I Fucked Up a Photo

It was only until recently that I realized where my photographic style is heading / has always been. My father and I were laying on a beach in Florida last week. We'd taken a spontaneous road trip to Naples, FL for a week and found ourselves an afternoon to relax that wasn't actually spent inside a car. There we sat, beneath a 40 degree sun, facing the Gulf of Mexico. I think I was thirteen the last time I saw that water. There was, as there is every summer afternoon in Florida, an incredible storm system developing everywhere around us. Blue skies were turning into black and winds began to pick up. However, this didn't stop most of us from visiting the beach.

Directly next to me was my Mamiya 645 medium-format camera. I purchased it in early May and it hasn't left my side ever since. It literally changed the way I visualize, approach, and execute photographs. The decision to switch to medium-format simply stemmed for my current distaste for both 35mm film (in terms of it's grain seen upon printing) and digital (I don't know if I've ever put my heart into a digital photo my entire life). My Mamiya is fully, fully manual; some shots I'm not even sure will pan-out because I've tried to shoot them on the fly and each exposure requires careful attention to several aspects.

So there I am: dad, a storm, my camera, a beach, and myself. My dad suggested I take a photo of the oncoming storm. To his credit, my dad taught me composition at a very young age. "Get some of those ferns in the foreground, And" he has said to me at ages five, fifteen, and twenty-five. I agreed with him and pulled my camera out whilst being protective of swirling sand. I veered through the viewfinder and opted for a vertical composition (holy shit folks, this is like the punk rock version of photography). However, I noticed something very personally satisying that was creeping into the frame from below: my fathers tanned, hairy, sweating stomach. This balanced the photo perfectly. From top to bottom: the towering storm system that is contained by the frame, descending towards hoards of umbrellas, bodies and sand, only to be anchored in the lower-third portion of the photo by a glistening male stomach. I quickly made the correct exposure adjustments, cranked the advancement lever and took the photo.

For me, all I could think of was how much this photograph summed up "Florida": Sure, there's a view, but there's also a lot of tanned old people.

And that's exactly what attracts me when taking personal photographs. By "personal" I mean images that are intended for nothing other than advancing my own body of work. For lack of better wording, I enjoying aesthetically pleasing photographs with something fucked up about them. Something perhaps that is small in the frame, but just captivating enough to make you question why it's there. To continue the story, I wanted my dad to take a photo with my camera, in an effort to experience a sort of "passing-the-torch-full-circle" moment between the two of us. The only direction I gave was "shoot that way", to which I pointed towards the other end of the beach. As he walked away, I noticed a large family tearing down there beach gear to go home directly in his path. I thought it would have made a great photo to see an oncoming storm and a dissatisfied family heading for the hills. He walked right past them. Seeing as I wanted him to take the photo he wanted (which was not doubt a conventional landscape), I kept my mouth closed and watched him handle a camera older than any of his children.

I want to say this is a rather recent discovery, but not only have I been practicing photography in this fashion, I've been living it. For instance, whenever I put on an outfit, I make sure there's usually one fucked-up aspect to it ie. a nice collared shirt/sweater combination with some nice jeans and white shoes that have been painted black and have blown so far open you can see my socks. Like showing up to a well-dressed b.y.o.b. event and holding a 40 oz Olde English. So, to say that this recent "refining" of a photographic style is news to myself, it really isn't, because I live it every time I walk out my door.

dode

I found this photo a few weeks back while sorting through my moms photo collection. Others would call it a heap, but I'll call it a collection. The photo is of my grandmother in her youth with a friend (the one in white). I estimated the photo was taken sometime in the mid-1950's

When I found it there was considerable damage. I included the original just to show how much work had to be done. That, and I just have a thing for photo restoration. There's something annoyingly challenging but rewarding about it. Anyway I thought it was a classy photo and thought I'd share.

Also, after applying a spray effect to her face in Photoshop, I noticed something eerie:

Ummmm, what the....? Is that me? Think about it.

PORTPHOTIO pt. 1

As with any of my creative endeavors, I feel the need to further explain myself.
Recently I posted PORTPHOTIO; an online video rendition of my film-based photography portfolio. There are a few things I should mention before/after you watch this video.

For starters, there are two different photo projects within the video: "Mind Spaces" (0:25-1:45), "If The Ladies Ain't Happy, Nobody Is" (2:30-3:10), and "I Could Have Sworn They Were Just Here" (3:40-4:20), which only contains half of the finished series due to time restrictions.

The Mind Spaces series, which I have written about before on this site, illustrates how the basis of our knowledge can be defined by simple four-walled rooms, whether through means of education or life experience. If The Ladies Ain't Happy, Nobody Is is a series of cyanotypes that depicts a 5-minute incident that took place between a group of boys and a single girl in Positano, Italy. I Could Have Sworn They Were Just Here is a creative documentary project based off the idea of abandonment and traces of human presence.

Within the video there is also a large amount of travel photography. Seeing as I always bring film cameras with me when I travel (something I do to large scale at least once a year) it is only fitting that I incorporate that work into my portfolio. Within, countries such as Canada, the U.S., Cuba, Australia, Italy, Fiji, New Zealand, can be seen, whether through landscape or portraiture. This is by no means my entire travel catalog. In fact, I have another 15 rolls of used film sitting in my freezer awaiting processing - another reason why I included "pt. 1" in the films title - indicating that this will most likely be an ongoing process.

Thirdly, I should touch on the digital aspect of this project. Aside from a few select photo's that were printed either chromogenically or inkjet (which I can clarify if anyone was really curious), the bulk of the work was shot on film and printed within a darkroom. Considering that I have an equal (if not more) amount of digital photography, I deemed it necessary to leave that work aside for another video project, which could easily occupy a similar amount of time. Separating these two was critical in my mind.

The video format idea was simply an accessibility idea. Seeing as my artistic website is not complete, I felt a different means of showcasing the work was needed. Considering that we live in a media-friendly age, I thought it best that the viewer relax and enjoy having myself flip through the images for them. Oh, YouTube didn't pick up on it, but the song playing is Sentimental X's - Broken Social Scene. It was the least annoying and most time appropriate song on my computer.

Lastly, how has the pun "portphotio" not been used yet? Sure, if you look it up on Google you will see a slew of sites, but most of them direct you to unknown domains and leave you stranded on foreign territory. If you type in "portphotio" on YouTube, it's the only video by that name. To me, being the YouTube junky that I am, that is some sort of milestone. After searching just now, "Paintfolio" doesn't exist either. If anyone reading this steals this idea, you better lawyer up asshole, because I thought of both.

On a lighter note, I really hope you enjoy the film, because it was intended for you all to see. Keep in mind that this is by no means a completed project, but rather an ongoing one.

Andy Schmidt 2010.

ps. If the video does not fit due to its widescreen aspect ratio, view it here.

Mirrors Please

I need a hand.

Well, I actually need some mirrors.

As seen in the rough digital sketch above, I've been toying with the idea of photographing landscapes with large mirrors reflecting the image into several parts of the landscape (the semi-transparent represent the mirrors). However, I don't have many mirrors this size.
If any of you know where I could find some, somebody who has some to spare, or any other information I'd love to hear it. In honesty, the larger the better. If at all possible, some sort of stand as well that it can lean on. Otherwise, I may have to write a blog post directed towards my welder friends. Mirrors without borders are most preferred.
I'm writing this here because I know so many of you are great seekers, foragers, collectors, hustlers, pack rats and researchers.
I'm not asking that you break your day over this, but to just keep your eyes open. Chances are usually good that you'll find one on the sidewalk somewhere. If you snag any leads, let me know through email (andrew.allan.schmidt@gmail.com) asap and I'll reward you with a hug and some beers. You guys are the best. Thanks for looking.

Andy.

flashes in a wood shop

As I'd hoped, the shoot went fantastically. Even better than I'd hoped.

I arrived to meet the new principle of Beal, Don Macphereson around 2:30 pm today. He was a really nice guy. Him and I chatted until Dave, the head janitor, arrived at the office. At this point, to my surprise, the two gave me a full-access Visitors Pass, as well as the janitors master key which opens every classroom in the school. This was seriously some sort of dream come true.
The shoot was very expedient, and although I would have loved to mull around my teenage classrooms longer, there was work to be done. Off to Mountsfield.

I knew there was no way I'd get the same treatment at Mountsfield. Oh, how wrong I was.

As I walked the halls to the tune of the intramural basketball game down the hall, I was approached by Linda Moffatt, the principle. She asked if I was Andrew Schmidt, to which I happily agreed (do I look like a photographer or something? maybe it was the gators I was wearing on my feet). Instead of lending me the keys, she gave me two personal janitors to escort me throughout the school, opening whichever classroom I wished whenever I needed it. What a trip.

Special thanks goes to principles Don MacPhereson, Linda Moffatt for their patience with me and for their work among their staff on my behalf. Additionally, custiodian staff members Dave, Bob, and Jenna that were so gracious in lending me their time and stories of their own.

Talking about what I saw once in the schools is worth 2,000 words in itself. I'll get to that some day.

ps. Do I look like a janitor in the above picture? That's my favorite photography shirt. Maybe it's because you can't see that it's tucked in. And shit, if being a janitor means having keys to every room in the house, it doesn't sound so bad after all.

dotting the h's, crossing the b's and a lot of purple and gold tape

I was very recently (the pic was taken in bed after the last phone call made, where I still remain) granted full access to both of my childhood schools.

For those of you who may have been following this progression, for my term final project I am ambitiously photographing every classroom I've ever had from kindergarten to university. I'll post my statement some day, but it really boils down to how the roots of our knowledge (socially and academically) can be quantified within the walls of our learning institutions.

ps I can recite that sentence in under two seconds, as I've been reciting it verbally and by email for weeks.

The idea wasn't the hard part of the project, nor will the actual photographing of the rooms themselves. It's the red tape. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming.

In the case of Mountsfield Public School ( my home from grades JK-8), the case is being taken all the way from the permission of the entire staff, to the Thames Valley District School Board. I had to write a detailed form of my intentions, justifying that no children or staff are to be involved. Additionally, they made me assure them that even small images of students that may be seen in the room must be taken down as well. Now that's some tape forya.

With Beal, the current principal I talked to was rather chipper with my idea and granted me full access to the entire school pretty much as soon as I voiced my idea. Aparently Beal has a slightly higher appreciation for conceptual art than the protection of it's students - which I'm all for. That's always been the case there. On top of that, I get to walk around with Mr. Haney, who was the head of the Art department even when I was there.

Principles are very funny to talk to. As usual, when I want something over the phone from somebody who doesn't know me from Sam Hell, I try to start the conversation off with a positive bang by putting an upper inflection on my "Hi! How are you today?" People are usually impressed by this, because most phone calls are bullshit anyway. Yet you see, with the case of principles, they pretty much answer to nobody. Remember when they'd walk into your classroom when you were a kid with those cool suits, 'staches, and fat guts (generalizing huge here)? They were like kings walking amongst ants, and you knew it too. So when a civilian number such as my own reaches their phone line, my greeting is shot down quite quickly with a "good", then deafening silence.

Try it sometime. Try to get something from an old principle and see how far you get before the ice melts to water. Since we both know you won't and have no reason to, you can probable imagine through my experience what it's like. Both shoots are slated for next Tuesday, then it's CARPal-tunnel-photoshopCS4-hands for 24 afterwards.

koodo

Photographer Tom Feidler once told me:

Don't let school get in the way of your education.

I think of that every time I step through the door.

find me outside

Finally, an updated Flickr account. I used to be so heavy into that.

Last weekend I spent some more time in London "researching" my term project. I'll say researching because I showed up to the schools, which were locked. I have no idea why I didn't put this together in my mind days before leaving. However, on a more positive note, the principle of HB Beal has just granted me access to the school at my disposal. Fantastic.

Another reason for being in London was to purchase what would ultimately lead me to applying for welfare. That's right: the coveted Sigma 10-20 wide-angle lens. I purchased it mostly for my term project, which solely revolves around the photographing of interiors. That, and it has a 10 year warranty - which is great because I'm pretty hard on my lenses for the most part ie. my Nikon stock lens vs. Rivoli pool hall floor circa 2007.


So, it's safe to say I've been using this lens extensively, which is at least ten times a day. On top of that, I picked up a portable flash from my moms house over the Christmas holidays, which allows for much more dynamic lighting scenarios as opposed to that flat-in-yo-face-flash. That's also been a ton of fun to practice.

Oh, and Bike and I got to play in the snow most of the day Saturday. Great packing snow.

Percussion Gun

I was fully prepared to write an entire piece about the trials and tribulations of 2009, but decided against it seeing as I'd much rather finish cooking my meatballs and fried spring rolls. End of the decade, blah blah blah. Lotta shit went down, and you don't need to read about it here.

I was actually surprised to hear that 2009 was an awful year for most of my friends. I personally thought it was fucking awesome, but only through the powers of circumstance.

Throughout the year I visited Poland, Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, Hungary, England, New York City, New Baltimore, Detroit, Quebec, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland. I managed to dodge one of the worst Toronto summers (including the garbage strike) and hung around for the warmest November in over 100 years. I even broke a bone.

As in any year, most of you may know that, although I believe resolutions are bullshit and meaningless to a degree, a new resolution is to be made for myself.

After a discussion with a professor on the topic of promotion in the art world, he stated in clear black and white that nobody can begin representing your work but yourself. This is in fact true. I don't know what I was waiting for, but I have a studio absolutely full of work that could be hung at any moment. This is where the resolution comes into play.

Man of Action

This year is going to be all about progress. The word itself has always intimidated me. I get comfortable in some situations and find it hard to detach myself from it. However, I slowly realized that progress really isn't hard at all. It's just a matter of movement, motivation, and passion working harmoniously towards an attainable goal.

The other day I clearly, in my mind, mapped out what I want out of my life. Then I realized I'm 23 years old, and that there is still plenty of time. Yet why wait? Why not jump start things and showcase work at all times? - although I've been technically showcasing and selling work at Orange Alert for over two years.

Man of Action is all about, well, action. Making calls, finishing my website (the lack of it is fully my fault - digging up and documenting past work kills my soul), sending emails, getting work, and making connections. I'm ready, and I'll do it. Upswing, baby.

Happy New Day.

elwy

Next term I have to work on a series of anywhere between 12-15 images. I get excited by these because there is more room for exploration. I'd rather let the narrative of a series speak to the work rather than a single image. I've been working in this format for years now.

Seeing as it will be photography-based, I have begun to toy with many ideas; specifically those that lend themselves more towards a series than singular images. I was really inspired by seeing a rotten piece of fruit the other day. I've considered doing lively, punchy, saturated depictions of rotting fruit.

Another idea (and one I think is well thought on my behalf) is to document every classroom I've ever sat in. From junior kindergarten through to university. From Mountsfield, to H.B. Beal, to Ryerson.

I should preface this next part by saying I'm fascinated by the brain. Ultimately. The fact that the mind can retain so much is beyond my comprehension. If you've ever spent an extended period of time with me, I'm sure you've heard me say the words:

"Isn't it funny how such a strange memory literally takes up space within your brain? Those Dr. Dre lyrics honestly occupy real estate within your brain. And where?"

With this in mind, I found the idea of the classroom fascinating. These rooms were genuinely the breeding grounds for knowledge. Everything from the square block in the circle hole to addition/subtraction to first crushes to the tuba to french to long division etc. These places still remain four-walled establishments, yet within them there is an aura of curiosity, bullshit, and learning.

One of the aims of the series (should I choose to accept it) is to capture the different ambiance's of each room from start to finish. Seeing as we are young, distracted, and impressionable in our early years of education, teachers tended to decorate the walls and ceilings with mosaics of Clifford, the alphabet, Sesame Street, and diagrams displaying parts of the body. As a few years pass, the facade becomes more scientific, more literal. Entering high school, the sutdents are either subject to posters of Spain, or the coldness of white walls and banging lockers.

However these interiors may look, they undoubtedly form the people we are today. With that in mind, I would be more than happy to visit each individual place to reiterate not only where I am now, but how (and why) I got here.

Although I'm sure nobody cares about the technical side of the project, the entire thing will be shot on a 4x5 camera, and will be entirely funded by me prostituting myself through perilous Glory Hole visits.

apps

I've got some photos on an iPhone app called Schmap. I'm not sure if it's free, but might be worth checking out. It's basically an urban map'lication (zing) that has matching photos for every destination.

I'm now on iTunes and the iPhone. Soon enough I'll be having dinner with Steve Jobs.

marla and me

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I am utterly confused by the term artist. He's an artist, she's an artist, they're artists. It all boggles my mind, and I'll tell you why.

The reason I'm so confused by this term is that I thoroughly believe that anyone is capable of making art. We all are. In fact, I know people who are more an artist than I and they don't even make art. It's in the way they carry themselves: the way they articulate words and tinker with anything tangible, almost unconsciously. Then there are those that make art, but do not consciously think it's good enough to display and become discouraged out of any sort of exhibitionism for their work. There are also some that make art and don't even know it.

There are also those that claim to be artists, which is all good, provided you backup your statement, you ballsy prick. Like I said, I've mentioned this argument before.

There is a massive grey area to be seen. For instance, in the dictionary the term "artist" seems fairly straight forward: the centric line states "a person who produces paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby". Fine. Later, the same dictionary mentions singers, dancers, and actors. Except what the hell is a singer creating? All they really do is remember someone's lyrics and make their vocal chords vibrate. However, they do have the capacity to provoke emotion, just as much as Christo's big bedsheets, Serrano's Piss Christ and Rothko's squares of color.

The fact of the matter is, everything that has been indeed deemed "art" has provoked some sort of emotion one way or another. Your kids crayon drawings, your dog barking (ever hear that barking solo from Eels?), the suds on your car. This is where the problem presents itself to me, because all I see is grey.

If somebody were to walk into a room and a friend of mine turns and says "Hey, that guys an artist!" I'd say "Fuck him". Not the most well-rounded argument, but it's a state of mind.

HOWEVER

There are people who I do truly credit as artists. They've paid their due's, and got paid. Fine. My big problem is finding the line between your seven year old kid and the man who hangs work every two weeks in seven countries. A prime example of this can be seen in the film My Kid Could Paint That.

Although I'm not looking for the answer just yet, let it be known that I'm still on my quest. Because nothing makes me feel dirtier than calling myself "an awwwwtist".

tbc.

peas and tarot's

Two shoots. Two days. Rush rush rush.

I was experimenting with a flash setup I bummed from school, except the sync chord they gave me didn't sync at all, so they were only really good for spot lights, but I made do.
I snapped some band shots last night of the lineup we've currently been rehearsing with. Who knew that one day we'd have another ginger, who's name is also Andrew, who also went as Tin Tin for Halloween? I don't know if I like the sounds of those similarities. As long as he can't freestyle as good as me, I'll be okay.

There are more shots, but they'll be released on our Myspace when we're good and ready: probably after a few more rehearsals.

The next shoot was this morning at Blair's urban planning firm.

I was hired on by Cal Brook and Anne McIlroy, who are quite possibly the two most gracious and patient bosses I've ever met. The shoot went very well. I allowed myself a little over three hours to shoot, and the production meeting we had weeks beforehand helped us craft the sort of images they were looking for to add to their website.
Despite my serious sickness, I managed to pull together a fine body of work (and even got to use a ladder). I'd add more photos to see, but they currently don't belong to me. Oh to be a business. Fun day nevertheless, and I even got another job out of it.

On a final note, Anne told me my personality is reflected in my work. Probably one of the best compliments I've received all year.

There you have it. Another capper on one of those "Impossible Weeks" I seem to keep having.

smooth as a babies bum

Last Saturday I was scheduled to do a photo documentary on the Nuns.

About an hour before leaving, my sister (who works their reception desk) calls me and asks me to remove my beard! Apparently nuns do not like beards, for whatever reason.

Seeing as I really wanted to photograph them, I removed it without hesitation. I just thought it was funny, because I'm sure I'll never have to be asked by nuns to remove my beard ever again.

On a second note, one of the Sisters asked me if I had a girlfriend while talking in her suite. I said no. She then told me that she was going to pray for me. Isn't that amazing? Right now, there is a legitimate nun praying for women on my behalf. She even wrote in her prayer book "Andrew Schmidt. Girls." By god, I hope she works some magic.
I snapped a photo while she wrote it and will surely post it as soon as it's been processed.

rebel yell

I love this thing.

When I graduated grade eight, my parents bought me the Canon Rebel G. It was my first camera, save for a few junky disposables. Since then I've used it at least once a month.

It loads film like a dream. The auto focus is still lightning fast. The pop-up flash impresses girls. I've never had a bad exposure (unless due to my manual settings) in all it's years of use. It works as good as the day I got it. It's a very meat and potatoes camera; not very flashy looking, no great features, just a straight up camera.

The sounds it makes sound like it's really getting things done. When you press that shutter button down it really sounds like you've just chopped wood. If it were a household appliance, it would be a washing machine, because as soon as you press go, you know some shit just went down.

I've owned many different cameras in my day, but this one consistently impresses me. I've brought it on every major trip. Whenever I need a reliable camera for a shoot (or multiples), this one is always included in the mix. Even my digital SLR can't stand up to it. I love it so much, I own two. The other one is black. BK, you can have it back whenever you want.

They used to run for about $900 back in the day, but you could probably get yourself the full deal nowadays for around $150. If you're a film enthusiast, I highly recommend this beauty.

please! no more meat! (in every sense of the word)

Ahhh, the ever-glorious May 2-4 weekend. This year we had the privileged of staying, cost-free, at a beautiful lakefront summer home in New Baltimore, Michigan (about 20 minutes outside of Detroit).
BK, Mills, and Billy are staying there for the summer, so we thought we'd pay them a visit.

The view from the back porch wasn't that bad either.

The next photo I won't go into too much detail about. For those of you who know this means, let's all share a laugh together.

The best (and worst) thing about America is how they've seemed to bridge the gap between food and convenience. Here, I can be seen drinking a pre-bottled A&W Rootbeer Float. Now, the most unusual thing about it wasn't the taste or the texture, but the ingredients. I wasn't shocked when I noticed that last diddy. Laughing gas anyone?

Tickle a ginger!!
What May 2-4 would be complete without tickling Jordan to the ground (which takes anywhere between 1 and 6 seconds, depending on how much he resists). Jordan, I wish I had your giggle as my ringtone, because it warms my heart.

We watched Family Matters (which is surprisingly still a good show), and it turned out that it was Steve's birthday as well. I cradled his head and wished I was there with him and Carl.

Funny face time. Aparently Josh's monkey face had never been captured on film until now. I consider that a damn shame, because it's fucking hilarious.

One of my personal favorites: The Rubber Mask. It scares pretty girls.

David, I don't know what to call this, but that doesn't mean it's not funny. It reminds me of somebody, mostly Egon from Ghostbusters.

"Oh man, BK is totally drinking from my dick. That's hilarious!"

I'm sure that's what I was thinking at the time of this birthday countdown photo.

Detroit, what.

We met blair right about here, because he's a Backstreet Boy.

I remember agreeing to see a Detroit Tigers game the night before, but I don't know how they managed to pull me out of bed the next morning. I was in hangover central. Although, the best cure for one of this is movement, Tylenol, sunlight, and more booze.
The daquiri stand looked damn tempting when sitting in 26 degree sun in the outfield.

Josh, enjoying that shit, even without the huge collectable fist drink holder.

The employees at the daquiri stand honestly loved their jobs. They made us honkies feel right at home.

Time for another.

Well played, honkies.

That motherfucker (and I can say that because he was hitting on Cougars the whole game) was one part hilarious drunk hick, one part annoying Yank. He didn't say much more than reciting rap lyrics and screaming "I'm on a boat!" during lulls in between plays. At least he gave us some good daquiri insight.

The new Tigers Stadium is beautiful. Everything I think a baseball stadium should be.

8 Mile!

Yeah, we got ourselves some White Castle. It had been about a decade since I'd last eaten here, and thank God for that. I forgot how absolutely horrible this food is. We ended up calling it Grey Castle because of the grey-matter-meat. Fucking terrible excuses for burgers. Under no circumstance should a food joint have a 40-burger combo on its menu. We all had to shit immediately afterwards. I think this venture capped off the meat consumption limit for the trip.

Mills and BK. More like East and DP.

Jordan loving the Five O'Clock Rum. That shit was so damn gross. But hey, it was only $16 for that entire bottle. Where do you draw the line between value and quality? Actually, how about value and dignity.

We opened our own bar after visiting Wal-Mart.

The spinning-head Exorcist owl.

BK and I held dinner down the second night. I made a red wine and worcestershire sauce marinade for the steaks and stuffed the potatoes with garlic, onion, and fresh rosemary. PS - damn you guys for having such beautiful rosemary and basil plants.

Of course, I was getting my feet dirty running through farmers fields to capture some sweet cloudage. Billy warned me that people here have guns and are not afraid to use them. Let's just say I made it quick.

Life's tough.

What the hell was with this thing in Billy's room. The creepiest thing isn't the imitation chest hair, but that fact that it came with the house when they moved in.

I should have known that these two would be gambling the entire trip. I'm sure only twenty minutes after knowing eachother bets were made.

And what May 2-4 weekend would be complete without a passed-out-early-Blair!?

I really don't know what to say about this photo below. Words that come to mind include: confusion, liquor, party, gay, sexy, drunk dad, wow, sweet, what?, nice!, and general laughter. I honestly can't even glance at this photo without busting a gut laughing. I think it's his stance and the fact that nobody else can be seen in the photo, which means it got late and Mrs. Clause decided to put on her sexy low-cut V neck that Santa loves so much. Except Mrs. Clause is played by a drunk Josh sporting three days of beard growth.

Meme, you're wonderful. Thanks for coming and leveling the sausage ratio a bit.

Middle of the night long-exposures during a lightning storm.

Crew.

All in all, this was another weekend for the books. Although it was filled with too much meat (foodly speaking), everyone had an amazing time, and I even got to play Hide and Seek. I speak on the behalf of every guest when I say it was great seeing you guys and thanks for showing us just how fucking crazy America is. Because, three words:

Smokes N' Stuff