I’ve been attacked with a meme (by Bernie, who must be well on his way to being a full-fledged Californian by now).

Here they are - 6 things you didn’t already know about me:

1. I’m absolutely and horribly afraid of snakes in basements. Respectively, they don’t bother me, but when those two things happen at the same time, I scream like a 7th grader and take those stairs four at a time.
2. I have always wanted those glasses that dim in sunlight, but am pretty certain they would only solidify my almost total nerdiness.
3. I have never flown first class.
4. I love brussells sprouts and prunes.
5. When my parents first got divorced (I was in the 2nd or 3rd grade), I told my friends at school that my father had been sent on some sort of secret mission.
6. I can run 8 miles but I can’t do 5 pull-ups.

Now; I guess the thing is to tag other people to have to do this thing. However, I don’t even know that many people with blogs, so if I’ve tagged you, you can reply here in the comments. I want to hear 6 things I didn’t know about:
Tessa
John
Bradley
Michael
Christian
Ben

My parents got themselves a new puppy a few weeks ago, a border collie that they named Fergus. He is about 6 months old, and enjoys all the standard puppy pastimes: chewing on toys, eating plenty of dog treats, getting way too much attention.

It must be kind of confusing to be a puppy; so far, between the five or six people that have met him while in my parents’ house, he has been called (besides “Fergus”):

Hey
Doggins
El Flop-o
Bub
Bud
Buddy
Buster
Fergie
Ferguson
Tinkleton
Heavens-to-Fergatroid

and these are all before the little kids are here for the holidays; these are just the names he’s been given by (so-called) adults.

Ben forwarded me this link to an article in the NY Times about “what’s new in photography.”

Asked how she maintains her gallery’s identity within the shifting landscape, Ms. Borden offered a blithe observation about artmaking in general: “Of course, you know the adage, if you can’t make it good, make it big. If you can’t make it big, make it red. So we do like big red photographs.”

I guess the Huskers were on to something all along. Go big red, indeed.

I see these three things almost every day, and usually twice; once on the way to school, and once on the way home. They have become some of my best Brooklyn friends.

Ricky’s open door, which is sometimes closed:

The trash door, which is always trashy:

The shoes up there (although not the only pair of shoes I see strung over wires - there are, at any given time - 3-5 pairs hanging from wires on the way from my apartment to Pratt - but these are my new favorite):

As it’s been finals time, I’ve been spending a lot of time at the Pratt library. It’s certainly not a very large library (especially compared to Love library at UNL, which is a freaking monster) but it’s pretty comfortable, and aside from the occasional groups of babbling undergrads, is a nice place to study. The library also happens to have a relatively good selection of art-related books - and quite a few artist books and rare books are available to students.

But the best thing about the library is the stacks. The floors (and consequently, the ceilings) are made of glass. Apparently designed by the Tiffany Co., most of the material composing the stacks areas is translucent. Which is really scary the first time you’re there, and you happen to hear someone walking above you, and you see the soles of their shoes! It takes a little while to get used to - I was positive that I would somehow be the one person who would break a pane of glass - but after I watched a heavy-ish circulation desk employee walk on the glass without any snaps or cracks, I figured I’d be okay too.

Pratt’s library’s website provides a brief history and according to wikipedia, “several scenes of the 1978 best-selling pornographic movie Debbie Does Dallas were shot in the Pratt Institute library without the administration’s approval.”

(via boingboing) The Demise of the Professional Photojournalist by Dan Gillmor raises some very interesting points about the relationship between commodity and news, and the ever-thinning line between the producers of content and the consumers of content.

Is it so sad that the professionals will have more trouble making a living this way in coming years? To them, it must be — and I have friends in the business, which makes this painful to write in some ways.

To the rest of us, as long as we get the trustworthy news we need, the trend is more positive.

Remember, there was once a fairly healthy community of portrait painters. When photography came along, a lot of them had to find other work; or at least their ranks were not refilled when they retired. Professional portrait photographers, similarly, are less in demand today than a generation ago. But portraits have survived — and thrived.

Is this a fair analogy - comparing photography to painting, business-wise?

I went to the Strand Bookstore and got two really nice books about two amazing photographers: Ilse Bing: Photography Through the Looking Glass and Work by Mitch Epstein.

I just learned about Ilse Bing (thanks Michael) and Epstein’s work is something I think about all the time - sometimes even when I’m shooting (however my work looks very little like Epstein [and has none of the magic]).

And the books smell like new books, which is one of the top ten best smells I can imagine (which also includes the wonderful smell of freshly mimeographed worksheets from elementary school, the delightful odor of C-41 color processing chemistry [sweet like antifreeze], and the breeziest whif of melting/burning solder).

Here’s the floor before our unwanted renovation:
  

After about a week of the bulge in the floor getting worse and worse (and daily telephone calls to the landlord), a pipe finally blew out of the floor and began spraying my office with a fine, hot mist. Unfortuately, Tessa was the only one there at the time, and she pulled all of my stuff out - electronics, computer, printer, scanner, books, all of my photographs + photo paper, cameras… everything. (I am, obviously, forever indebted to her for this.) I was at a Saturday photo critique with my art history professor and class, and was on my way to have a drink with a couple of friends when it happened. After another seemingly futile attempt to truly arouse the landlord’s sense of urgency, Tessa kept studying with her friend, and I went out to a couple of parties with mine. (Shows the difference between art school and law school [as if there needed to be any real illustration].)

I stumbled home (from the cab to our front door) at about 6:30 in the morning and as soon as the apartment door was shut, there was a knock. It was one of the guys who live downstairs, and he had water coming out of his light fixture, dripping onto his bed. Holy crap. I called the landlord again - this time waking him up and fully grabbing his attention.

It was difficult to think straight, let alone stay awake, at my level of inebriation; I sat at the table and tried to do stuff with my computer. I think I got about as far as opening my browser before I went to bed. At about 8:30 I heard the comforting sound of power tools:

(We could see into our downstairs neighbor’s apartment, but we chose not to. )

Everything got fixed today - just waiting another day or two for the polyurethane to dry - and even though my repeated calls didn’t seem to get my landlord to pay attention, he may have been not able to do anything anyway until the problem fully presented itself (in the form of a totally broken pipe under the subfloor). And he got it fixed for us pretty fast.

However (isn’t there always however?), it’s finals right now for me and Tessa, and to be stripped of a room while the the floor gets finished while we need the space more than ever makes for really bad timing.

I guess dealing with bad timing is just more experience for the future, because it seems like it happens a lot.

P.S.

While I was out getting art-school drunk (and Tessa saved my entire material life) I did get to see Ben and Amanda’s Louise in her hooded sweatshirt. Normally, I don’t really get into the whole clothes-on-animals thing, but Lousie seemed to really like being in the sweatshirt (she passed out on the couch immediately) and she looked freaking adorable.