Over the River and Thru the Woods

I rarely go anywhere without being the one behind the wheel but I had a rare moment yesterday that allowed me to be a passenger. I took some shots on the way to Thanksgiving dinner that I have always wanted to capture.

They are blurry in some case because they were taken in a moving car. I also had not realized the camera was on Sepia but it was a happy surprise since the effect gives these shots a vintage feel. They are untouched, just re-sized.

First few are on the San Mateo Bridge which spans the San Francisco Bay Peninsula just south of the airport. The rest are on the road to Brentwood.

Cooper - Week Seven

Not the best shot I ever took. It looks like I was in a fish bowl. I don't like how it balloons and distorts everything but it is what it is. I am slowly trying to get caught up with my shots. This particular one was always in the plans. Me in the background was not. I look like a giant moose. Or blowfish. I will need to get another, better one down the road with a decent camera.

So obviously this is for Cooper. The 'S' stands for sexy, seductive, silly, sensual, suave, you name it.

Photo Dump

We had our annual department meeting at the Palace of Fine Arts today followed by a reception at the Exploratorium in SF. While I didn't get any shots at the Exploratorium, I did wander around the Palace of Fine Arts after lunch and snapped some shots. I thought I would just dump them here for now.

In Motion - Week Six

~ Drummer Boy ~

It had been six years since their studio had been torn apart. He remembered the very last nail that had been hammered into the sheet rock. R25 insulation, 1/2 inch carpet, and 3/4 inch sheet rock to be exact. No one complained about the noise. Hell it wasn't noise, it was music, art created with sound, their sound. But they'd had to move and it was gone.

Pushing on the rickety door he flipped on the light and, arms folded, regarded the old blue Yamaha kit. It was his first kit; his mother kept it despite the fact that it was old. Trim peeled off the bass drum, stands pitted with rust from the damp garage, and drum heads that were well worn with use and age. A heavy film of dust covered the bass drum. Even a few broken sticks littered the cement floor.

She never could throw them away. They were signs, mementos and she had always been sentimental right down to the pick she kept in her wallet from their first show along with the first set of sticks he made that still sat in an old coffee mug in the kitchen. He had even tried to teach her to play once and she had laughed insisting there was no way her arms and her feet could move independently.

He sat on the stool, took out his iPhone, plugged the ear buds in and started to play. An old set of sticks, chewed up by the many times he hit the rim were still shoved under one of the mounts. He wouldn't have long before someone pounded on the door, probably the cops, telling him to knock off the noise. Until then he'd play for her, for the astonishment and joy he remembered in her face when his hands and feet moved in rhythm and his hair flew about his face, chaotic and on fire.

Garage Band - Week Five

I will write something at a later date. Not feeling it at the moment.

Marshall - Week Four

The Saint James - Week Three

Approaching the building, she hesitated. It didn't look like much from the outside. The building, set along the railroad tracks, was plain and unassuming with a Victorian ambiance. Drawing a breath she pushed open the ornate double door and her perception immediately changed. Never judge a book, Melinda chided herself

It was like wandering into another century. A sweeping staircase greeted her, its polished banisters gleaming in the dim light. The interior was tastefully decorated, clean and elegant. There were small dining rooms to her right which appeared to have at one time been used as a drawing room. Each table was set with unique china place settings and crystal of the period. No two settings were the same.

And the girls...they were lovely. Dressed in period gowns they mingled with the patrons, mostly men, laughing and flirting with them as they drank. The ones waiting tables in the elegant dining rooms wore dresses that were low cut and revealing. She watched as one man leaned in to his companion, whispered something and then gestured to a young woman who smiled coquettishly as his hand found its way to her backside. She led them up the staircase and disappeared behind the door at the top of the landing.

Melinda couldn't help the blush that burned her cheeks. Approaching a girl who stood by the stairs Melinda drew a steadying breath and introduced herself, "Hi, I called about the hostess job." Curious, unable to prevent her gaze from trailing up the stairs, she asked, "I wondered - are those dining rooms up there?"

The girl smiled knowingly, "Yes, those rooms are...private."

~ Revamped excerpt from Chameleon ~

Rockstar - Week Two

~ The Monster Rockstar ~

No matter how many times Cooper stood behind a stage waiting to perform, it always felt like the first. The sounds, the smells, and the fast paced bustle of crews that handled lighting, mics, pyrotechnics, booms and lifts, it never got old. His heart pounded steadily in his chest, he could feel the energy coursing through his veins.

The music was there swirling around him in tendrils as he breathed it in, allowing it to become part of him. There was so much more music to be made; a surge running through Cooper like a raging river. It was the energy that flowed through him and poured out of his hands when he played his guitar.

Closing his eyes, Cooper shut everything out and allowed the monster rock star to emerge slowly and steadily. Still the music surrounded him, wisps that caressed and tangled like vines, electric and powerful. Cooper was the music as he stood poised to take the stage, a sensual beast that would seduce the crowd and leave them begging for more.

~ Excerpt: Dark December - The Other Side of the Stage ~

Acoustic - Week One

~ The Minstrel's Waltz ~

He wasn't usually awake this early but it was hard to sleep these days. The house was still; it was the in-between time when night faded gently, keeping morning at bay until he awakened it with his song. Avoiding the clock which sat in the middle of the sideboard - knowing what time it was might break the spell - he took the Martin from its stand and eased onto the couch crossing one long leg over the other thigh and resting it in his lap.

The first rays of sunlight began to filter through the drapes from the easternmost window and fell on the body of the guitar warming the rich tones of the wood. Like a lover's caress he moved long fingers along the strings and reverently stroked the neck before firmly gripping it while his other hand began to pluck the first strains of a waltz - he'd written it for her - pure, pristine, and romantic.


♫♪♪♫♪♫
One-minute writing exercise