If you have a friend who owns a Ricky Bobby outfit, and another friend who lets you dress her up in ludicrous ensembles, and both of those friends will spend two hours in Commerce City allowing you to photograph them in said garb, I think you pretty much have to take advantage of that.
I sometimes get tripped up by the professional-versus-personal blogging boundary, but this is a topic I most definitely want to share with you all. Sadly, I cannot divulge all the details. Some people have real jobs and real employers and real concerns about the public nature of the internet. I never have been particularly good at keeping secrets, but if there ever was a place to avoid barfing out secrets, it’s on the internet. Someday in the not-too-distant future I’ll be free to divulge whatever I please. In the meantime here’s what I can say: In the company of good friends, human and canine alike, Roux and I will be undertaking a journey. We will leave Denver in mid-September and return to these parts mid-December just in time for the Christmas rush, that frantic photo-taking that has become as much a part of my holiday tradition as spiked eggnog, or intensive one-on-one time with certain family members, or any other tradition that is both taxing and gratifying.
We will drive from Denver to Juneau, Alaska and then Southwards via the coast all the way into Mexico. In addition to a myriad of smaller towns we will be passing through the likes of Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, San Fransisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, and various destination spots in Mexico. I am booking a select number of shoots along that route so if you or someone you know is interested have them contact me. If you are in Denver and want to get something set up before mid September, or in December, contact me soon as I have just a few spots left.
And if you are located somewhere are along that route and would like to meet for a drink or have an object you would like Roux to balance on her head, let’s make it happen. We would love any insider tips on places to see or to stay.
We will be blogging, an online diary that promises to be unabashedly more ridiculous than this blog could ever hope to be. I’ll be posting links.
In the meantime, Roux has been put in charge of route planning. Unlike me she has an admirable patience for logistics.
Candice walks on the wild side of bridal etiquette, the side where doing a Trash-the-Dress shoot before the wedding is perfectly justifiable. She told me she wanted stunning images of her + her now-husband, Brandon, in their garb so that they could have them at the wedding. Also, Brandon spent a few late nights furiously hand sewing tuxedos for their dogs and it was vital to them that we get photos of the dogs (who wouldn’t be allowed at the ceremony) in their cocktail apparel.
They left the location up to me, saying only that they wanted it to really epitomize the Colorado mountains. I chose Mt. Evans, which, for those of you not well versed in the peaks of this mountainous state, is the only Front Range 14,000′ peak with a road all the way to the top. It was sweltering in Denver that day, and because it was a Sunday evening and I’d had a heck of a weekend my brain wasn’t working properly. And still I should have known better than to traipse around a 14,000′ mountain at sunset in sandals and a t-shirt. I have many strengths but common sense is not one of them.
IT WAS FREEZING. (Actually, technically it was below freezing). My feet went numb about five minutes into the shoot and my fingers turned into icicles shortly thereafter, rendering them strikingly deficient at operating my camera. I kept my complaints to myself; they probably wouldn’t have been heard over the chattering of my teeth anyhow. But the amazing thing is that Candice and Brandon didn’t seem to notice. If love conquers adverse weather conditions maybe it can conquer everything else, too.
Yesterday marked Roux’s third birthday. It’s been 3 years and 1 day since she was born. And it’s been 2 years, 2 months and 2 days since I picked her up in Amarillo, Texas. Never once during those years and months and days have I regretted sharing my life or my paycheck or my bed with that dog. Not when she was small and demanded so much attention, or when she used to find it acceptable to chew on furniture, or when she used to regularly dislocate my shoulder when she was hot on the tail of a squirrel. Not even when my life was in complete upheaval and I didn’t know where I was going to live and Roux and I were like vagabonds, couch surfing at night and driving to photo shoots during the day. Not even even when finding a place that would allow a dog was a huge pain in the ass. Not even now, when I am reaping the joys of being single and 26, when sometimes having a dog at home means leaving killer parties to feed her and let her out.
Every day for 793 days I have been humbly grateful that Roux is my roommate, officemate, running partner, travel companion, muse — grateful, in short, that this dog is my dog.
