people inspire me, daily.
I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.
E. B. White

“Marriage. Marriage is what brings us together today. Marriage, that blessed arrangement. That dream within a dream. And love. True love. Will follow you wherever you go. So treasure your love.” The Princess Bride and Mexican weddings. Whatever they say about romance — rest assured, they really mean it.

Tequila, scorpion honey… Tequila, liquid geometry of passion… Tequila, savage water of sorcery… What confusion and mischief your sly, rebellious drops do generate!
Tom Robbins

Baja desert storm. Fishy weather.

Kite. Work. Eat tacos. Add beer. Add camera. Add live music at Playa Central. Now that — is a very good day.  

Which of my photographs is my favorite? The one I’m going to take tomorrow.
Imogen Cunningham
Don Rueben is 89 years old, and he hates that people know it.  He’s been a fisherman all his life, has 13 children, and near as I can tell, has single-handedly populated half the town of La Ventana. At least once a week, I catch him shuffling toward the beach in the early hours with nets and lines in hand. Every time he passes by my door, this is how our conversation goes: “Me voy a pescar”, he tells me — taking a moment to pause and smile. “Pues, traeme un pez!”, I say enthusiastically with encouragement. “Buenooo!” he says, then waves, and continues on his way. I’ve never actually seen Don Rueben get in his boat, or head out to sea. Nor has he ever brought me any fish.  But I love our morning encounters anyway. I like the way he marches from his house, past my casita, across the sand, to a place on the beach where his panga awaits. I admire the way he moves with purpose. Quixotic as it may be. 

Don Rueben is 89 years old, and he hates that people know it.  He’s been a fisherman all his life, has 13 children, and near as I can tell, has single-handedly populated half the town of La Ventana. At least once a week, I catch him shuffling toward the beach in the early hours with nets and lines in hand. Every time he passes by my door, this is how our conversation goes: 

“Me voy a pescar”, he tells me — taking a moment to pause and smile. 
“Pues, traeme un pez!”, I say enthusiastically with encouragement. 
“Buenooo!” he says, then waves, and continues on his way. 

I’ve never actually seen Don Rueben get in his boat, or head out to sea. Nor has he ever brought me any fish.  But I love our morning encounters anyway. I like the way he marches from his house, past my casita, across the sand, to a place on the beach where his panga awaits. I admire the way he moves with purpose. Quixotic as it may be. 

Beer is good.  While I prefer mine in Mexico to be of the Pacifico variety (with lime), there are plenty of folks in town who are mighty pleased to see micro-brews now on tap at Baja Joe’s. 

What a damn pleasure it’s been to eat, drink, and work in the company of Tiffany Patterson, Chris Dreyer and Mark Anderson over the past two weeks. The German superlative ‘uber’ — attached to the word ‘grateful’ — is an understatement. When it comes to firsts, this one takes the cake. “For Connor” is on display at the Museum of Art and Culture in Spokane until January 2012. 

Just finished a project for Spokane Transit Authority this week. 10 people. 10 interviews. 10 pretty amazing stories. 

Just finished a project for Spokane Transit Authority this week. 10 people. 10 interviews. 10 pretty amazing stories. 

Once in a while, I put my camera down long enough to sit still and write. Not often. But once in a while. Prime Time Cape Cod, October 2011. 

This is Tiffany and her pet chicken, Mimolette. Yes, Mimolette, like the french cheese.

This is Tiffany and her pet chicken, Mimolette. Yes, Mimolette, like the french cheese.

Curiosity about life in all of its aspects, I think, is still the secret of great creative people.
Leo Burnett

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Jess called last week and told me she’s hanging her hat longer than usual this year on Nantucket. On the phone she said something about needing to give her music another go, something about needing to stay. It seems this winter will find her in a recording studio once again. I’m not exactly sure what all that means, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say this: a kid in a candy store couldn’t be more excited than me to see what’s coming in this spring’s release.

Diane lives in a run-down northside apartment, built in 1916. She has a cattle dog named Zeus and likes to smoke. She’s also fond of men who ride Harleys. The stars tattooed across her lower back bear the names of her children, seven in total. Some of her neighbors call her a mama hen, but I think she’s the building’s Queen of Bling.