hand holding the mirror still–that hand belonged to the milliner; who jumped in to help the man (seen holding the red hat in background) seal the deal. 

Another shot from the La Jolla Festival of the Arts. I love photographing people–especially when I catch them in a quiet moment. There’s probably a reason for that, as I noted in my last post, what I choose to shoot often has as much (or more) to say about me than it does about the subject. I like this shot, but does it scream–”La Jolla Festival of the Arts”? Probably not, so it wasn’t included.  

One final shot from the La Jolla Festival of the Arts. I’ll be honest, I almost included this one in my photo essay. If you click the link above, you’ll see that the published version included 22 photos, I easily could have included ten more. In the end, I decided that while this is (at least to me) a very nice moment, it didn’t really add a lot to the story. 

This image is one of my favorites from the Survivor Beach event. I move around a lot when I am on assignment, and at this event, which was held at La Jolla Shores, there was a lot of ground to cover. I can’t even begin to describe how pleased I was to have spotted the Polynesian dancers getting ready for their performance. In the story that was published, I included three shots of the dancers performing, but felt that adding a shot of them getting ready would have been overkill. The dancers were but one part of the event, not the main focus, so I left this image out. 

Given the option, I would probably only photograph people. I don’t see “things” as well as I see people. Yet, every once in a while, I  surprise myself by making a photo of an inanimate object that I actually like. This image falls into that category. Surfboards were a central part of the Survivor Beach event, but this shot really didn’t fit. 

My favorite photographer, hands down, is Elliott Erwitt. For those of you who are not familiar with his work, I highly recommend taking a peek at this link.  Elliott Erwitt was a master of capturing the “Decisive Moment.” Often, his shots were made on the street and included dogs. My preferred place to shoot is on the street–and I have a thing for photographing dogs. So… what does the above image have to do with the Survivor Beach event? Umm… (*whispered*) nothing. I just couldn’t help myself… 

Going forward, I think I will devote my (Not) Wordless Wednesday posts to anything photography related. If there is something you’d like to read about, or see included in this space, please let me know.