I was inspired by Steve to write this post. Books are something I've always enjoyed and never minded talking about. My hope is if I write about them in this pre-formatted list form, then I will somehow seem like less of a nerd and people will think it's cool. (That is the point of these things, right?)
A book that didn't change my life: The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren. Perhaps my expectations were too high, or my motivation was too low. I guarantee you it changed Warren's life though.
A book I’ve read more than once: My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. One of my all-time favorites. It gets better every time I read it.
A book I would take with me if I were stuck on a desert island: SAS Survival Handbook: How to Survive in the Wild, in Any Climate, on Land or at Sea by John Wiseman. I've never read it, but I'm thinking a desert island would be the prime place to start.
A book that made me laugh: Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. If you've never read Sedaris, you've been missing out. He's genuinely funny, unlike a bunch of authors who just pretend to be. The recent trend seems to show that growing up homosexual in a disfunctional family situation will somehow make you funny. Or totally screwed up. Or maybe they're synonymous. (Read Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs if you don't believe me.)
A book that made me cry: The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I bawled. 'Nuff said.
A book that I wish I had written: Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler. If I were a novelist, I would want my style to most closely resemble Tyler's. It's real without being pretentious, it's interesting without being far-fetched, and it's extraordinary while still being ordinary.
A book that I wish had never been written: Can I pick two for this? I'm still bitter about these books being on "everyone's reading list" in school. I would burn them and not look back. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith and A Separate Peace by John Knowles. Don't even try to defend them. I know what you're thinking, "But they're brilliant coming-of-age novels." No, I think they suck.
A book I’ve been meaning to read: The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis. I finished Mere Christianity and thought it was phenomenal so I'm expecting great things from this one too.
I’m currently reading: At Home in the Heart of Appalachia by John O'Brien. Since I live at home in the heart of Appalachia, I thought it was only fitting to read about it. So far, not too enlightening.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
A collection of thoughts written during my visit to Gulfport, Mississippi
I sit down to write at the old lift-top wooden desk, the same desk my father used once upon a time. It's a desk that calls the boys room home - the room my brother and I stay in when we visit and the room my father and his brother at one time shared. There are remnants of their childhood here: an assortment of foreign currency framed and hanging on the wall, a musical instrument oddly resembling a wooden shoe with a handle and pegs, brass knuckles buried at the bottom of a dresser drawer. The desk I sit at bears scars from aged pencil stabs and slices, worn corners and a slight wobble. This desk, this room, this house on Kendall Avenue - they have a history. It's the history of a family, a story of 4 lifetimes - a delicate inheritance passed down to me through dinner table stories, dusty drawers full of treasure, and timeless tradition.
It's my history, too.
I think these things as I sit at the desk to write, my parents breathing contented sounds of heavy sleep in the next room, my grandparents in separate beds now, sleeping in the best positions they know how.
History builds a place, anchors and roots it.
And now it's gone for so many people. This town has suffered immense loss in the last year, but more than the houses, more than the casinos, more than the fishing boats and souvenir shops, this town has lost history. I almost feel insulted personally as I drive past places I've frequented for years, now utterly destroyed. The devastation is immense, and nearly unimaginable an entire year later. It has been 14 months since Hurricane Katrina, and I am appalled by the amount left undone. I drive past countless homes, boarded up and unlivable, with small trailers parked in front yards. FEMA trailers, I'm told, for those lucky names on the list that actually got one. The trailers are everywhere, literally sitting in the middle of halfway cleared now-empty lots.
People here, they are now defined by the hurricane. It's a clean sharp-blade cut through the fabric of their lives. Two separate pieces, divided into "before Katrina" and "since Katrina." Life goes on, but it's different now. There is nowhere to go, no corner to turn where the devastation isn't evident. There's no way to ignore it, and no chance at forgetting it. Acceptance is the most prevalent approach at this point, laced with guarded hope and the occasional bitter sense of humor. "Camille was a lady, but Katrina was a bitch" reads one bumper sticker, referring to the 1969 category 5 hurricane that also wreaked much havoc on the Gulf Coast. Katrina was the true bitch, though, destroying or majorly damaging over 90% of the structures within a half-mile of the coastline. Katrina also ranks as the costliest natural disaster to ever occur in the U.S.
But there's hope, too. Hope for a new history, a second-chance timeline of reconstruction and future. I see it in the countless "now open" signs printed on plastic banners and hung proudly across storefronts and restaurants. I see it in the lives of the teenagers tossing a football back and forth along the almost clean beach. And I see it in my grandparents who drive us 30 miles to eat at a newly-relocated previously-beachfront seafood restaurant.
I hope for a new history for the people of the Gulf Coast. It won't happen quickly, and it won't ever be the same. But I think time is probably history's best friend.
************************************************************
A lone flower grows in the yard of an abandoned house on Second Street in Gulfport, Miss. The utter destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina was far greater than I ever could have imagined, even more than a year later. Katrina ranks as the costliest natural disaster to ever occur in the U.S. It is estimated that over 90% of the structures within a half-mile of the coastline were destroyed.
A spray-painted message is still visible on the side of a destroyed and damaged abandoned building in Gulfport, Miss.
A man walks past another abandoned building bearing spray-painted messages to tresspassers in Gulfport, Miss.
What was once a home is now a pile of rubble along the beach in Gulfport, Mississippi.
A staircase leads to nowhere at a destroyed homesite on Second Street in Gulfport, Miss.
It's my history, too.
I think these things as I sit at the desk to write, my parents breathing contented sounds of heavy sleep in the next room, my grandparents in separate beds now, sleeping in the best positions they know how.
History builds a place, anchors and roots it.
And now it's gone for so many people. This town has suffered immense loss in the last year, but more than the houses, more than the casinos, more than the fishing boats and souvenir shops, this town has lost history. I almost feel insulted personally as I drive past places I've frequented for years, now utterly destroyed. The devastation is immense, and nearly unimaginable an entire year later. It has been 14 months since Hurricane Katrina, and I am appalled by the amount left undone. I drive past countless homes, boarded up and unlivable, with small trailers parked in front yards. FEMA trailers, I'm told, for those lucky names on the list that actually got one. The trailers are everywhere, literally sitting in the middle of halfway cleared now-empty lots.
People here, they are now defined by the hurricane. It's a clean sharp-blade cut through the fabric of their lives. Two separate pieces, divided into "before Katrina" and "since Katrina." Life goes on, but it's different now. There is nowhere to go, no corner to turn where the devastation isn't evident. There's no way to ignore it, and no chance at forgetting it. Acceptance is the most prevalent approach at this point, laced with guarded hope and the occasional bitter sense of humor. "Camille was a lady, but Katrina was a bitch" reads one bumper sticker, referring to the 1969 category 5 hurricane that also wreaked much havoc on the Gulf Coast. Katrina was the true bitch, though, destroying or majorly damaging over 90% of the structures within a half-mile of the coastline. Katrina also ranks as the costliest natural disaster to ever occur in the U.S.
But there's hope, too. Hope for a new history, a second-chance timeline of reconstruction and future. I see it in the countless "now open" signs printed on plastic banners and hung proudly across storefronts and restaurants. I see it in the lives of the teenagers tossing a football back and forth along the almost clean beach. And I see it in my grandparents who drive us 30 miles to eat at a newly-relocated previously-beachfront seafood restaurant.
I hope for a new history for the people of the Gulf Coast. It won't happen quickly, and it won't ever be the same. But I think time is probably history's best friend.
************************************************************
A lone flower grows in the yard of an abandoned house on Second Street in Gulfport, Miss. The utter destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina was far greater than I ever could have imagined, even more than a year later. Katrina ranks as the costliest natural disaster to ever occur in the U.S. It is estimated that over 90% of the structures within a half-mile of the coastline were destroyed.
A spray-painted message is still visible on the side of a destroyed and damaged abandoned building in Gulfport, Miss.
A man walks past another abandoned building bearing spray-painted messages to tresspassers in Gulfport, Miss.
What was once a home is now a pile of rubble along the beach in Gulfport, Mississippi.
A staircase leads to nowhere at a destroyed homesite on Second Street in Gulfport, Miss.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
some recent work
My friend Pam gets a little help putting on her wedding dress.
This was one of the images I shot for a friend who wanted a portrait calendar made for her husband's birthday. She had the idea of wearing a nice dress to sit in this lovely bulldozer.
My friend Katrina, posing again for another month of the calendar. We took photos at an old abandoned factory/warehouse in Abilene, Tx referred to as "hobo jungle" because it's where the hobos like to hang. The colors on the walls were so great for taking photos.
A nice silhouette shot of the bride and groom at their July 15 wedding in Abilene, Texas.
This was one of the images I shot for a friend who wanted a portrait calendar made for her husband's birthday. She had the idea of wearing a nice dress to sit in this lovely bulldozer.
My friend Katrina, posing again for another month of the calendar. We took photos at an old abandoned factory/warehouse in Abilene, Tx referred to as "hobo jungle" because it's where the hobos like to hang. The colors on the walls were so great for taking photos.
A nice silhouette shot of the bride and groom at their July 15 wedding in Abilene, Texas.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Gone again...
Alrighty, well I've had a few requests to see some wedding photos from the wedding I shot in Abilene in July. I thought I'd share a few images before I'm gone for two weeks to Europe. :-) I'm shooting yet another wedding (this time in Holland) and then doing some traveling with my cousin the week afterward. Woo-hoo!!
Sunday, July 02, 2006
My parents are cool
When I was the age of piñata parties and first-time sleepovers, my parents were cool. Not for normal reasons, like letting me spend the night at friend's houses on weeknights or granting me my wish of a white rabbit creatively named Bunny.
No, they were cool for other reasons entirely.
For one, my mom could cook. (And, coincidentally, still can.) I used to love to eat at friends' houses because it was the only time I ever ate pizza or hot dogs. My friends loved to eat at my house because it was the only time they ever ate things they couldn't pronounce.
At my request, my mother cooked lobster every year for my birthday. The cool part? She let me call the neighborhood boys over to listen to the live lobsters' last squeals as they dropped into pots of boiling water. And for this, I was the most popular girl on the street. We watched, fascinated, as the grey shells flushed pink in the hot pot. To this day, I can still remember the sound of a dying lobster.
"Hey Emily, when's your mom cooking lobster again?"
Yup, my parents were cool.
While my mother occupied herself in the kitchen, my father occupied himself with a few rather unusual hobbies. Normal fatherly things we might have shared - maybe kicking a soccer ball or watching the Cowboys on a lazy Sunday afternoon - were never a part of my childhood. Ask my dad how to play a game of golf and you might as well have asked him how to read the Rosetta Stone. Instead, he was explaining HAM radio magazines or we were in the park learning what dials on the metal detector returned the best results, given the terrain.
Sometimes, if my friends and I were really good, he'd let us look at the latest animal he'd trapped in his cage in the backyard, and maybe even let us poke it a little bit. The cage was a medium-sized contraption, a perfect fit for a can of tuna and small animals like possums, racoons, skunks, and the neighborhood cat. And as anyone who has ever met my dad knows well, he has quite an affinity for cats. (Well, at least the ones that taste like chicken.) Okay, maybe not, but I do think he enjoyed (perhaps a little more than is healthy) catching the local cats in his cage and releasing them a mile or two from home. The rest of us feigned ignorance as the missing posters went up around the neighborhood.
Things were hunky-dory until a skunk unexpectedly showed up in the cage. A skunk with working stink glands, I might add. Having had an unfortunate skunk experience previously that year (somehow our garage ended up smelling like skunk for months) my father had a different plan this time. He elicited the help of a neighbor down the street, and before sunrise one morning they bagged the whole cage (skunk included) in a black garbage bag to take it to the end of the road where the pavement met dirt.
That's when the unplanned part started.
They never counted on encountering an early-morning jogger who gave them a frightened look and crossed to the other side of the street upon seeing two men carrying a black plastic bag and a gun down the street in the middle of suburban San Antonio.
The orginial idea was for my dad to open the cage door, and the neighbor to shoot the skunk as it ran out. The problem was the skunk didn't want to come out. It had grown accustomed to confinement, or perhaps suspected its imminent fate. So it took considerable poking and prodding, but the skunk finally slunk out to meet the firing squad.
Which missed. Twice. Three times.
My dad grabbed the gun and finished the job.
What they had tried so hard to avoid happened instantly. Almost as a dying attempt at regaining some dignity, the skunk released all of its stench simultaneous with its last breath.
I mean, how many kids' parents get sprayed by skunk? That was definitely cool.
No, they were cool for other reasons entirely.
For one, my mom could cook. (And, coincidentally, still can.) I used to love to eat at friends' houses because it was the only time I ever ate pizza or hot dogs. My friends loved to eat at my house because it was the only time they ever ate things they couldn't pronounce.
At my request, my mother cooked lobster every year for my birthday. The cool part? She let me call the neighborhood boys over to listen to the live lobsters' last squeals as they dropped into pots of boiling water. And for this, I was the most popular girl on the street. We watched, fascinated, as the grey shells flushed pink in the hot pot. To this day, I can still remember the sound of a dying lobster.
"Hey Emily, when's your mom cooking lobster again?"
Yup, my parents were cool.
While my mother occupied herself in the kitchen, my father occupied himself with a few rather unusual hobbies. Normal fatherly things we might have shared - maybe kicking a soccer ball or watching the Cowboys on a lazy Sunday afternoon - were never a part of my childhood. Ask my dad how to play a game of golf and you might as well have asked him how to read the Rosetta Stone. Instead, he was explaining HAM radio magazines or we were in the park learning what dials on the metal detector returned the best results, given the terrain.
Sometimes, if my friends and I were really good, he'd let us look at the latest animal he'd trapped in his cage in the backyard, and maybe even let us poke it a little bit. The cage was a medium-sized contraption, a perfect fit for a can of tuna and small animals like possums, racoons, skunks, and the neighborhood cat. And as anyone who has ever met my dad knows well, he has quite an affinity for cats. (Well, at least the ones that taste like chicken.) Okay, maybe not, but I do think he enjoyed (perhaps a little more than is healthy) catching the local cats in his cage and releasing them a mile or two from home. The rest of us feigned ignorance as the missing posters went up around the neighborhood.
Things were hunky-dory until a skunk unexpectedly showed up in the cage. A skunk with working stink glands, I might add. Having had an unfortunate skunk experience previously that year (somehow our garage ended up smelling like skunk for months) my father had a different plan this time. He elicited the help of a neighbor down the street, and before sunrise one morning they bagged the whole cage (skunk included) in a black garbage bag to take it to the end of the road where the pavement met dirt.
That's when the unplanned part started.
They never counted on encountering an early-morning jogger who gave them a frightened look and crossed to the other side of the street upon seeing two men carrying a black plastic bag and a gun down the street in the middle of suburban San Antonio.
The orginial idea was for my dad to open the cage door, and the neighbor to shoot the skunk as it ran out. The problem was the skunk didn't want to come out. It had grown accustomed to confinement, or perhaps suspected its imminent fate. So it took considerable poking and prodding, but the skunk finally slunk out to meet the firing squad.
Which missed. Twice. Three times.
My dad grabbed the gun and finished the job.
What they had tried so hard to avoid happened instantly. Almost as a dying attempt at regaining some dignity, the skunk released all of its stench simultaneous with its last breath.
I mean, how many kids' parents get sprayed by skunk? That was definitely cool.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Shameful... It's been way too long since my last post. I'm not exactly sure when I stopped being the blogger who posted twice a week, and started being the blogger who posts once a month. Oh yeah, maybe when I stopped having as many things to blog about, for whatever reason.
But anyway, this seems to be the summer for weddings. Everybody's getting married. Don't know what the rush is, but my guess is by the time I'm actually ready, the pickin's will be slim. So I seem to be losing friend after friend to this strange "love and marriage" thing, but the good news is I'm gaining job after job. I've shot one wedding already this summer, with four more lined up, three of which are out of state, and one of which is out of the country. Certainly helps to ease the pain.
All of this to say, I wanted to share with you a few of the pictures I took at my friend Camille's wedding (with plenty more to come.)
This was outside of University Church of Christ, in Abilene, Tx, where they were married.
We were doing some nice window-lit portraits when she laughed at something funny and glanced away. That's when I caught this moment.
But anyway, this seems to be the summer for weddings. Everybody's getting married. Don't know what the rush is, but my guess is by the time I'm actually ready, the pickin's will be slim. So I seem to be losing friend after friend to this strange "love and marriage" thing, but the good news is I'm gaining job after job. I've shot one wedding already this summer, with four more lined up, three of which are out of state, and one of which is out of the country. Certainly helps to ease the pain.
All of this to say, I wanted to share with you a few of the pictures I took at my friend Camille's wedding (with plenty more to come.)
This was outside of University Church of Christ, in Abilene, Tx, where they were married.
We were doing some nice window-lit portraits when she laughed at something funny and glanced away. That's when I caught this moment.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Things I Learned at the Southern Short Course in News Photography (yes, from back in April)
There's no such thing as a lucky shot. Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.
A good photo will:
1. Show people something new they've never seen before.
2. Show people something usual in an unusual way.
Photojournalism differs from photography in that it is primarily about access and follow-through.
My goal? To make people see pictures, not just look at them.
A good photo will:
1. Show people something new they've never seen before.
2. Show people something usual in an unusual way.
Photojournalism differs from photography in that it is primarily about access and follow-through.
My goal? To make people see pictures, not just look at them.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
checkmate
myheritage.com is a funny site. You can upload a photo of yourself and it compares it to over 3,000 celebrity faces and finds the one that most closely matches yours. Guess who my match was?
Judit Polgar. Who is this celebrity I resemble, you ask? Well, apparently I look like this world-famous Hungarian chess player. No joke.
This is the most attractive photo of her I could find.
The other ones were pretty scary. Okay. Really scary. I was not too flattered... thank you myheritage.com.
Please, people who know me, tell me it's not true.
My second closest celeb look-alike? Christina Aguilera.
Judit Polgar. Who is this celebrity I resemble, you ask? Well, apparently I look like this world-famous Hungarian chess player. No joke.
This is the most attractive photo of her I could find.
The other ones were pretty scary. Okay. Really scary. I was not too flattered... thank you myheritage.com.
Please, people who know me, tell me it's not true.
My second closest celeb look-alike? Christina Aguilera.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
What might have been...
Last week, Martin offered me his extra Arctic Monkeys concert ticket. I said sure, even though it was two-and-a-half hours away in D.C., and on a weeknight. But hey, the show was supposed to be great, and it was sold out. We left after work and ate dinner at a Chipotle in the city. I drove.
The club was a little sketchy. It looked like a rock club from the movies, one I might turn down any of 57 scary hallways and find a dude with a needle stuck up his arm. But I guess that's just how rock clubs are.
The place was kinda empty for it being such a sold-out show. We frowned at that a little, then turned our attention to the opening band. It was strange, because the band wasn't who we thought it was supposed to be either.
Martin suggested we check out the merchandise booth. No Arctic Monkeys gear.
I pulled the ticket out of my pocket. Monday, March 27.
Then I laughed hysterically because it was Tuesday.
I'm not sure what was funnier - the fact that we missed what was probably the best concert of the year by a mere 24 hours, or the fact that they actually let us in at the door.
The club was a little sketchy. It looked like a rock club from the movies, one I might turn down any of 57 scary hallways and find a dude with a needle stuck up his arm. But I guess that's just how rock clubs are.
The place was kinda empty for it being such a sold-out show. We frowned at that a little, then turned our attention to the opening band. It was strange, because the band wasn't who we thought it was supposed to be either.
Martin suggested we check out the merchandise booth. No Arctic Monkeys gear.
I pulled the ticket out of my pocket. Monday, March 27.
Then I laughed hysterically because it was Tuesday.
I'm not sure what was funnier - the fact that we missed what was probably the best concert of the year by a mere 24 hours, or the fact that they actually let us in at the door.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Say what?
Driving home this evening, I noticed a marquee advertising Caribbean Auto Repair.
Caribbean Auto Repair?
So I admit it. I thought about the stupid phrase for what was probably an inordinately long time. There can only be a few plausible explanations, right?
1. The people who repair the cars are Caribbean.
2. The auto repair is intented for Caribbean vehicles.
3. The auto repair is done in some unique Caribbean fashion.
Or it could just be the name of the place.
Beats me.
Caribbean Auto Repair?
So I admit it. I thought about the stupid phrase for what was probably an inordinately long time. There can only be a few plausible explanations, right?
1. The people who repair the cars are Caribbean.
2. The auto repair is intented for Caribbean vehicles.
3. The auto repair is done in some unique Caribbean fashion.
Or it could just be the name of the place.
Beats me.
Friday, February 17, 2006
My new camera...
So I got a new 20d to replace my 10d... actually I've had it for a couple of weeks now and just haven't updated the ol' blog in quite a little while. But I thought I'd share just a few of my favorite pictures I've taken so far with the new gear. By the way, animals are not the only things I shoot nowadays, just the best subjects. It's been a challenge for me to find new and different things to shoot. I'd like to return to photographing more people, but I struggle in the winter season.
A lovely close-up shot of a what a horse's nose really looks like... Wow I'm like the Jeff Corwin of barnyard animals.
And if you haven't had your fill of animals, here's another view of a cow you might enjoy.
My dad bought me yellow roses for my birthday when I was home this past weekend, so I stuck them outside in the snow for a couple of pics. It's a little different than your run-of-the-mill flower shot, so I was pleased.
A lovely close-up shot of a what a horse's nose really looks like... Wow I'm like the Jeff Corwin of barnyard animals.
And if you haven't had your fill of animals, here's another view of a cow you might enjoy.
My dad bought me yellow roses for my birthday when I was home this past weekend, so I stuck them outside in the snow for a couple of pics. It's a little different than your run-of-the-mill flower shot, so I was pleased.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
A Celebrity Week
Well, this week was pretty exciting. In celebration of MLK day, I visited our nation's capital. George had asked that I let him know next time I was in town, so I stopped by the White House to say hi. Lucky for me, they still had the Christmas tree up, and the White House staff photographer agreed to take our picture. Nice guy. My only complaint was that for some odd reason, my hair looked just like Laura's that day. Not a fan. And, whew! I've sure added on a few pounds this holiday season. (Gotta get back on that treadmill....)
Then, as a late Christmas present, George flew me out to Hollywood. Great gift, eh? While touring around the area, I accidentally bumped into Johnny Depp on the street. Well I bumped into his dog actually. Which freakin' bit me. I've got bloody teeth marks on my ankle! Can you believe it?? It was a stupid little yappy dog, too. But anyway, Johnny felt so bad he invited me in for coffee and Band-Aids. I don't even like coffee, but I think I drank about five cups. (I mean, it was Johnny Depp's coffee mug - what can I say...) He was so smitten by my dry humor and witty conversation that he asked if I'd like to meet his friend Orlando. I had to get a picture to prove it, because I knew you wouldn't believe me. Thanks to the trusty treadmill, I shed the extra flab pretty quickly. (And boy those ab wheel things really work!)
Of course, Orlando was equally enthralled with my superior conversational skills, and offered me his spot on the Pirates of the Caribbean II poster. They just happened to be shooting the photos for it the day I was there. I must say, however, I think I look a little better as a girl. (Although my beard is coming in nicely.)
So. As you can see, it was a pretty busy week. Gee, I wonder what next week'll hold...
Then, as a late Christmas present, George flew me out to Hollywood. Great gift, eh? While touring around the area, I accidentally bumped into Johnny Depp on the street. Well I bumped into his dog actually. Which freakin' bit me. I've got bloody teeth marks on my ankle! Can you believe it?? It was a stupid little yappy dog, too. But anyway, Johnny felt so bad he invited me in for coffee and Band-Aids. I don't even like coffee, but I think I drank about five cups. (I mean, it was Johnny Depp's coffee mug - what can I say...) He was so smitten by my dry humor and witty conversation that he asked if I'd like to meet his friend Orlando. I had to get a picture to prove it, because I knew you wouldn't believe me. Thanks to the trusty treadmill, I shed the extra flab pretty quickly. (And boy those ab wheel things really work!)
Of course, Orlando was equally enthralled with my superior conversational skills, and offered me his spot on the Pirates of the Caribbean II poster. They just happened to be shooting the photos for it the day I was there. I must say, however, I think I look a little better as a girl. (Although my beard is coming in nicely.)
So. As you can see, it was a pretty busy week. Gee, I wonder what next week'll hold...
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Me, Myself, and my URL
I am the new proud owner of http://www.emilychastain.com.
I own it the domain name, but there's nothing there except a GoDaddy.com ad. You can check if you don't believe me.
But I own it. That's the important part, right? :-)
New Year's Resolution: Get a classy website going at www.emilychastain.com.
I'll keep you posted.
I own it the domain name, but there's nothing there except a GoDaddy.com ad. You can check if you don't believe me.
But I own it. That's the important part, right? :-)
New Year's Resolution: Get a classy website going at www.emilychastain.com.
I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Merry Christmas!
I wish everyone a wonderful Christmas and a great holiday season. God bless!
(and a special Christmas greeting from East Tennessee....)
http://www.killsometime.com/animations/animation.asp?ID=151
(and a special Christmas greeting from East Tennessee....)
http://www.killsometime.com/animations/animation.asp?ID=151
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Hello again...
I'm well aware I haven't updated in the last month, and there's no really good excuse for that (except I've been busy, which is true, but people don't like that one.) My Africa trip was so long ago, I don't really know if I wanna write more about it... if you want to see more pictures, please visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/emster214.
Anyway, I found this cool thing where you can create a map of the world that highlights in red all of the countries you've been to. So here's mine.
create your own visited country map
I didn't think I was doing too bad (I've been to 22 countries) until it told me that even with my 22 countries, that's only 9% of the world. Nine percent!! Do you know how little that is?? I've got to get busy. Of course, then I was thinking, well, I'm 22 years old and I've been to 22 countries - maybe by the time I'm 60 I'll have been to 60 countries. But then I realized that's only 26%. And then at the age of 60, I'll have only seen a quarter of the world. So how do I solve this problem? Is seeing more than half of the world a realistic goal? To do that, I'd have to visit approximately 113 countries.
Wow. The world's really big.
Anyway, I found this cool thing where you can create a map of the world that highlights in red all of the countries you've been to. So here's mine.
create your own visited country map
I didn't think I was doing too bad (I've been to 22 countries) until it told me that even with my 22 countries, that's only 9% of the world. Nine percent!! Do you know how little that is?? I've got to get busy. Of course, then I was thinking, well, I'm 22 years old and I've been to 22 countries - maybe by the time I'm 60 I'll have been to 60 countries. But then I realized that's only 26%. And then at the age of 60, I'll have only seen a quarter of the world. So how do I solve this problem? Is seeing more than half of the world a realistic goal? To do that, I'd have to visit approximately 113 countries.
Wow. The world's really big.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Johannesburg
I've decided that talking about my trip is (obviously) too much stuff to sum up in one post, but I have to start somewhere. So here goes...
We flew from Tri-Cities to Atlanta, and then Atlanta to Johannesburg. The flight from Atlanta to Jo-burg was 19 hours straight. We landed once at the Isle of Sal to refuel and change crew members. Unfortunately, we passengers weren't allowed off the plane. The only thing that got me through the grueling hours in the air was the really cool video screen thingy. Not only could you watch a new release of your choosing, you could also play a game, tune into music, or check out a little featurette on Africa. I went the educational route and played blackjack. To my mom I introduced the game Shanghaii and she was then quite occupied for the rest of the trip.
After we landed at the Johannesburg airport, we had to wait for buses to take us back to the main terminal. They just let us wait underneath of the nose of the plane, something I think would never happen in America. If you look closely you can see the large crowd of people reflected on the underside of the plane nose.
Okay, PAUSE for a moment. I really don't want to give a narrative about my trip (on this day we went here, on this day we did this... blah blah blah...) so maybe I'll just share some of my observations and post a few pictures to accompany them.
Johannesburg, South Africa. It was not quite what I expected. It's a big city, quite normal as far as big cities go. There are nice places to eat, shop, visit, and see. There are quite crappy places where no one wants to eat, shop, visit, or see. Like any big city. One thing I wasn't prepared for was all the trash. It's a dirty place. But then it also had its really nice places. For example, there was the Montecasino, a huge casino/shopping mall complex. It could have been on the strip in Vegas and I wouldn't have known the difference.
The Montecasino was the first place we went to eat after setting foot on African soil.
The view of the casino floor from the Thai restaurant we ate at in the Montecasino, located in Johannesburg.
Not only did the Montecasino have shopping and a casino, it also had what they called a bird garden. We got there just as the garden was closing, but I was allowed to sneak in and grab a quick shot of the parrot.
Someone on the airplane told us that Johannesburg is the most treed city in the world. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but there were a surprising number of trees. They weren't all particularly green, or even sizeable, but they were there. The most unusual tree I saw was the jacaranda, a tree with purple flowers.
On our second day in Johannesburg, we went to visit some friends of the missionaries we were in Africa to see. This is a view from at their house where we had tea. (Everyone drinks tea in Africa, apparently.)The purple flowers had fallen from a jacaranda tree.
Alright, now I'm going to revert to a few observations I made in my journal after being in Jo-burg for a day or so. (Yes, I am a nerd for quoting myself.)
"Johannesburg is a strange mix of European influence and African culture. It's almost like a big city in Europe, but it's completely African at the same time. The effects of European colonization are apparent but not so strong they overshadow what is truly native. I think if I had one word to describe things so far, it would be DUSTY. (The second word being DRY.) Everything is constantly covered with a fine layer of dust. Good thing for those "domestic workers" as they are called. Apparently, it's nearly insulting to not hire household help. Any middle-class South African home has a live-in domestic servant. And security. Security is a HUGE deal around here. I've yet to see a house not surrounded by some sort of fenced enclosure (most often topped with barbed wire.) Private security guards are more plentiful and more effective than actual policemen. All windows have those steel bar things across them because at night people leave their windows open (air-conditioning in homes is pretty much unheard of.) Crime is a big concern. The mentality seems to be a purely selfish one, where people are concerned primarily with their own needs, often sacrificing morals to meet those needs. Life is cheap here, so I've heard, and so someone won't think twice about physically harming you for a few dollars."
We flew from Tri-Cities to Atlanta, and then Atlanta to Johannesburg. The flight from Atlanta to Jo-burg was 19 hours straight. We landed once at the Isle of Sal to refuel and change crew members. Unfortunately, we passengers weren't allowed off the plane. The only thing that got me through the grueling hours in the air was the really cool video screen thingy. Not only could you watch a new release of your choosing, you could also play a game, tune into music, or check out a little featurette on Africa. I went the educational route and played blackjack. To my mom I introduced the game Shanghaii and she was then quite occupied for the rest of the trip.
After we landed at the Johannesburg airport, we had to wait for buses to take us back to the main terminal. They just let us wait underneath of the nose of the plane, something I think would never happen in America. If you look closely you can see the large crowd of people reflected on the underside of the plane nose.
Okay, PAUSE for a moment. I really don't want to give a narrative about my trip (on this day we went here, on this day we did this... blah blah blah...) so maybe I'll just share some of my observations and post a few pictures to accompany them.
Johannesburg, South Africa. It was not quite what I expected. It's a big city, quite normal as far as big cities go. There are nice places to eat, shop, visit, and see. There are quite crappy places where no one wants to eat, shop, visit, or see. Like any big city. One thing I wasn't prepared for was all the trash. It's a dirty place. But then it also had its really nice places. For example, there was the Montecasino, a huge casino/shopping mall complex. It could have been on the strip in Vegas and I wouldn't have known the difference.
The Montecasino was the first place we went to eat after setting foot on African soil.
The view of the casino floor from the Thai restaurant we ate at in the Montecasino, located in Johannesburg.
Not only did the Montecasino have shopping and a casino, it also had what they called a bird garden. We got there just as the garden was closing, but I was allowed to sneak in and grab a quick shot of the parrot.
Someone on the airplane told us that Johannesburg is the most treed city in the world. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but there were a surprising number of trees. They weren't all particularly green, or even sizeable, but they were there. The most unusual tree I saw was the jacaranda, a tree with purple flowers.
On our second day in Johannesburg, we went to visit some friends of the missionaries we were in Africa to see. This is a view from at their house where we had tea. (Everyone drinks tea in Africa, apparently.)The purple flowers had fallen from a jacaranda tree.
Alright, now I'm going to revert to a few observations I made in my journal after being in Jo-burg for a day or so. (Yes, I am a nerd for quoting myself.)
"Johannesburg is a strange mix of European influence and African culture. It's almost like a big city in Europe, but it's completely African at the same time. The effects of European colonization are apparent but not so strong they overshadow what is truly native. I think if I had one word to describe things so far, it would be DUSTY. (The second word being DRY.) Everything is constantly covered with a fine layer of dust. Good thing for those "domestic workers" as they are called. Apparently, it's nearly insulting to not hire household help. Any middle-class South African home has a live-in domestic servant. And security. Security is a HUGE deal around here. I've yet to see a house not surrounded by some sort of fenced enclosure (most often topped with barbed wire.) Private security guards are more plentiful and more effective than actual policemen. All windows have those steel bar things across them because at night people leave their windows open (air-conditioning in homes is pretty much unheard of.) Crime is a big concern. The mentality seems to be a purely selfish one, where people are concerned primarily with their own needs, often sacrificing morals to meet those needs. Life is cheap here, so I've heard, and so someone won't think twice about physically harming you for a few dollars."
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Out of Africa
Well folks, I'm sure you've been waiting in hopeful anticipation for my long-awaited return. And here I am, once again on American soil. (Sometimes I need to go away to really appreciate that more.)
The trip was good. Africa's cool.
I am being purposely vague and unspecific, as I will elaborate with many details later. Right now, I am struggling to type without my eyes closing up on me. After arriving at the airport at 1:00 this afternoon, I had been travelling for 36 hours. THIRTY-SIX HOURS. That's a DAY-AND-A-HALF of my life I will never get back - forever sucked away by airport layovers and long flights.
I. need. sleep.
The trip was good. Africa's cool.
I am being purposely vague and unspecific, as I will elaborate with many details later. Right now, I am struggling to type without my eyes closing up on me. After arriving at the airport at 1:00 this afternoon, I had been travelling for 36 hours. THIRTY-SIX HOURS. That's a DAY-AND-A-HALF of my life I will never get back - forever sucked away by airport layovers and long flights.
I. need. sleep.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Off to Africa!
Well, folks, the time has come. I'm leaving for my long-awaited Africa trip. So it might be awhile until you hear from me again (okay, like two weeks) but then I'll be back with plenty of awesome pictures. Hopefully. (I hear they malaria over there.)
Until then, here's a couple of other shots....
Horses in a field in Longbranch, VA.
Lawn mower racing?? Has anyone ever seen this before?? These guys at the Shenandoah Valley Hot Air Balloon and Wine Festival were pretty serious about it.
Until then, here's a couple of other shots....
Horses in a field in Longbranch, VA.
Lawn mower racing?? Has anyone ever seen this before?? These guys at the Shenandoah Valley Hot Air Balloon and Wine Festival were pretty serious about it.
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