Coming out of this weekend with functioning legs deserves a prize. I get a paycheque. It's strangely satisfying this time, well it is right now...I'll update that after bills. :/

A recent good mood has spurred my writing again. I'm collaborating with a friend on a Peter Pan story, which may be a comic later. The other project I've been messing with is a musical about an emo-kid in love. I've tried this before, but this time I've got a little better of a handle on the songs.

When I saw Moulin Rouge first, I thought to myself, "Modern takes on classic songs in a rousing musical! What a great idea!" Then I thought, "Why is 'Silly Love Songs' so tragically underused?" Eventually, I grew to hate the movie for turning tragedy into a half-hearted gimmick.

"She's dead, Obi-Wan."
"What? How?"
"Plot device."
"We had 17 seconds of screentime left! Couldn't this have been handled sooner?"
"Get off the backlot, Mr. Kenobi. We have to start filming The Matrix Revolutions."
"Where is that hack writer? Where is he??? I'll kill him! I'll KILL HIM!!!"

A few years later, I began thinking about using the concept of Moulin Rouge's mish-mash approach to many cl***ics, but telling a darker more modern story using some rock songs. The opening number is a boy leaving home for school where he puts on a tough facade to get through the day. His mother sings Desperado. The boy sings his own song about his life. The townspeople sing the melody from "The Memory Remains". In the end, he and his mother sing the "It's funny how the feeling goes away" verse together. Then the townspeople all rise together in chorus to mock the boy singing, "Your prison is walking through this world all alone"

The story gets happier, but that's another song. If I can work it out better and get a little more material, I might upload the full lyrics.

Actually, Zack is my brother in law.

This week has been really long. I worked 10 hour days at least all this week. Yesterday I worked from 6:00 to 9:00 then had to wake up at 4:00 today for another 10 and a half hour day. I'd really like a massage right now. I'll probably just sleep all weekend instead.

Today's story concerns a woman at my work I don't really like. She's the kind of girl that shuns responsiblity, has no group mentality and talks too much. She's a Peruvian mother of I estimate 4, always speaks on her cell phone or to some gal-pal she borrows to feel important. My experiences with her consist of me working under her lead, getting no direction from her and having her drop everything into my lap at the end of the day. She'll take the pictures, but at the end of the day, she drops all of the Lead's paperwork onto some poor sap. She breaks down her equipment when the last class of kids is coming, sends them to my camera and drives home immediately. One day she forced all of her work on a girl at the office and made her cry at a school in front of everyone. She's the kind of Heartless that Frank Miller writes about.

I decided early on to never let her push me around. One day she worked at a job with me and sent the last class to me while she broke down. The second I took the picture for the last kid, she had everything in her car and was off to go home. I had my paperwork next to me and a mountain of equpment to break down, put in boxes and shove into a car (imagine disassembling a home theater system, paccking a concert, and then playing tetris with a miata). Not to thrilled that my "lead" had no idea what the term implied, I did my job and went back to the office. I don't think I filled out my paperwork.

Back at the office, I drive up in my shiny Honda Civic and park. Immediately, this woman rushes me "Where is your paperwork? I have to leave now." I looked at her confused, "My paper...? I left it by your station at the des . . ." Then I really sold it by dropping my jaw in shock. "It's STILL there, isn't it???"

Panic set in and she ran back inside. I opened her car door, put the paperwork on her seat in plain sight and drove off, giggling like a masochist that stubbed his toe. I love my job.

I can't actually pronounce that.

As vaugely inferred, I work at Lifetouch. I used to work there before. Now I work there again, just started this month. You get a lot of stories working with the crew (who have been driven insane due to unenforced labour laws), the kids (who are so loud I can only hear by feeling the vibrations of someone's chest) and the fatigue-induced hallucinations that plauge your mind after the 15th hour of working in a sweltering gym with nothing to eat except your fellow man.

I'll post another story. One day, I was doing the usual setup. Not to blow any trade secrets, you calibrate your lights by photographing a color card (available at The Photo Hut for 19.59) and have to take a picture of a white pad of paper to ensure that any dust in the photo will be ignored (sketch pad available at any art store for 30.00 depending on quality and sheet count). As usual, there was a huge crowd of children, eager to see what was happening in the maaaagical world of technology. I was in a good mood. I like photographing elementary schools. The kids at middle schools are a hair past evil and the high schoolers - while easy to level with - are plagued with insolent seniors, all of which want to do craaaazy things at the camera. Suffice to say, given a choice, I'd rather work with kids. There's enough attitude in the situation with me with my bag of Pringles on my shoulder.

I was taking a picture of my Dust Board, the white paper. Some kids were all "Oooo! So neat!" "That young man is a God!" "Look at his hair!" I replied with a "That's right kids, and you too can be like me!"
Oh right, my story.

The kids asked "Why is he taking a picture of a piece of paper?" I didn't have enough material, so I ignored the question. Another kid was like "You go piece of paper! Work it! It's your birthday! It's your birthday!"

I then said to the kids in a serious tone. "You need to stop making fun of the piece of paper. You're going to make it cry."

The kid didn't miss a beat. "It's his birthday. He can cry if he wants to."

I like ageless kids. The ones that come to my camera wearing a John Lennon - Give Peace a Chance t-shirt. The ones that if you make a reference to Monty Python, they follow up on it. Kids gotta respect the ****ics. I feel like an old man now. All I need is a lawn and an old bloodhound at the feet of my old wooden rocking chair.

Next week's story: The Time When My Grandpappy Took Me Fishing!

Also C-L-A-S-S-I-C-S is a baaaad word...!