What Men Want

I remember something that was in circulation back around, I believe, the 1990s. Went like this:

Women just want to be listened to and men just want to be trusted.

Okay. At the risk of losing a great percentage of readers at this point, I have to admit that, yes, this actually resonated with me.

Because somehow I’ve always wanted more than anything else that every women I ever encountered, even if I’d just exchanged a glance with her, could trust me.

And when I leave this earth, I never wanted any woman or girl to be able to say, that guy was physically inappropriate with me. He was a creep. 

Sadly, many could (and doubtless will) say, that guy was physically inappropriate FOR me. But that’s another problem entirely. 😉

Il Fornaio


Beverly Hills can be one of the coziest places on earth. Sitting alone in Il Fornaio. Sipping a strong Italian coffee. Cocooned by beauty. Nibbling at a crunchy bran muffin. Outside a late afternoon chill coming off the Pacific that says November is very near.

I used to catch a bus right outside my house. It was almost dead silent whenever there was new snow. The bus would wind its way three miles through my hometown and finally take me into what was at one time the largest steel mill in the world. In the Seamless Tube Dept. a corrugated metal building probably ten football fields long in the middle of an eleven-mile sprawl along the Ohio River, I’d huddle around a coke jack for warmth, oblivious to the black soot I would later cough up or pull out of my nose, eat Chef Boyardee out of a vending machine, and wash it all down with the worst excuse for coffee I’d ever dare to swallow.

If my year-old blackened ear plugs were jammed far enough into my head and I had a warm place to sit for awhile, the steel mill could be cozy, too, I guess. Especially when I daydreamed of someplace far far away.




A Birthday Card to My Self


I snapped this scene about 500 feet from my front door last year at this time. It captures the cool late-afternoon shade provided by the massive buildings in Century City and, here and there, an actual tree or two.

I’m 60 years old today. For a person from where I’m from — anyone, I would think, but certainly me — how far I have come to get where I am today is something that is never far from my mind. So, for me, this image is a representation and reminder of that as well.

Anyway, have a great day everyone and I will now continue trying to forget how old I am and go on with the happy illusion that I’m 30 years younger. 😉



Ev’ry time i see your face,
It reminds me of the places we used to go.
I want you here to have and hold,
As the years go by and we grow old

I’m so embarrassed… AGAIN! (another repost)


For the longest time, I’ve wondered, ‘Why don’t any of the wonderful people who follow my blog and like my posts ever post anything to THEIR WordPress blogs so that I can like and support THEIR stuff?”

Yes I did. Wonder. Such a thing.

Probably not as many times as someone in the world wondered, “Why doesn’t this self-centered schmuck ever hit ‘like’ on any of MY WordPress posts?”


I even said to some fine fellow who was incredibly supportive of this blog and after many messages had passed between us, something like, “Gee, I’d love to see some of YOUR stuff sometime. Do YOU have your own blog or website?”

That was actually the last I spoke to him. Nothing at all after that question. The line went dead.

So I’m on this thing called The Reader yesterday, I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, scrolling down and thinking, “Wow, WordPress does a really nice job of selecting material from its tens of thousands of blogs just for me. I really like all this stuff. Good job of curating, WP!”

Then I see MY latest blog post. And NOW I’m excited. I said to my more significant other, “Honey, look! WordPress is featuring my post in The Reader.”

I did say that. Yesterday.

She was like, really? What does that mean? And I said, “Well, it means that probably everyone interested in photography will see my post in their Reader, it’s like being featured on the front page. Or something.”

(I probably shouldn’t be posting any of this. Do my face palm in silence and move on.)

But then, sharp detective that I am, I sez to myself, “Myself, this is going to mean a significant increase in traffic. Gird your loins, brother. This is your moment.”

My ship had finally come in. I thought.

But then when I checked my stats… 😦

I won’t drag this out any longer. Yes, I am obviously a self-centered schmuck. And I had seriously conflated The Reader with, “Freshly Pressed”


I just want to say now to all of you SO familiar names who have hung in there, liking my posts, THANK YOU for your patience with me. Seriously, thank you. I would like to say that I’m just so busy, there certainly is something busy going on inside my head, but I don’t think that’s the issue. I’ve always been this way. Conflating. Confusing.

I’ll give you one very early example. First grade. Catholic school. 1963. Sometime after the Christmas break. I was sent to the principal’s office, I can’t remember what for. Sister Victor was the principal. Yep, that was her name and that’s who she was. I vainly tried to make an excuse … something about the 3 months we had ‘off’ for the Christmas vacation.

You see, loyal readers, I had conflated SUMMER with the 10 days of Christmas break.

Sister Victor was not generally known as a forgiving nun and she snarled at me that we didn’t get three months off for Christmas and then a few minutes later threw me down a flight of stairs.

True story.

Anyway. I am sorry, fellow, WordPress photo-bloggers. I can see now that most of you really are posting YOUR stuff to your WordPress blogs and I am blown away at the quality and breadth of the great photography and creativity you all are putting forth into the world… and… I’m LIKING it all as fast as I can. 😉