Vampires alive and well in my house

It involved a garbage bag, a dust pan, two fly swatters, a pair of pliers, an ice scraper and a can of hornet spray. No, it wasn't some sort of new auto-erotic asphyxiation sex game where the last one standing wins. This all took place in the home office/studio last night. Again, it wasn't a kinky sex game.

As I downloaded photos in silence I heard scratching against metal. I immediately knew it was coming from somewhere near the vent adjacent to the desk. Normally I wouldn't have heard anything because I'd have iTunes open but the old Mac was running slow as it choked on the addition of 600+ wedding photos from Saturday. The scratching on metal after 10 PM weirded me out. I assumed it was a mouse and prepared to grab the fat cat remove the vent, close the door and let the cat have a free meaty meal. But I decided to get a second opinion for the scratching diagnosis.

My old lady came in and instructed me to shine one of the funky lights towards the vent and her prognosis was - wait for it - a bat. I pondered just what the hell to do and came to the conclusion that if I could get the vent apart we could cover it with a garbage bag and easily trap the miniature vampire and go to be in five minutes. But 10 minutes later I had gathered a dust pan (the weapon that brought down the last bat about three years ago), two fly swatters, pliers to remove the vent and a garbage bag.

Fast forward another five minutes and after poking and prodding at the bat who clung to the side of the duct we had made absolutely no progress. My next brilliant idea was to gas it out. I automatically thought of the flying insect spray I had bought in bulk (why buy one can when they come three to a package?!?) and returned with a full can of hornet spray. But before I resorted to that, I turned the A/C on hoping to freeze mini-dracula out. Fail again. Now with the corner of the garbage bag slightly opened and the stink of my own failure rapidly filling the room, I shot a few long jets of hornet killer into the open vent. Then we waited. Hoping to hear a small thump on the metal below, we instead heard little claws on metal.

The little bastard bat had retreated back where it came from. The good news is that we didn't again break the dust pan as we did during the last bat battle. The bad news is that there is still a bat living in our home's ventilation system. Somewhere in the snaking maze of ductwork, a bat, for now, lives and we wait in fear of a bat swooping through the house, biting us and turning us in to vampires.

In other news, Minnesota had an awesome weekend and the photos tell the stories. Check out MinnPics now and frequently all day long.

Should I be nervous about the wedding?

My wedding photography (and portrait photography for that matter) skills will be further honed this weekend. Saturday morning I, along with my assistant/co-photographer/wife will drive to a wedding and serve as the couple's photographers (this is our second go-round with an event like this). So far, I am rather relaxed about the whole situation. My wife, being more in-tune with customers in general and having a better memory has done the talking and nailed down the details. My biggest fear, aside from what I consider a lack of portrait photography skills, is inclement weather. Nobody wants it to rain on their wedding day but this is especially true because this particular wedding is an outdoor wedding.

In a perfect world I'd have some more gear to work with. Maybe a fast, fixed focal length lens and some extra lighting equipment just in case. But with the great outdoors, where I actually prefer to work, the light is free and I just have to work with it and use it to my advantage.

To be fair to all involved, we are cutting the couple one helluva deal but I consider this a skill building session. That's not to say that I won't give 110% because barring a case of SARS on Saturday, I'll be there ready to go and plan on taking plenty of time this week - a bit of a crash course - to further hone my portrait skills. The setting for the wedding is on a beach so that just opens up more opportunities. All I need to remember to do is to charge my battery packs. Maybe this will open up a new career path for me. I love what I already do in the field of photography so why not further explore it? And what should the photographer wear to an outdoor summer wedding? Any ideas?

Will some of this coming weekend's photos make the cut at MinnPics? You'll have to wait and see.

No real hangover this weekend

The July 4th weekend has come and gone. It wasn't the most stellar of wekeends but it definitely wasn't a complete bust. I didn't end up in jail overnight or anything that was more likely to have happened a few years back. No four day-long benders or burning off my eyelashes just because the gas grill wouldn't light.

I did get a damn good meal Friday night on a rare night out without the baby. We also got to see The Hangover (HILARIOUS!). July 4th could have been mildly better in the form of lasting longer. A soggy start as we pulled out of the driveway led to sunny skies which, of course, sparked a mini deluge of sorts that drove us to end the outdoor festivities early before we were struck with lightning and completely drenched.

Wrapping those events up early meant a rather boring night as you can't very well take an 8 month old to fireworks at 10 PM because that will lead to much crying and screaming.

Oh well, at least today starts the epic week that is the first birthday of MinnPics. All I can say is that it's huge. Check back frequently and by that I mean hourly starting at 1 PM today.

An important announcement

From here on, Fridays will be known as Pants-Free Fridays. Yep, it's pretty much self-explanatory and if you need an explanation you'll probably never enjoy Pants-Free Friday. This was inspired by seeing this link mentioned in a tweet this morning about a clothing optional farm in Wisconsin. Be careful when bailing hay, it's scratchy enough on the arms, imagine it on the... crotchal region. Ouch.

One more thing: the long weekend is officially a Socks-Free Weekend. Yep, my socks come off the minute I leave work Thursday and I vow to not put socks back on my feet until Monday morning. What are some of your long weekend plans?

Mine involve both of the above mentioned items as well as snapping a few photos for MinnPics.

We've got a screamer

A lot happened during the past weekend. My sister-in-law stumbled down our back steps and broke a terra cotta pot as well as bruising her knee and foot. Two of my nephews got in a fight with one receiving the business end of a toy tractor in the head - yes, there was blood. I grilled many pounds of meat. I saw a lot of sauerkraut eaten. I finished the swing project in the back yard which resulted in a whole gaggle of happy kids.

And then there was the baby. I have a very happy girl. Well, whe wasn't exactly the picture of happy late Friday afternoon as we struggled to get out of the house by 7 PM to get to a birthday party. It was one of those epic meltdowns. We could't figure out what the hell was wrong. She screamed to the point of hyperventilating. We fed her which didn't accomplish anything because it really isn't feeding (drinking) if she won't take her bottle. We changed her diaper. We tried to get her to relax by rolling on the floor. We gave her a bath which she screamed all the way through. We then resorted to drugging the baby.

We tried baby Tylenol. We followed that with baby gas medicine. Then my old lady rubbed some Orajel on the baby's gums. Whatever the case, one of the thirty or so things we did calmed her down and we were on our way to Friday's obligations and the rest of the weekend.

Then came late Sunday. The baby grabbed my sister-in-law's fingers and stuffed them in her mouth. She said that she felt something. My reaction was "Yeah, she's slowly gumming you to death". But she went exploring. Pulling her lip down and pushing that tiny baby tongue back. And there they were. Two front bottom teeth just through the gums. That explains the screaming from Friday night but she's a total trooper. Two teeth at once and nothing more than a couple hours of screaming. Color me impressed.

Head over to MinnPics to see what a happy baby in a swing looks like. And other stuff from the weekend that was.

How NOT to spend your weekend

I got stuck in a slide. No, not one of those shitty new-fangled plastic models with curves and bumps on it, this was an old-school burn-your-legs-in-the-hot-summer-sun metal slide. Straight as an arrow. The only problem was that I didn't really examine its width before chasing the oldest nephew down it. Now before you throw your head into overdrive and assume that I am a fatty (of sorts) let me preemptively defend myself and remind you that my waist is a slim and trim 33 inches and is very well proportioned to my 6-foot 1-inch tall frame. It's just that the slide wasn't designed for 30 year-olds.

And I think that this is a problem. Why should it be that a 30 year-old guy can't have a bit of fun on a slide? Why should that level of fun be left to four year-old kids who have so little focus that a swing bores the crap out of them even after my simple instuctions. Maybe it's time to develop an adult playground. No, not that type of adult playground but one with swings (no, not those swings), teeter-totters, those spinny merry-go-round things, the animals on ultra-sturdy springs and slides built for an adult-sized waistline. It's truly what America needs right now.

And America also needs grea tphotography. That's where MinnPics comes in. It's a showcase for great photography with hand-picked photos from across Minnesota.

Ponder this over the weekend

Are skunks offended by their own odor?

Is it like the human equivalent of body odor?

All because I saw a dead skunk on the way home last week and I don't have time to elaborate on it so talk it over amongst yourselves. I want a definitive answer by Monday.

Have you scoped out MinnPics lately? Really? You haven't? You should. It, like the rest of Minnesota, will be taking on hues of Spring in the coming weeks.

Arby's Roastburger: not impressed

With my body-wracking cold lessening, I decided that cooking was for suckers and ventured out to Arby's this weekend. I know how to treat myself to a tasty delight and the coupon for a free, much-touted Arby's Roastburger seemed to be calling my name.

The combinatiuon promised true deliciousness. Tasty, thin-sliced roast beef, bacon and hamburger fixings all on a tasty bun far different from those that a standard roast beef sandwich usually comes on.

However, much like My Network TV, the Arby's Roastburger failed to live up to its self-created hype. Oh sure, it had some shredded lettuce and a tomato slice on it but the roast beef which is normally juicy and tender seemed to be greasy. Yes, greasy just like the commercials had promised is wouldn't be because it's ROAST beef. Not fried, roast(ed). Then there was the bacon. Two seriously shriveled strips of bacon fit for that tiny farmer on those Burger King micro-mini breakfast sandwich commercials but so small that I barely noticed they were perched atop my free sandwich.

There could be a number of reasons for this subpar sandwich. Maybe the 16 year old assembling my free sandwich was new to the Arby's game. Maybe they knew my sandwich was free and made it both sloppily and hastily because, well, it was free. Or maybe I've hit that age when even fast food that presents itself as classy and even not fast food is not fit for my oh-so sophisticated pallette.

Whatever the case, I can rule out the Arby's Bacon Cheddar Roastburger as a sandwich for future eating outings.

Returning from an illness, MinnPics is back today with more new Minnesota photos. Check 'em out!

Streaking on a Friday night

After a long week at the coal mines, I spent some time Friday night, after cleaning the coal dust from my face, trying some night photography. I'd been wanting to try this out since I sat in on a photography training session waaaay back in February. Now that the warm weather has finally set in here in Minnesota, I have that luxury.Streaks of light on Friday night.


Possible some of those same streaks of light on the highway parked in the streets Saturday afternoon.

Buy our stuff -- this weekend only!

The garage sale seems to be a rite of passage as one fully enters into adulthood. Sure, you'd think that getting married would tend to make a guy gravitate towards adulthood but my fart jokes contradict that. You might also expect that having a baby on the way would catapult a guy fully into adulthood. Wrong again, that just signals -- according to a freind of mine -- that my boys can swim.

Well it turns out that a garage sale means that adulthood is full reality. Sure, I've been at least partially mature for many years but making garage sale signs is just like a drill sargeant telling you that your pushups make you look like a little girl. It's on. There's a deadline to get the signs made. We have a lot of stuff to set up and I know I'll be stuck peddling the tables of crap at least part of the day Saturday.

But who's to say how little fun it will be? I look at it as a fabulous opportunity to overhear odd conversations and view the behavior of a certain cross section of society. Yes, the cross section that feverishly hunts for hidden gems at garage sales (a.k.a. the last step before the thrift store or Goodwill).

Our garage sale, though, is different and despite what others say in their garage sale ads, ours is the best. We literally have everything including the bathroom sink (it even says it in the Craigslist ad I posted). If you expected the kitchen sink to be for sale, it isn't because it's still being used in our kitchen.

So if you want to buy someone else's crap barely used goods and make them your own, come see us as we haul our crap cherished possessions out to the semi-rural city of Belle Plaine, Minnesota -- it's just 15 minutes from the twin cities suburbs and an half hour drive from Minneapolis and it's city-wide garage sale weekend in Belle Plaine!

Hearty and gluttony are not-so-distant cousins

It was after I had finished about half of my wife's supper that I wondered just how it is that I haven't ballooned to the size of a Minnesota Vikings linebacker.

All weekend I had been hungry. Nothing seemed to quell my appetite. The stack of natural casing weiners and baked beans for Saturday's lunch saw me driving to the store under the guise of sale-priced watermelon and leaving with a six-pack of IBC root beer and a package of creme-filled donuts.

A portion of those goodies was saved to eat, along with some popcorn slathered in near-butter, while we watched "Traffic" whose interwoven plotlines left me remembering "Babel". That was after the less-than-fulfilling supper consisting of chicken, vegetables and pasta complete with brown-n-serve rolls on the side. Around 11 PM, as I sat wondering how it all came to this, I began to feel slightly full in the gut.

Of course, the whole cycle began again sunday around 11 AM. I contemplated what to cook for lunch. I suggested a large stack of french toast. That idea was swiftly shot down and I moved on to the always-changing "Plan B".

It was a wholesome meal, or so I thought, of steak and baby red russett potatoes topped off with the remaining creme-filled roll from Saturday. After shooting some waterfowl photos later in the day I found myself hungry again. Things looked bleak as it was only 5 PM.

When the time did come for supper suggestions, I asked for something "hearty".

In due time, my wishes came true. My plate was heavy with baked fried chicken breast, candied sweet potatoes and a plate of chocolate dipped strawberries. I ate at a steady but moderate pace, alternating bites of chicken and sweet potatoes. I looked over the table and noticed the wife's plate devoid of chicken but still littered with sweet potatoes. Quoting the fourteenth commandment damning those who wasted candied sweet potatoes, I saved my wife's soul by cleaning those tasty and healthy treats off her plate.

After a 12 oz. slab of chicken breast, 2/3 of a 28 oz. can of sweet potatoes and nearly a half-pound of strawberries I achieved that feeling of fullness. Finally.

And that's how you embarass yourself

Sometimes I'm just not a very graceful guy. Sure, right now you're thinking that guys are rarely graceful. Guys, in your definition, are muscly, ripply things that can fix cars, crush spiders and open jars of pickles. Well, you are right but inside every guy is some grace. I can dance without looking totally awkward and I have been known to trip and make it look intentional. But as luck would have it, things took a turn on Saturday.

It wasn't just any turn, it was a turn for the worse. It was just another totally lame suburban Saturday as we started the grocery buying expedition at Aldi Foods. Being hell-bent on low prices, I probably pissed away any savings by going to four separate grocery stores but I was brimming with pride after I paid for the first bunch of groceries.

Twelve bucks for groceries is a good deal these days. Think about it, when was the last time you bought an overflowing bag of groceries (paper bag) that only set you back twelve bucks without it being twelve loaves of bread?

Well, being proud and a gentleman, I carried the bulging sack of groceries out to the waiting car. This would later haunt me.

As I exited the automatic door, I took an immediate turn to the right. That's when I stopped... suddenly.

I felt a blunt but deep pain in the thigh and ankle of my right leg. I held the bag of groceries firmly in my arms which is basically the cause of this entire series of events. I heard metal chiming as I shifted the bag of groceries to my left.

This is when I looked down to notice that between the entrance and exit doors was on of those fancy, chromed-out door dividers that has the large rubber/plastic bumpers on the outside end.

That's right, I had managed to walk full-speed into the chromed-out metal door divider because the twelve buck bag (lacking a handle) of groceries obstructed my view of all things below my neck.

Of course, with me being me, I didn't just walk this off. My instinct was to wince in pain because, well, I was in pain. The only words out of my wide-open mouth were "there was a damn bar there". This got my wife's attention as she turned back from her position of waiting beside the car to see what I was blowing way out of proportion.

Needless to say, today my ankle looks like I was in a fistfight with a midget. I had never seen anyone get a black ankle but I have managed to do just that. It happened and it seemed that half of the residents of the Minneapolis area, specifically Savage, were there to see it. Ask around, I am sure you know a person who knows a person who knows somebody who saw "that dumbass" walk into the door divider outside Aldi Foods on Saturday. I am pretty sure I was the only one.

I've never been that drunk

"I don't drink alcohol anymore after the time I pooped myself."

You just can't make up something as priceless as that quote. It's just something that comes out during an all-out Irish bash in a Minnesota town that seems to create reasons to party. What else is there to say?

Oh, sure, there were plenty of people drinking far more than they should have and there were plenty of folks wearing green who were "Irish for a day" (fakers) and there was the one girl who was leaning over the bar whose jeans needed a belt because who really shows off their thong anymore? I'm assuming that she may have heard us after we witnessed numerous futile attempts by "ill-fitting clothes girl" to stretch her shirt lower to make up for the coverage that her jeans lacked. Ladies, if your ass don't fit, don't stretch your shit...

What did you, fair readers, do to celebrate the observed St. Patrick's Day? Did you drink too much beer? Did you puke in a friend's shoes? Did you get permission first?