Good game, guys. The CMU vs. California exhibition game pics are now up on the images page. If you want copies of the 1600 x 1200 originals, mail me.
The site is less than static now, but the links don't work yet. I've been told to make it 25% bigger. Well, some things bigger and some things smaller. I'll fix that, but I have to work on a presentation first before I can dabble with Illustrator. I still await feedback on the redesign.
I've finished the static prototype of my site redesign, so check it out and tell me what you think. (Besides things like "This font is really small!") The image at the top is going to be a rotating gif to keep the page fresh. I think I might also rotate the middle vertical text as well. The portfolio links will start out as black and white icons and then colorize when you mouse over them. Images will be updated with a few thumbnails of the current photo set. The small scrolling blog will show the daily entry. You can navigate to any of the pages using the links at the top and bottom of the page. What do you think? Mail me.
I wanted so badly
Somebody other than me
Staring back at me
But you were gone
I wanted to see you walking backwards
And get the sensation of you coming home
I wanted to see you walking away from me
Without the sensation of you leaving me alone
- Counting Crows, Time and Time Again
Somebody other than me
Staring back at me
But you were gone
I wanted to see you walking backwards
And get the sensation of you coming home
I wanted to see you walking away from me
Without the sensation of you leaving me alone
- Counting Crows, Time and Time Again
eponasluv: i wish i had some stupid willpower
Hankarrific: cheer up jess
Hankarrific: the nhl hockey season is about to start
eponasluv: even worse
eponasluv: i lost my favorite hockey player
Hankarrific: :-(
eponasluv: he's not good enough to play in the NHL but i still loved him
eponasluv: with all his faults
Hankarrific: cheer up jess
Hankarrific: the nhl hockey season is about to start
eponasluv: even worse
eponasluv: i lost my favorite hockey player
Hankarrific: :-(
eponasluv: he's not good enough to play in the NHL but i still loved him
eponasluv: with all his faults
A day 8 update. It's getting better, really!
This is what happens at hockey when you stand behind the net facing sideways. I think I'm internally hemorrhaging but Bizzy says it's just a hangnail.
Have fun in San Diego, Superstar.
Oddly, it doesn't hurt any less as I get older. I am less dramatic, less vengeful, less spontaneous, but the pain is the same. Outward rationality conceals a monumental inner loss that hollows me out, leaving me voiceless and foiled, grasping for the intangible words that will rouse your heart to reconsider. Failing that, I falter, clutching at the handrailing, at my side, as another exquisite chance slowly fades from view.
In the end, even after all of the conversations and tears and uncertainties, it is still as basic as a primary blue. I want you back.
In the end, even after all of the conversations and tears and uncertainties, it is still as basic as a primary blue. I want you back.
Listen to him tell you he wants to be done. Ah, you've lost the puck, honey. Think the game can't be over yet; you only had the puck once, it isn't fair. Throw a fit totally unlike yourself. Get put in the penalty box. Harass him until you get ejected from the game. Pound on the plexiglass until they kick you out of the arena. Stand in the parking lot with your skates on the asphalt, in the dark, like a fool. Listen to the faint cheering from the far off, glowing arena. Get in your car but don't go home right away. Think how the penalty was rather harsh for a one-time mistake. Think how you demanded to see the final score before the game had barely begun. Think how he believes he knows the final score before the game had barely begun. Drive home. Go to bed with your skates on and no ice in sight.
- J. Mignone, How to Have a Hockey Player
- J. Mignone, How to Have a Hockey Player
So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows
- Billy Joel, And So It Goes
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows
- Billy Joel, And So It Goes
I just wanted to be around you.
You, glittering in the face of complete strangers, like a charismatic Pied Piper, stricken silent, frozen in place by the simplest desires, my smallest requests. Me, quiet in the shadow of your friends but tactfully frank with you, speaking with lucidity and utter purpose. I want to grab you by your shirt collar and shake you, scream until they haul me away, so I can elicit the real you, the boisterous, articulate identity you advertise glamorously to everyone except me.
The shadows of raindrops slide down your face under dim streetlights. The edge of your eye glistens and you put your fingers up to meet it, but too late, your distress rains down around us, spattering on the windshield, streaming off the contours of the car, creeping cold and slow down my face. Your thin, sinewy forearm is cool to the touch, but the flesh between your thumb and finger is warm. You pull your hand away from me in reflexive regret.
Suddenly you are millions of miles away again, a miniscule speck of light in the blackness, distant, inanimate. I recall looking up into the frigid sky, my breath drifting to the ground in the chill of an approaching autumn.
"That's Mars," you said.
"That tiny dot?"
"Yes."
I reach out to encompass you but you are attached to your car and to your life, by your seatbelt, by the center console, by the steering wheel, by the black leather, by some unrelenting part of your heart and mind that withstands even the hardest crash tests. My innocuous desire has made the evening dark and heavy, unneccessarily; I ask so little, you give even less. Stepping out into the damp, airless night, I close your door, releasing you from a grip I never had, from the ache of decisions.
Ironically, between the storm clouds, I still walked across the street alone.
You, glittering in the face of complete strangers, like a charismatic Pied Piper, stricken silent, frozen in place by the simplest desires, my smallest requests. Me, quiet in the shadow of your friends but tactfully frank with you, speaking with lucidity and utter purpose. I want to grab you by your shirt collar and shake you, scream until they haul me away, so I can elicit the real you, the boisterous, articulate identity you advertise glamorously to everyone except me.
The shadows of raindrops slide down your face under dim streetlights. The edge of your eye glistens and you put your fingers up to meet it, but too late, your distress rains down around us, spattering on the windshield, streaming off the contours of the car, creeping cold and slow down my face. Your thin, sinewy forearm is cool to the touch, but the flesh between your thumb and finger is warm. You pull your hand away from me in reflexive regret.
Suddenly you are millions of miles away again, a miniscule speck of light in the blackness, distant, inanimate. I recall looking up into the frigid sky, my breath drifting to the ground in the chill of an approaching autumn.
"That's Mars," you said.
"That tiny dot?"
"Yes."
I reach out to encompass you but you are attached to your car and to your life, by your seatbelt, by the center console, by the steering wheel, by the black leather, by some unrelenting part of your heart and mind that withstands even the hardest crash tests. My innocuous desire has made the evening dark and heavy, unneccessarily; I ask so little, you give even less. Stepping out into the damp, airless night, I close your door, releasing you from a grip I never had, from the ache of decisions.
Ironically, between the storm clouds, I still walked across the street alone.
