A day in the life of......well, just me.

I arose this morning at 5:15 after a great night's sleep. I fell asleep early last night as I found myself out too late on Thursday evening. I meant to go to Conservative Cocktails but ended up at Drinking Liberally. I started my morning ritual of coffee and bookmarks from The Internets in a quiet house void of light except the glow of my iBook. Reading the lastest from around world and right here at home I planned my day in the back of my head. I exchanged some emails from the subversives while I finished my fifth cup o' joe.

Off to the darkroom to get some work done before a 10:30 meeting. Just enough time to grab a ever so lightly toasted rye bagel piled high with tomatoes and shitloads of pepper. I met my friends, one an architect and the other a lovely and talented sculptor from just south of here. A bit of chitchat and down to business. An hour had passed rather quickly and I needed to get back to the darkroom to finish up a project before a 2:00 meeting with someone that begged to meet with me at exactly two o'clock.

2:10......no show. A call on the cell, to said party, found me dumbfounded as they forgot about their begging just a day earlier.

"I'll be there in 35 minutes.", they said abruptly.

"Good for you, I won't."

So I split for the house and upon my return I had to take my youngest to a birthday party in Greece. On the way out there we passed the widely discussed Northgate apartments. A quick stop for some photos, tattered American flags flapping before the barrack like architecture, strickly for the archives and off to the party. The birthday boy was late arriving, so I figured I'd bang around Greece for a while rather than drive back to Brighton. And gas ain't cheap ya know. I try to balance my life with Green fantasies all the while being reminded of the hypocrisy of my existence as a photographer. Personal lip service.

Amidst the traffic, I find myself at the mall and grab the camera for some snaps of capitalism in action. Wandering about and clicking away my wife called just as I walked by one of those bubbly talking heads from the local news. Wow! a real journalist in person, a tiny one at that, right before my eyes. Perhaps she was on the trail of a hot news tip. Nope, just Jennifer Johnson, princess of the teleprompter.

So being a good and thrifty husband I scored some Steve Madden boots for the little lady at home. She's got this thing for shoes and well I can't blame her because I've got a thing for all things organizational to feed my self-diagnosed OCD. To each his own but, chaos is better. Back to shooting the preholiday warmup shoppers, I hear from behind me a woman's voice addressing me. I turn to locate the source and make eye contact with a stunning woman that simply says, "Are you married?"

My mind races, while at the same time my conditioned response of "Yes." passes my lips. There must be a catch. And there was. She wanted to hustle me her snake oil Du Jour. I immediately recognized her accent. Not from these parts, but the very distinct Israeli tone. She starts her sales pitch as I return the banter to at least make it a challenge for her. With her curly beach hair, I can't explain it but reminded me of the hair of surfer girls from my youth, and a nose ring perfectly placed. I am weak. A well researched demographic sales pitch lead her to offer the Christmas gift course of lightening my wallet. I responded, "I don't celebrate Christmas." HA! Touché. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Why not?" I leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Because, I'm an atheist.", in my best Tom Waits voice.

Testing her abilities of the hard sell, I countered by I asked her if she had served in the military. She had. I was strangely attracted and yet frightened by the notion that this stunning woman could kill me before my next breath if I didn't purchase her product. Those Israelis are badass muthafuckas. She adapted well and continued on her pursuit. Nearing the end of the exchange laced with innuendo, I needless to say, made a purchase of the finest the Dead Sea has to offer. Afterall, she played the game well and deserved to be compensated for her quick wit and good sportsmanship. And I'm a sucker for confidence wrapped in good looks.

Winding my way to the exit, I overheard from the kiosk next to me, a frumpy white saleswoman say, "You like basketball, don't you?" as she held up some bling adorned with a ball and hoop before the young black patron. Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't just hear that. But I did. Get me out of here.....now.

After grabbing the little man from the party we stopped for some coffee and headed back home. The glowstick around his neck reminded me of an all night rave. He's only seven, so that image faded rather quickly. I dropped off my spawn so I could pick up my neighbors from the airport after a week in Vegas. Stories of transsexual blackjack players and petri dishesque airtravel filled the car as we pulled onto Sconsetmonkey Drive narrowly avoiding splattering the brains of a deer on my grill. Makes a good roux, though, maybe next time.

Home and safe or so I'm told by those from high above the serfs. Documenting my day for you, whoever you may be. Maybe you are them. Contemplating the evening agenda its now time for a couple cocktails and a bit of the old in out in out. Maybe some after-booty falafel and some SNL to round out the day.

I'll leave you with a little Scottish saying that bounced around my head all day.......

Twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion.

Scotch, definately scotch tonight.