The Big DumpTruck

Throwing Little Thought Pebbles at Your Windshield Since 1996

The Owner

I just got a telemarketing phone call from an uptight-sounding woman. These people call often, according to my missed calls list, so I wanted to answer to get on their do-not-call list.

Me: Hello?
Them: May I speak to the owner?
Me: Excuse me?
Them: The owner.

What would possess anyone to call ANYBODY and start a conversation that way? No identifying who you are at ALL?

You get nothing but a “Please Add me to your Do Not Call list.” We are through here. Thank you for playing. Goodbye.

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Camera [Not] Shopping

I shot with Canon cameras for years, and have owned at least four of their dSLRs until I finally sold some bodies and bought a big girl camera, the 60D.
Then, through magic and wizardry that I can barely understand, I got the opportunity to own a Sony A77 mirrorless (so not really a dSLR) for basically free. It moved me up to the next level camera (comparable to a Canon 7D). It was different. The digital viewfinder still startles me. The controls weren’t the same as my trusty 60D.

Change is hard. It took me almost a whole day to fall in love with this camera and the AMAZING photos it takes. The Canon is my backup now, but I never touch it.
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Photographers will understand this love when I say I was willing to walk away from thousands of dollars worth of Canon lenses (including L-glass and my first “white” zoom lens, just like the big boys at Sports illustrated) to shoot exclusively with my A77.

The most starting thing? The video it shoots is CRAZY good. The Canon can’t refocus when recording video. The Sony was flawless (although it doesn’t handle extreme low light as well as a dedicated video camera, but that could be my inexperience using it to shoot video.)

Why all the yammering? Sony announced an upgraded version. I wonder how much $$ is in the change jar…

Thing is, my A77 is so good that I won’t even feel bad about not being able to afford/justify getting the new one. That’s saying something.

Breaking Down a Recipe

I was reading a humorous article about Barbie dolls (as one does) and linked to the author’s website. She provided some favorite recipes, which seems normal enough, until I started reading one. I hope she never ever writes a cook book.

My favorite parts:
- The small bowl of butter (I wanted to use my biggest bowl. Darn.) and the bowl of cheese. Cheese (from the bowl?) is mention in two different steps. What kind of cheese? She’s not saying. Figure it out yourself, like she did!
- An oven is listed as an ingredient. If you don’t have one, back away from the website.
- This recipe only calls for 2 green beans. Filling.
- Frying carrots in a “vessel”. Seems like a pan would be a good choice for frying, but she doesn’t want to be dictatorial. Pick a vessel, any vessel.
- Melting the [bowl of] cheese on the fried veggies should cause a nice solid mess. Good luck pouring it into the baking dish of undetermined size in a later step.
- The whole mess gets cooked in an oven “over medium flame.” I am calling her bluff. She doesn’t even own an oven.

Here’s a screen print of the full recipe. Do let me know how it turns out. I’d rather gnaw on dog treats.

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Sunday Plans

I think I shall go shoe shopping today. I love overwhelming futility of looking for attractive shoes in my size, and the crushing insecurity you get from clerks escorting you from the aisles of shoes intended for contortionists/teenagers.

“Another one wandered off from the ‘sensible’ aisle, Tyffany.”

Taking Root

The heart knows what it wants
but has no control
and for every day
the knock it desires does not arrive
you fight the urge to pound your fist
on an empty chair;
pointless frustration

There is no bouquet of happiness
or framed photos of perfection
that can capture events
you conjure in your mind.
The dream of what could be
is colored chalk in the rain
Thundering reality rumbles
warning to not stray beyond the shelter
of the known.

Not unloveable
just unloved
each morning begins
with dim light and dim hope
slowly budding
until you forget the promises you made to yourself
to face reality
head-on, strong.
You forget and allow yourself to think that
Maybe this will be the day
it turns around
and you will find the flowers
you gave up for dead
have taken root
in the smallest patch of hope
in the world