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Category Archives: humor
One from the archives
I am horrible at archiving.
I’ve neglected it over the past year, or two-ish. So, with time on my hands I am reorganizing the archives and updating them. I found this photo just now and still love it. Sometimes photos need to grow on me and other times I like them right away, but later I don’t care much for them. However, there are the occasional photographs that stick.
This is a screen used to print T-shirts. I guess I like it so much because I find dark humor in something so dirty yet it is for the Ministerio de Salud de La Nación (Argentina Health Ministry). This photo was taken in 2008 at the Comedor Los Pibes. They would often produce T-shirts for national government organizations and for their own group to wear during political rallies.
More Subte
I’m working on the full package – audio and visual. I promise. But you know deadlines and other commitments tend to get in the way of my own projects sometimes and well… gotta pay the bills, so working for money is always a plus. But I found THE PERFECT recording to use for my subte musicians piece on ‘Los Alegres Muchachos de Antes…’ (please don’t expect me to type out the full name again. You can see the post just before this for the whole thing). I really don’t think I could have spliced a better set together. Unfortunately it is 7:15 long. Too long for a multimedia piece.
Useless factoid: The general wisdom in photojournalism is that photo multimedia productions should not be more than three minutes long. Granted I’m pretty ADHD and have a hard time focusing for three minutes on anything.
Regardless, I will have to figure out where to cut this down. It is a shame though, so I believe it is important to share it in its entirety. Keep in mind these guys are playing a box, a beat up trumpet and a guitar that has had some recent – and loving – repairs performed.
I’ve now listened to it close to 25 times and I am not exaggerating. I use the music and the banter as inspiration for choosing the photos. It is as if personality oozes from the sound, the vibes, the chit-chat in the background. This is a soundtrack found in many cities. I recorded this one in Buenos Aires, Argentina. How freakin’ cool.
Click the photograph to hear the full audio. 7min15sec. Player will open in another window. Click Play to begin.
BTW… If you happen to run into them on the D Line, favor de mandarles saludos de Cate.
Working the subte
self portrait working the subte
No, working the subte isn’t the same as working the street corner. I’m a photojournalist, so I probably make less money than those women, but I’m sure I have as much fun… if not more. While spending 5 hours riding back and forth on the D Line in Buenos Aires might be a bit much, especially in the summer, what a great day it was. I spent it following several subte musicians and I’m now editing both the photos and audio.
However, I wanted to introduce you to the band.
So without further ado, live from Linea D, somewhere between Tribunales and Congreso de Tucuman, Monday through Friday, and the occasional Saturday, from noon to 4pm, or a bit later if the crowd isn’t too big:
‘Los Alegres Muchachos De Antes No Usaban Viagra Ni Gomina. El Trio Mas Mintado Que Piso La 33.’
Vicente Rojelio Juarez, 63, trumpet and main vocals
Juan DeBiaggi, 31, playing his guitar Ursula and backup vocals
And playing the cajon: Leo Solis, 31, percussion and backup vocals
You know you should just go back to bed when…
You’ve had THAT type of day before, right? You know what I’m talking about. Staying in bed wasn’t an option, but it damn well should have been. I had THAT day yesterday. I’ve recovered. I get over things pretty quickly. It is a nice skill to have.
Regardless it started with my cat (yes my cat), getting my @ss out of bed at 6:30am. I live in a studio apartment, so I couldn’t throw him out of the room, because there is no room to throw him out of. Balcony is no good. He cries louder if he’s stuck outside and my bed is right next to the door. So the cat in question, Magellan, who I’ve had now for nearly 11 years, decided he wanted attention at 6 freakin’ 30 a.m. and proceeded to let me know by letting loose one of those ‘you have an axe murderer in your apartment’ meows. He was very successful in waking me up. Had it been one meow I might have ignored it and moved back into some sort of REM daze, but he continued. I got up.
After brewing myself a bad cup of coffee, because I was out of the good stuff and out of milk to make the bad stuff drinkable, I thought, ‘hey, I’m up early. I should spend the time tinkering with the new gallery on my website and transferring files.’ *Here’s a hint. Never trust yourself if the word ‘tinkering’ is involved. One fiasco before 9am. Check. (btw.. I found a bug in the new gallery and the developers are now aware of it. I happily let them know). Unfortunately I’ll be fixing the mistakes of that ‘tinkering’ over the next few days.
So while losing track of time ‘tinkering’ on the site galleries, I realize I forgot to call someone. I call him. He is busy. Call back please 5 minutes. I call back. We talk. Good stuff. More photos. Subject is good to go. Nice. Uh-oh. Late for 11am. Okay okay no big deal. I grab the photos (you know the ones I just spent all this time, love and some dollars getting printed for the Avantgarb{age} show) and head out the door. First ATM. ATM out of money. Only ATM anywhere near my apt. Crap. Okay. Nevermind. I’ll explain that to the guy framing the photos. I can’t leave a deposit today. Hurrying to the bus stop with tube of photos in my hand. Forgot the tube was open on one end because I had checked the photos the day before. Hmmm… do you see it coming? I adjusted the tube, the open end pointed down, photos shot out of the tube onto the pavement. It is a good thing I natively speak another language than the people around me because several profanities also came shooting out. Although, come to think of it Argentines are remarkably versed in English profanity… movies and tv to blame???
About 10 minutes later the photos are back in the tube. I am now aware which way is up and hoping I didn’t damage any. And I’m late(r). That unfortunately didn’t improve at all because I ended up waiting for the 39 for about 20min. Without much patience I might add. Trying to destroy photo exhibit before 11am. Check.
Thanks to people more in control than me yesterday it did improve. While I slightly crinkled a few of the photos, they are not noticeable and what I’ll end up doing is offering a discount on those if they are sold during the exhibit’s month on display. The wonderful guy framing the photos was helpful, understanding and generally a cool guy who put me at ease as I continued to utter a few choice profanities at seeing the damage.
So I am excited the prints are with the framer, disgusted that I didn’t secure the tube before leaving and generally miffed at both the ATM’s and slow bus lines. But what can you do. It is a city. It is life. I don’t think I’d stay in bed even if given the opportunity. I’d get bored.
p.s. I also managed to arrive 30 minutes late to my 5pm meeting because a protest shut down Alem and forced traffic on alternate routes at rush hour.
p.s.s. The good news however is my Kickstarter project is now funded to 61%!!!
on the strangeness of running
Racing the Bolder Boulder 2010
I’ve had this in my head for quite a long time. Years I could argue. So, perhaps it is time to get it out. If I can. I choose to write as I think. In unfinished bits and phrases. In grammatically incorrect sentence structure. Jumbles of words. No real editing to speak of.
Of-course this would be better if I could actually write while running. You see, that is the point. I think clear. Crystal. I solve world problems. I can even do math (inside joke for those of you that have watched me divide a dinner check. Painful. Very painful).
Any distance runner will tell you once they get over the insanity of running. Pain. Distance. There is a high. Adrenaline kicks in. Mind wanders. I feel a hum. It is when the atoms, ions and bits that make up my body start to vibrate at the pace of the world around me. Not the city, not the cars, not the other people. I’m talking about the world. The planet. I feel the planet hum. No drug could ever get me there. Running does. Not all the time. That is part of the problem. Got to keep running to get to the hum. If not today, tomorrow.
Once I strike. Once the hum takes over, my mind is clear. My body is running. My body is propelled. Synapses in my brain have taken over the movements. I’m left largely out of it now. The rest of the gray matter has room to move. Room to think. Did I eat too much today. Should I have called my contact again. Would that be too pushy. Am I happy. What can I do to be happier. Am I any good.
I didn’t say they were all good thoughts. Just thoughts. But the strangeness of running is the ability to propel your body over a distance. Your body is unwilling at first. Then complacent. Then eager. Negativity enters the brain. It is filtered through the heart. Pounded out by the feet.
It is a washing cycle. Cleaning is important. I can only deal with so much clutter. Running pounds it out. The extra crap. The crap in general.
And what is left? Clean space. Clean board. I can write whatever I want on it. My body knows what my mind does not always accept. If I can run a 10k at over 5,200 feet and feel strong. Like it even. Look forward to doing it again next year. Then I can get through tomorrow. If I can accept, that at mile 18 in a marathon, I am a bitch. I hurt. I’m tired. But I’m not going to stop. I will finish no matter how slow I run, then it doesn’t matter how long it takes me to reach my goals. I will.
My feet. Eager and nervous to race.
If I can accept that some days I run fast and other days I run slow, but the only constant in that phrase are the words ‘I run’… well, I don’t know what that means yet. But I run. I’ll be starting the training for a marathon shortly, so maybe I’ll even figure it out soon.
That is the strangeness of running. Turn off the brain and go. Then let it wander. Pound out the crap. Leave space for something else. Run.
From my point of view
Big Rocks : Blue Nuns
Sacsayhuaman, Cusco, Peru. Blue Nuns on tour.
Tattoos, Body Piercing and Skin Modifications, oh my
Dear Dad,
I thought I should email you and let you know I’ve decided to make a few modifications to my appearance. I know you’re not a fan of tattoos or piercings, but the 6th Annual Tattoo Show, organized by Mandinga Tattoo, is in town at the Hotel Bauen in Buenos Aires and I’ve thought hard about this. Really, a few adornments here or there are no big deal, right? Anyway, I’ve included a few photographs, so you can get and idea of where my inspiration is coming from. Hope the skiing is good in Colorado and I look forward to visiting soon.
Love your daughter,
Cate
p.s. I’ll send more images later. The weekend is young still and there are so many great examples I could show you, but I need to return and keep photographing it all.
p.s.s. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everything is clean. xoxoxo
Ode to Christmas
Merry Christmas and many Winter Solstice Blessings.
Just a small bit of holiday spirit to share.
Searching for Superheroes!
Aren’t we all, really…
But, I have a creative purpose. I am compiling a list of superheroes for an upcoming project. I did a few preliminary searches and found lists and lists of superheroes, many of whom are unknown to me. Granted I was never a comic book or cartoon fanatic, but geez, who is the Blue Beetle anyway?
I have several threads on this topic, in as many social media as I care to belong to at this point, so there is bound to be overlap and if you’ve posted somewhere else you don’t need to post here again (unless you really want to).
What I want is to know who is YOUR favorite superhero and why. Why is important for me, so don’t leave it off. With the hundreds of choices out there, I don’t really want to be shooting this thing forever, so I will be using your childhood memories or just your obsession with the Lasso of Truth to narrow the field of heroes for the project.
I’m not letting the Black Cat out of the bag just yet, so I won’t explain the whole point of this request, but I would appreciate it if you’d leave me a comment with your favorite and don’t forget the why.
I’ll even start off (not fair if I don’t participate as well). My favorite is Wonder Woman. She has a cool invisible plane and awesome silver bracelets. Anyone who knows me in person, knows I tend to wear silver and love cuff like bracelets (although mine won’t deflect bullets alas). But it was seeing Lynda Carter on TV as a kid, taking on the bag guys and generally kickin’ some 1970′s butt that most endears her to me.
Thus far the meager list includes:
Superman
Batman & Robin
Wonder Woman
Captain America
Wolverine
Silver Surfer
The Hulk
Cat Woman
Fantastic Four
The Flash
Aquaman
Green Hornet
Spiderman
The Human Torch
–add to the list and comment, or comment on one of the names above.
Thanks. ”Flame On”
Thoughts on the wonders of a stateside supermarket
I am in love.
with the abundance, the variety, the service and the in-house Starbucks cafe.
I wondered if I would sense any culture shock returning to the states after a year abroad. It was comforting to fall immediately back into my family relationships. To talk to my sister Karen when she picked me up at the airport as if I had only been gone for a weekend or to roll into my sister Aileen’s house, say hi and move onto what’s for dinner. This is not new for us. I have not lived near any family since I graduated from Boston University in (ahem) 1995. I finished my degree in journalism and I left Boston for the other side of the continent. So essentially I have not lived at home or even near home since I was 18. For years my closest sister was 7 hours by car. Now it is anywhere from 18 to 34 hours by plane depending on the layover and inevitable airline delays.
But I did get something of a shock recently, on New Years Eve. I took my niece with me to do a few errands and we stepped foot into the supermarket, a Safeway in Boulder, Colorado. First, it was huge. Aisles of foodstuffs, vegetables, cans, bottles of salsa, rows of cheeses, cleaning solvents, coloring books, organic macaroni and cheese, a plethora of spices and olives!
I was there to get smoked salmon, cream cheese and crackers for a dip I was making for the New Years party. I stood in the back of the supermarket near the fish counter looking at the seven different choices I had, comparing prices, farmed or wild, is it Alaskan? My niece paced impatiently as I stared at the labels trying to determine if one was better than the other. What amount did I need? A whole salmon or just steak sized? And what did I want to spend? 14.99 for the whopper to 3.99 for the smallest chunk. It was nirvana.
I waffled and settled on mid-sized, mid-priced and moved on to the cream cheese. If my reaction to the salmon choice shocked me, the options for cream cheese nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. There was Philadelphia, Horizon Organic, and Laughing Cow among others. They came in regular flavor, herb and garlic, sun-dried tomato, and in brick form or in a tub. This is a stateside supermarket. Choice is stocked on the shelves.
I had forgotten what it meant to make choices like this in a market. I love the fruit and vegetable stands in Buenos Aires. I have never met a produce guy in the states that knows what they do in Argentina. I would routinely ask Ramon, the seller near my old apartment, what was worth buying that day. He never let me down. He directed me toward the sweetest peaches, the crispest apples and he made a mean lettuce and beet salad.
The choice staring me at the face in the cream cheese section of Safeway was my culture shock. I had forgotten what this type of choice felt like and I almost didn’t know what to do with it.
Eventually, with my niece waiting, because her reward was a scone from the Starbucks located in the market, I grabbed a couple of tubs, threw some crackers my niece chose for me into the basket and escaped to the check-out.
The total was a bit less than $20. I paid for it with a large bill and the cashier didn’t even ask me for 10 centavitos.
By the time I left, with coffee in hand, and my niece munching on a Petite Vanilla Scone, I had rediscovered the joys of a supermarket. I may miss this when I go back to Buenos Aires, but I guess if I’m lucky enough I will once again have the pleasure of rediscovering the supermarket the next time I come back to the states.
Curious about me?
