I just got word that my nephew has been born! Welcome to our crazy family, Levi Brantley Turner. Can’t wait to meet you!

Saturday morning at 6, I will rise out of bed like a very large, potentially grumpy phoenix and make my way to Cooper-Young to set up my booth for Cooper-Young Festival. I’ll be in C7, which is over by Cafe Ole on Cooper.

I’ll be selling the same sorts of things that are available in my Etsy shop: photo prints (framed and unframed), quirky art prints, crafty things, note cards, recipe cards, posters, magnets, and opportunities to sign up for custom work. I’ve never sold any of my stuff in person before, nor have I ever manned a craft-fair booth, so this should be all sorts of learning experiences rolled into one. I honestly have no idea what to expect, so I am going to keep the bar nice and low and not expect too much. Just some networking and socializing and people-watching, and hoping people like my stuff at least enough to stop by and take a card. I keep reading online that people don’t buy photos at craft fairs. Uh, or at all, really. But I figure I have to put myself out there and at least try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.

Later this week once I get everything organized, I’ll post a preview of what will be for sale. There will be several things not available in the Etsy shop.

So if you’ll be at C-Y Fest, come say hello!

Somewhere out there, people get paid to take photographs of butterflies and flowers. I could do it all day every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.

Risk

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

– Anaïs Nin

Saturday was an adventure. I took the day off work so I could go photograph some living history events at the Cherry Mansion that my dad’s pals were going to be a part of. I was told to be there at 11 a.m., when photographers would be allowed inside the Cherry Mansion to take pictures with the re-enactors. I hauled ass and got there thirty minutes early, met up with my dad and brother and nephews, and began surveying the surroundings to try and get a good idea of what I’d shoot and where.

I was introduced to several people whose names I don’t remember. Everyone was nice for the most part, and I milled about, snapping pictures here and there of my dad and the group of people I was there to photograph. Then a lady who was a coordinator of sorts apparently mistook me for her personal photographer, and began art directing me and telling me who to photograph, and where, and from what angle. I went from confused to annoyed in a hurry. I’m not sure if she thought she was going to have access to the photos she was telling me to take or what. I was told that her photographer had flaked out, so suddenly it made sense why she would be encouraging me so boldly to take certain shots. I obliged mostly because I am non-confrontational like that, and for a while it was easy to take the shots I wanted to take while placating her with some shots she clearly wanted me to take. But eventually it got to the point where I couldn’t even break away to get a cup of lemonade without her calling after me, wondering where I was and could I come over here and take this shot and this shot and get over there and take it from that angle, too. (By then I had been there for three or four hours out in the hot sun with no food or water, and yes, I know that the crazy re-enactors were doing the same while wearing wool coats, but they are crazy like that and I am not.) I eventually had to just walk away and go about my business. I was being bogarted for big grip-n-grin shots while my dad and his fellas were standing by, and the whole reason I was there was to shoot his people. It was dumb. Plus I had an assignment over in Shiloh for The CA to get to.

Oh, one really funny thing happened. I was shooting a group photo of the Dixie Belles — you know, the ladies who dress up in hoop skirts — and some other photographer sauntered onto the scene with his camera and tripod. First thing he did was wander over to me and ask me, “What are you using?” I thought he meant a lens so I just held mine up because, you know, there it was. But he was talking about my settings, and leaned in and looked at my screen — WHILE I WAS WORKING — and read the shutter speed and aperture aloud. I was actually shooting on program mode (toggling between it and aperture mode because that is often my jank-ass way of getting my bearings in new settings) but he mistook it for auto (probably because I self-deprecatingly said something about shooting on auto, nyuk nyuk). And then when I was changing angles for another shot, he said, “Do you know how to use your manual mode?”

>.<

My patience was already growing then by that point. So I spat, "I'M SORRY, WHO ARE YOU?!" At which point he told me his name and then promptly shut the fuck up. I will not tell you his name or link to his portfolio because I am trying to make a renewed push to be a nice person these days. But let me get one dig in and say that, based on his portfolio, he had no business whatsoever readying himself to offer "helpful" suggestions to me, regardless of what settings I was shooting on. So, photographers of the world, when I want your help and condescending input, I will certainly let you know. Until then, put a sock in it and keep shooting your mediocre, soulless photographs. And I will do the same.

Ahem.

After a trip across the river to watch my dad and nephews shoot a cannon (photos to come eventually, after I edit all 600 of them), I grabbed a soda and some trail mix and headed to Shiloh with my sister in tow. After three inadvertent trips down the same one-way scenic route, we finally found the living history campgrounds, which were largely deserted, save for the fellas pictured above, and some other folks. I took some shots, scribbled down names and info, flicked a tick off of Krissie's hand, had a brief freakout thinking ticks were in my hair, and headed back to the car. My head was starting to hurt and my skin was starting to sizzle. I had to call it a day. That night it felt like my skull was trying to leap out of my skin. Chalk it up to being nannied for hours and hours in the sun without a break by people who were not my boss. I've really got to get over this mousey non-confrontational personality stuff so that I can better help people understand when they best be backing off.

[Project 365]

I finally figured out what to use it for.

Phone photodump!

You know, if you are into that sort of thing.

We romped around a few weeks ago in the Botanic Gardens and I pointed a camera at them a lot and a merry time was had by all. Here are a few of my favorite shots from the session.

While editing this pictures, I came to the realization that Ella is a little Chan Marshall. I mean, look!

Anyway, the entire photo set is here.

My apologies to those of you who have seen this on the Tweet-o-sphere and the Facebooktubes already, but I’m trying to reach eyeballs. Lots and lots of eyeballs.

The thing is this: I am selling holiday cards made from my photos in the Etsy shop. One features this bird print and the other features this snowy branch print (both of which are also for sale in several sizes). Fun fact about these cards: If you don’t like the greeting I’ve supplied, you can write your own. Funner fact: You can use cuss words if you want to. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT, I’M CRAZY!

So put that little bug in your brain. Customizable holiday cards that are highly unique and not available at your local Target, where everyone else will be buying their cards. These babies are perfect for those of you into simplicity, elegance, high contrast, and a lack of melodramatic sentiments written in sweeping, embossed gold letters above painful-looking Nativity scenes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, person who will inevitably send me a Christmas card like that.

See the snowy branch card here and the bird on a wire card here.

Here are the details for those of you who did not click those links (slackers): 10 cards, printed on high-quality, bright white glossy Costco cardstock. Comes with a set of 10 bright white self-adhesive envelopes. $16 + $4 shipping (unless ordered in conjunction with something else). You tell me what you want printed on it (within allotted space). I have them printed, I inspect them, then I send them on to you. All of this can happen in a week’s time or potentially faster than that if you need them real quicklike (expedited shipping rates will apply).

And if you’re looking for unique stocking stuffer-type things, you might be interested in these magnets I made. If you don’t buy them, they are going on my fridge. But I’d like you to buy them. I made them just for you.

Oh, and one more thing. If you ever see a picture on this blog or on my Flickr account that you’d like to buy a print of, leave a comment or shoot me an e-mail at theogeo at gmail dot com. I’m very much open to putting things in the shop by request.

Want to stay up to date on what’s going on with my Etsy shop? Follow me on Twitter or *like* my Facebook page.

Krissi and Jeremy and Piper let me tag along with them to the Botanic Gardens again this year for a family photoshoot. We went in mid-October, which turned out to be perfect both weather-wise and scenery-wise. I don’t know how the Botanic Gardens managed not to completely burn up this summer like everyone else’s gardens, but I suspect a whole lot of chicken blood and brick dust might be involved. I’M SAYING THEY USED VOODOO IS ALL.

It was fun seeing both how My Big Backyard and Piper have grown in a year. Last year, she was just getting the hang of sitting up, and this year we were chasing her around.

Anyway, here are some shots from our session, which, just like the pictures of Daphne from a few days ago, may spontaneously impregnate you. No, I will not assume child-support responsibility so don’t even ask.

Wa-POW! I just hit you with a sneak attack of adorableness. Are your knees weak?

You might oughta go take a pregnancy test. Yes, even you fellas.

If you were unable to withstand this attack of unfiltered Daphne adorability, you might ought to steer clear for a while. I know I’ve got at least one more ULTRA-SECRET SNEAK ATTACK OF TOOTH-DECAYING SWEETNESS coming up.

My friends gross me out with how adorable their offspring are. How many pacts has the Devil made in West Tennessee in the past few years? My wager is lots and lots. Unless they’re all pulling a brilliant long con on me so I’ll decide to procreate too. I KNOW YOU GUYS ARE DOING THAT SO STOP.