Category Archives: politics

SOUZA.

When people ask me about photography, I usually say, “I dabble.” I took a couple courses in college. I’m not always in focus. I’m always longing for a better camera, a faster lens. If I have any knack in “visual art,” I suppose it would be photography. But I’m hesitant to call myself “a photographer” because of one name: Pete Motherfucking Souza.

Pete Motherfucking Souza is a PHO-TOG-GRA-PHER. Nay, THEE Photographer. (Specifically, the Official White House Photographer. But that sounded less dramatic?)

I follow the White House photostream on Flickr, and never before have I felt more reverence for the art of photography. You’d think there would only be so many ways to photograph the Oval Office, but Pete Motherfucking Souza LAUGHS AT YOU.

“Conference Call with President Ali Bongo Ondimba of Gabon, FRAMED, BITCH.” — Pete Souza.

Barry lets me sit behind the desk. BALLER. -- Pete Souza.

“So baller, I sit BEHIND the desk.” — Pete Souza.

His shoes smell like eagles and hope. - Pete Souza

“His shoes smell like eagles and hope.” - Pete Souza

Aw, I miss my wife. - Pete Souza

“Aw, I miss my wife.” - Pete Souza

But in all seriousness, I gasped the first time I saw this photograph of Obama & Co. in the situation room, watching the raid on Osama Bin Laden’s mansion AS IT WAS HAPPENING.

If you wanna critique the composition, the neon lighting is less than ideal. The photograph is a little off-balance. Something’s intruding there, in the bottom left. But HOLY CRAP, right? He captured something so legendary. And this is BALLSY —  I can barely photograph strangers at a major public event, and my boy Souza here is tripping the shutter while Bin Laden is getting the kibosh.

……

PALATE CLEANSER BABY!

PALATE CLEANSER!

Gah. One more. SOUZZZAAAA

Gah. One more. SOUZZZAAAA

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More Filth and Stripes. This time with more Bubba.

A little over a year ago, Katie and I met our friend Bubba. Whom you might know as “Brian,” but…whatever. He’s Bubba. Prior to that, our friend Uriaha constantly regaled us with stories of this best friend, stories that always started “Me and Bubba,” or “Bubba did the funniest thing,” or  ”My friend Bubba makes homemade bread,” blah blah..and we were eventually like, OKAY. WHO IS THIS GUY? We must meet him. And meet him we did. Friends ever since.

As is evident by this series:

You might be thinking to your self, “Jenn, it looks like by the time Bubba showed up to this shindig, The Cockpit was already a shitshow.”

And you would be right.

Dancin!!

Having trouble balancing your wine AND your plastic axe, Katie?

(PS. Those inflatable guitars? The brain-child of yours truly. And by “brain child” I mean, “I got bored at Party City waiting for some stoner high school kid to blow up my balloons, and totally started making impulse purchases.” BEST IDEA EVER.)

Um, this would be the Cake Wreck that I made, that Matt decorated. It was a red velvet little number with cream cheese icing. It was alright, but it was a little bland and dry for my liking. Good thing everyone was drunk, and yelled at me to shut up when I announced this.

Hope you had a good birthday, Boo.

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My President

A part of me wishes I wrote some prolonged discourse about Barack Obama upon his election.  Couldn’t I have pulled my lips from the wine glass for one second to capture my feelings on this historic event? Will my daughters and granddaughters not come to this blog, expecting a love letter to our new president, complete with a Ken-Burnsesque slideshow?

Sorry, Progeny. For now, this is all I can muster:

On the other end of that determined gaze? The financial crisis.

On the other end of that determined gaze? The financial crisis.

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