Presented in order, without comment. Because I shouldn’t have to explain.
Smokey and the Bandit
Days of Thunder
Honorable Mention: Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
[Editor's Note: I titled and wrote this post while flying home the night of July 5th. I debated posting this tonight, but felt that it might serve as a reminder for those who need it most right now.]
It certainly seems that I’m changing.
Years ago, I didn’t understand the need to visit Libertyville. I had just left its two main roads and townie bars for Los Angeles and Los Angeles was big and bright and so very, very shiny. But after repeated years of Christmas freezes tucked into a barely-useful full size bed, and two back-to-back, tradition starting, summer visits in the ‘burbs and Chicago-proper, there’s a pull back to familiar.
After leaving the nest far later than one should, I honestly took family for granted. And in the last month I realize how much I miss my family (even if their soap use etiquette needs improvement). I guess it just took time a distance to understand that.
Eight years ago it was a lot easier to leave home. Now it’s hard to fly away from those dummies.
“We’re happy when you’re happy. We’re sad when you’re sad.” – Mike Sliozis
It wasn’t very long ago that I couldn’t get on an airplane without fighting through anxiety and panic attacks the entire day before followed by armpit-soaking nervous sweat during the entire flight. The smell of airplane exhaust made me nauseas. Any unannounced turns in midair were met with silent prayers and wondering if my cell phone would work 35,000 feet up if I had to say good-bye to anyone.
Then last year, I flew somewhere in the neighborhood of 25,000 miles around this little rock. And now I just want to back a bag with camera gear, clothes and a toothbrush. I’ll come home when I need to update my iPhone, or major holidays. Paris, Portugal, Spain, Germany, Russia, Lithuania, India, so much to see, so little time.
Make sure you watch full screen and 1080.
Beautiful story about a woman named Vivian Maier and the countless negatives and rolls of undeveloped film she made as a hobby and unknowingly left behind amazing works of art. John Maloof, owner of most of her images, has created a blog with her images.
There are moments to capture every day. Most of us attach ourselves to the track of our daily routines and don’t take a moment to turn our heads. Many of us work in a town and industry so super-saturated by media and advertising and flashing lights that we’re happy to stare at our shoes until we’re back in a box. But there are those out there who can slow down, look at the routines through different eyes, different perspectives, and capture those frozen images for everyone else.
We should all carry cameras. We should all take pictures. We should all share them every day.
Video passed along by Elizabeth Lang.
Southwyck Lanes, Toledo, Ohio. If you’re going to arrogantly put a video camera on a bowling alley floor, you’d better make it worth it.
Yesterday afternoon, Elizabeth played tour guide and took my parents and I to the Toledo Museum of Art. While making our way through the collections, the sound of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” began playing on a piano in the Museum’s Red Room.
We walked next door and found a man sitting at the keys. He wore a tshirt, walkie-tallkie, collection of keys and paint spattered pants while he shook the holiday-song rust off his fingers.
While leaving the glass pavilion across the street from the museum, we walked by the man. My father, needing to befriend every person who seems of interest, mentioned how good the piano sounded and asked what the man did at the museum.
He was simply the custodian on his break.