Cosmic Candid Camera

Where the Heck is Tonga?

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 12:32:00 +0000

It's in the middle of nowhere.

It's in the South Pacific Ocean.

It's a group of 176 islands.

Its closest neighbor is Fiji.

It has a king.

The language has a lot of vowels and not enough consonants.

The flag looks like the Swiss Army and the Red Cross got together and decided to form a country.

It is unbelievably beautiful.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane is that all the men look like super heroes from another planet. Here in Tonga, Arnold Schwarznegger would be a girly man. The national sport is rugby, which makes American football look about as macho as riding a pink tricycle. The Tongans do very well in rugby, largely due to the fact that when they walk onto the field, their opponents huddle together and cry like little girls.

For the first leg of my around the world odyssey, I spent a week on a sailboat meandering around the exquisite islands of Tonga. Each day our "to do" list looked exactly the same:

1. Wake up

2. Apply suntan lotion.

3. Visit yet another pristine beach with turquoise waters and coral reefs.

4. Take a nap

5. Drink rum punch

6. Repeat as necessary

Needless to say, this hectic schedule has taken atoll, so I'm off to Fiji for some rest and relaxation.

Traveling Light

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 10:11:00 +0000

I’ve sold my clothes and my shoes.

I’ve sold my furniture and everything hanging on my walls.

I’ve sold my lawn mower and my house.

I’ve sold all my photography gear and closed the studio where I’ve worked for 20 years.

I’ve left nothing in storage and gotten rid of everything I own except what I can carry.

It's been incredibly liberating to watch all my stuff disappear.

I’ve left behind everyone I know and everything that’s familiar to me.

I’ve stepped off a cliff into complete and utter uncertainty.

I’m traveling the world...embracing the unforeseen and reveling in the unexpected.

An Army of One

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sun, 02 May 2010 04:06:00 +0000

Sometimes you gotta face the fact that you're just outnumbered. Like Davy Crockett at the Alamo. Or the Spartans at Thermopylae.

Any time someone uses the phrase "That's our policy" as a smoke screen for laziness, or obstinance or just plain meanness, I imagine myself drawing the razor-sharp, white-hot sword of righteous indignation from its scabbard (schwing!) and lopping off heads like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Especially when the policy is clearly the antithesis of common sense. Which it usually is.

The other day I needed to return nine 50 lb. bags of mulch to Lowe's. "Why so much mulch?" you might well ask. Despite my meticulous calculations as to how much mulch would be needed to fill three flower beds, I was off by a quarter ton. But let's not get side-tracked. Needless to say nine 50 lb. bags weigh...well...a lot! So I pulled my vehicle right up next to the pallet where they keep the mulch, so all they had to do was lift the bags directly from my truck onto the pallet. Easy.

I darted inside the garden center, and handed my receipt to the cashier.

"We don't do returns here...you'll need to go to the customer service desk."

If you've ever been to Lowe's, you know that Customer Service is about a quarter mile from the Garden Center. So off I trotted. Walking at a brisk pace the journey took about 3 minutes. I presented my receipt.

"I'd like to return some mulch, please."

"You'll need to bring the mulch inside so we can count the bags" droned the obviously bored and under-worked customer service representative, not even looking up at me.

That's what I'd call about 450 lbs. of unhelpfulness. Are you effing kidding me? These thoughts scrolled across my forehead in 6 foot tall red neon letters.

"Um...isn't one of your employees gonna have to accompany me to my vehicle to unload the mulch?"

"Yes sir...This is Brandon. He'll help you."

"How 'bout this idea? I'm parked right next to the pallet of mulch. To make it easier for everyone, how 'bout we go ahead and handle the return now, and then Brandon can verify the number of bags. If I miscounted, then I'll come back and we'll square up."

"I'm sorry sir...that's our policy."

It occured to me that I might have a stroke right there at the customer service counter. How's that for about a quarter ton of irony?

"May I speak to the manager please?"

Rolling her eyes and sighing heavily, she dialed the phone and explained the situation to the manager in an exasperated tone, then hung up and monotoned "The manager says that's our policy."

Am I insane? Is this really happening? Have I unwittingly stepped through a hidden portal into Crazy World?

"May I SPEAK to the manager please?" By now the other employees nearby were starting to take notice. Meanwhile Brandon had wandered off to download the new "Complete Waste of Time" app on his iPhone. Or maybe was he "tweeting" about the Mad Man at the counter who thought he was William Wallace waging war against the English.

She dialed the phone again and handed me the receiver....

"Hi...my name's John Langford. How are you this evening? I need to return nine 50 lb. bags of mulch and I was wondering if...."

"I'm on my way."

The manager arrived and I shook his hand warmly. Assuming there had been some misunderstanding, I described the situation in calm detail, to which he responded "Oh yeah...we can handle that...no problem."

Turning to the cashier and trying to conceal my expression of glee, I handed her my receipt.

"Sir...we'll need to see the bags of mulch before we can process the return" the manager said.

I couldn't believe my ears! I WAS in Crazy World!! I was speaking English, but they only understood "Red Tape." No wait...I'd been here before. This was one of those "Am I gonna just laugh at the complete and utter absurdity of it all...or am I gonna lose my cool (too late!)" moments. Why didn't I realize it sooner?!

"Let's go..." I said.

As we hiked to my truck, I told the manager not to take it as a personal attack, but that I'd like to respectfully register my protest against their policy in the strongest terms possible, and that I thought it was completely ridiculous.

By the time we completed our cross-country trek, we were chatting amiably about his kids, how long he had lived in Austin and so on. Sure enough there were nine bags of mulch in my truck. Be still my tongue.

A quarter mile later we were back at the cash register, where he confirmed that I had indeed returned nine bags of mulch. The cashier issued a return, and I strolled the now familiar route back to my car. It was like deja vu all over again.

At least I got some exercise. And a 450 lb. reminder that when I least expect it, I'll find myself in yet another episode of Cosmic Candid Camera.

Monkey Shines

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 01:44:00 +0000

I was changing into my bathing suit when I heard the sound of shattering glass.

Assuming it was a member of the hotel staff who had accidentally dropped something, I called out “Hello!” from the bathroom. No answer. My next thought was that perhaps I had left the window open and the curtains blowing in the breeze had knocked a glass onto the floor.

I emerged from the bathroom to find a male baboon...90 lbs. of sinew and muscle and fangs...enjoying an afternoon snack from the fruit platter and looking at me as if I was the intruder in HIS hotel room! Out on the front porch were four of his buddies, who by now were watching me intently. Thinking about having me for dinner.

My mind raced...less than six feet from me was a ferocious fiend who could rip me to shreds. I frantically tried to remember if I had read anything that would help me in this situation. Curious George was the only book I could think of.

Was I supposed to spread my arms so I'd look bigger and more intimidating? Or should I curl up on the floor in the fetal position and whimper? Retreating to the bathroom was an option...but I might emerge hours later and find that all five primates had taken up permanent residence. The baboon, who obviously had no intention of leaving, continued devouring a helpless apple. I began to wonder which part of my anatomy he would find most appetizing. The phrase "low hanging fruit" took on a whole new meaning.

I maintained eye contact, spread my arms, and slowly advanced towards the him, making my best “baboon repellant” noise, which I’m sure sounded ridiculous to an animal that’s accustomed to frequent encounters with lions and wildebeests. He reluctantly stood up and sauntered away, but not before giving me a “go to hell” look which let me know he’d be back.

Note to self: When you’re in the Masai Mara Game Reserve...Kenya remember to lock your door?

Farewell to Virginia

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 13:09:00 +0000

Among the more interesting and eventful assignments I've had was the time I was hired by a retirement community to photograph several of their residents. The reason for the group portrait was that all of these folks had local schools named after them. Needless to say, they don't put your name on a school unless you grew up when the world was still in black and white.

I was running behind schedule, feeling frantic and hoping that no one would fall, or succumb to the heat and humidity, or have a stroke. Especially me.

Meanwhile, an elderly woman nearby was peppering me with questions:

"What are you doing?"

"Who are you photographing?"

"Why?"

"Are these photographs going to be in the newspaper?"

"How long are you going to be here?"

"Are you photographing everyone who lives here?"

I was trying to maintain my composure and be polite, but I was really preoccupied, stressed out and beginning to think she might have a screw loose.

"Will you take my picture?" she asked.

"Well...I have to photograph this group, and then I have to break down all this equipment and haul it inside and set it all up again to do a headshot, so...if you're still here when I'm finished (realizing as the words came out of my mouth that the phrase "if you're still here" might have have a different connotation to someone who can see the light at the end of the tunnel) then I'll be happy to take your picture."

"I'll meet you back here at 3:30" she said...making it clear that I better not be tardy.

The cumulative age of the group was somewhere close to 500 years. Seriously. 6 x 80 something = High Potential for Disaster. I held my breath as my subjects arrived with the assistance of canes, walkers, oxygen tanks and orderlies. As they crossed the lawn, I prayed that no one would trip and fall and break a hip or have to be hauled off in an ambulance. Or worse.

To my extreme relief, we completed the shot without any injuries or fatalities, and as we packed up the gear to move inside for the second shot, I noticed that the woman who had interrogated me earlier was still there, giving me the eye to let me know she meant business. By the time we dragged all of our gear back outside, my crew was exhausted, especially since we had shot another assignment earlier in the day.

And then we saw her.

"Hello" she said, having freshly coiffed her hair, changed into an elegant outfit, and sporting a multi-colored walking cane.

"Hi", I replied, shooting a sideways glance at my assistants, who had begun loading the gear into my truck.

"I've picked out three of my favorite spots" she said.

"Is that right?"

I realized that this tenacious little old lady wasn't kidding, and that I had bitten off way more than I could chew.

"My name's John, by the way" I said, extending my hand.

"I'm Virginia Walker" she responded, gripping my hand firmly. "Let's get started over here at the gazebo."

By now the absurdity of this situation was making me wonder when the Cosmic Candid Camera crew was going to step out from behind a bush and say "Gotcha!" She had very definite ideas about how she wanted to pose, where I should position my camera, and completely disregarded any suggestions I made. My assistants were chuckling, so I decided to give in and just let her boss us around.

We gave her the V.I.P. treatment, using studio lighting to photograph her at the gazebo, and near a flower bed, and sitting on the edge of a fountain. As nearly an hour passed, my three assistants, whom I was now paying over time, grinned at me to let me know they were really getting a kick out of this quirky character.

As we chatted, I learned that Virginia was 92 years old, had three children, was extremely well-read and well-traveled, and not only was extremely sharp and savvy, but was also a funny, charming, dignified, and sophisticated lady.

As things were drawing to a close, I asked "So...Virginia. Are you single?"

"I'm a widow" she replied..."My late husband was a Texas Supreme Court Justice."

"So...are you seeing anyone?" I continued.

"No...not at the moment." She smiled coyly.

"If I asked you out on a date, would you go with me?"

After a long pause, she answered. "Yes...I suppose I would" in a tone that let me know that would be a big step down for her. And I don't mean age-wise.

"What are you doing Saturday night?" I asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Virigina and I had several dates over the ensuing months. Once we went on a double date with one of her daughters and her "boy"friend...who were in their 60's. Another time we scandalized the retirement community when she invited me to dinner and led me from table to table introducing me to all her friends. On another occasion we sat together in her apartment as she showed me 80 years worth of Christmas cards, each one a painting or drawing that she had created every year since she was a teenager.

I grew very fond of Virginia, and every time we got together, we laughed ourselves silly, and invariably I got a little teary-eyed at something particularly poignant or touching or insightful she would say.

Virginia was always very concerned about my spiritual well-being. She insisted on buying me a subscription to a booklet of daily devotions called Daily Word. After carefully jotting down my mailing address, she sent off the subscription card, and called me repeatedly to ask if the publication had arrived in the mail yet.

After about a month of this, she took down all of my information again, sent in another subscription card, and began asking me again whether I had received my first issue. I thought about lying to her so she would stop pestering me, but because I knew she received Guideposts herself, I was afraid there might be a quiz! When I told her I had not, she got on the phone with customer service and registered her dissatisfaction. I wonder how many complaints they get at Daily Word magazine.

One night we went out to dinner and as the waiter approached our table he asked "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'll have a frozen margarita with salt!" Virginia said, as if she drank tequila for breakfast. She couldn't have weighed 100 lbs., and if you've ever sampled the margaritas at Fonda San Miguel, you'll understand my concern about the possible side effects on a diminutive little old lady. As she sipped her drink, dabbing the salt from her lips with her napkin, I said "Hey Virginia, let's make a pact."

"O.K....what sort of pact?"

"Whichever one of us goes first...and I'm not suggesting it's going to be you...let's agree that if there's something on the other side of this, something after this life...let's agree that we'll make every attempt to get a message back to the one who's left behind."

"Oh, there's definitely life after death," she said. "You've got a deal!"

We shook on it, and as I walked her to her door and hugged her tiny frame goodnight, I thought how fortunate I was to have a friend like her. I've been on a fair number of dates during my 30 plus years as a bachelor, and I can say with complete honesty that I've never had more fun, more of a feeling of connection or more belly laughs and tears of utter delight than I did with Virginia.

A few weeks later my phone rang, and Virginia's name came up on my caller I.D. Always happy to hear from her, I grabbed the receiver and cheerfully said "Hi Virgina! How are you?" There was a long pause on the other end, and then I heard a woman's voice saying that Virginia was gone.

A few days later her son called from San Francisco to ask if the family could use one of my photos for Virginia's obituary. I told him I'd be honored.

A reminder popped up on my computer screen that it was Virginia's 94th birthday. I went to lunch at a Mexican restaurant and could have sworn I saw her sitting at a nearby table sipping a margarita.

And then, a month to the day after she died, I opened my mailbox to find my first issue of Daily Word.

Thanks Virginia. I'll miss you.

Water, Water Everywhere...But Not a Drop to Drink

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 13:00:00 +0000

Many of us who took English Lit. recognize that line from the long-winded poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The passage from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" which many of us we were forced to read (I read the Cliff Notes instead) goes like this:

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, everywhere,

Nor any drop to drink.

Timely words for World Water Day, an annual event designed to raise awareness about water quality, particularly in the Third World.

Did you know that:

3.575 million people die each year from water-related disease. (10)
43% of water-related deaths are due to diarrhea. (10)
84% of water-related deaths are in children ages 0 – 14. (10)
98% of water-related deaths occur in the developing world. (10)
884 million people, lack access to safe water supplies, approximately one in eight people. (5)
The water and sanitation crisis claims more lives through disease than any war claims through guns. (1)
At any given time, half of the world’s hospital beds are occupied by patients suffering from a water-related disease. (1)

I've been asked to photo-document a group of volunteers headed to the remote village of El Zapata in Honduras in late May to help install a fresh water system. You can read more about it at Boone Planta Water Project. Each of us has been asked to raise $1400.00 to cover travel expenses and meals. Please consider making a donation at Network for Good. Please designate your tax deductible gift "BPWP/John Langford.

For those of you interested in more statistics, read on....but be forewarned, they will make you sick:

3.575 million people die each year from water-related disease. (10)
43% of water-related deaths are due to diarrhea. (10)
84% of water-related deaths are in children ages 0 – 14. (10)
98% of water-related deaths occur in the developing world. (10)
884 million people, lack access to safe water supplies, approximately one in eight people. (5)
The water and sanitation crisis claims more lives through disease than any war claims through guns. (1)
At any given time, half of the world’s hospital beds are occupied by patients suffering from a water-related disease. (1)
Less than 1% of the world’s fresh water (or about 0.007% of all water on earth) is readily accessible for direct human use. (11)
An American taking a five-minute shower uses more water than the typical person living in a developing country slum uses in a whole day. (1)
About a third of people without access to an improved water source live on less than $1 a day. More than two thirds of people without an improved water source live on less than $2 a day. (1)
Poor people living in the slums often pay 5-10 times more per liter of water than wealthy people living in the same city. (1)
Without food a person can live for weeks, but without water you can expect to live only a few days. (4)
The daily requirement for sanitation, bathing, and cooking needs, as well as for assuring survival, is about 13.2 gallons per person. (3)
Only 62% of the world’s population has access to improved sanitation – defined as a sanitation facility that ensures hygienic separation of human excreta from human contact. (5)
2.5 billion people lack access to improved sanitation, including 1.2 billion people who have no facilities at all. (5)
The majority of the illness in the world is caused by fecal matter.(9)
Lack of sanitation is the world’s biggest cause of infection. (9)
At any one time, more than half of the poor in the developing world are ill from causes related to hygiene, sanitation and water supply. (9)
88% of cases of diarrhea worldwide are attributable to unsafe water, inadequate sanitation or insufficient hygiene. (9)
Of the 60 million people added to the world’s towns and cities every year, most occupy impoverished slums and shanty-towns with no sanitation facilities. (8)
It is estimated that improved sanitation facilities could reduce diarrhea-related deaths in young children by more than one-third. If hygiene promotion is added, such as teaching proper hand washing, deaths could be reduced by two thirds. It would also help accelerate economic and social development in countries where sanitation is a major cause of lost work and school days because of illness. (6)
Every 15 seconds, a child dies from a water-related disease. (2)
Children in poor environments often carry 1,000 parasitic worms in their bodies at any time. (8)
1.4 million children die as a result of diarrhea each year. (10)
90% of all deaths caused by diarrheal diseases are children under 5 years of age, mostly in developing countries. (8)
Statistics above quoted from Water.org

Is "Obsessive Compulsive" Hyphenated?

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 17:47:00 +0000

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm a little bit on the compulsive side. O.K....a lot on the compulsive side. The manufacturers of label makers can rest easy knowing they'll always have a job because of people like me.

When I edge my front lawn, I also edge my neighbors' lawns. I'd edge everyone's lawn on both sides of the street if I didn't think the men in the white jackets would haul me away in a straight jacket. Speaking of jackets, all the shirts in my closet are facing in the same direction. The short sleeve shirts are at one end, and the long sleeve shirts are at the other. I have a drawer for white socks and a drawer for socks of color.

My garage floor is clean enough to eat off of. When you enter my house, you are never more than 10 feet from a box of Kleenex. If I eat dinner in front of the T.V., I'm compelled to clear away the dirty dishes before I finish chewing the last bite, or I can't enjoy the rest of the movie. And all of my dirty dishes are surgically clean BEFORE I put them in the dishwasher.

Once upon a time I bought an area rug for my living room (after trying out several and returning them), only to discover that I really wasn't going to be happy with it unless one edge was under the two front legs of the armoire that houses my T.V. set and stereo. It is approximately the same weight as a Ford F350 pickup truck. A team of long shoremen couldn't lift that thing.

Not to be deterred, I bought a 12 foot long piece of lumber, borrowed my neighbor's car jack, which I used in conjunction with my car jack, and by placing the piece of lumber under the front of the armoire and darting back and forth between the two jacks, was able to raise the front legs enough to slide the edge of the carpet underneath. No small chore...and I was quite proud of my ingenuity and tenacity.

After lowering the armoire and returning my neighbor's car jack, I noticed that the edge of the carpet didn't line up perfectly with the floor boards in my living room. By that I mean there was a deviation of about 1/4". I figured I could live with it...but I was mistaken. After a week of lying awake at night staring at the ceiling fan, I decided that my mental health hinged on fixing the problem. I sheepishly asked my neighbor if I could borrow her car jack again, and repeated the entire process until the edge of the carpet lined up EXACTLY with the floor boards. Mason and Dixon would have been envious.

Yesterday I was hanging some photographs in a long hallway at Charlie Tango, where they will be exhibited along with the work of three other photographers. The hallway is 25 feet long with 10 foot ceilings, and I decided to suspend my photographs from fishing line so that they would give the illusion of "floating" in mid-air against the white wall.

I measured everything three times, making careful note of the thermostat mounted at the far end, which would have to be taken into consideration to maintain the proper spacing. Here's the 3 1/2" x 5" index card I brought with me to map everything out. Is it just me, or does it look like the schematic for the Apollo 13 lunar module? All of this in order to hang five photographs. Five.

Three hours later, the task was complete. I took my final measurements and discovered that the photograph on the right was 3/4 of an inch closer to the end of the wall than the one on the far left. Keep in mind, we're talking about a 25 foot wall. So I decided to let it go. But not really. I figure if the Egyptians could build the pyramids without the aid of cranes and laser levels and walkie talkies, I should be more precise than that. But I decided to leave it alone, and to channel the discomfort I'm still feeling 24 hours later into this blog entry.

No sooner had I finished my handiwork than my fellow photographer Lance Rosenfield arrived with 20 photographs to hang. Eager to help, I loaned him my pencil and index card. I stayed there 'til 9:30 p.m. "helping" him, and to make sure that everything lined up just right. Here's his diagram. Clean and simple. I added the arrow at the top, because I just couldn't help myself:

Before we left, I scrubbed all the dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher, made sure that there were four chairs at each of the tables in the lobby and that they were equidistant from one another. I've read and re-read this blog entry 17 times and have made a total of 43 changes and corrections. So far.

Breakfast of Champions

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 16:30:00 +0000

Every Thursday evening, I get together with my buddy and fellow photographer Faustinus Deraet von Regemorter for some camaraderie, spicy tamales and a few frosty adult beverages. Next to my brother Paul, he is one of the funniest humans I've ever met.

Tomorrow, however, he's going home to Belgium for a visit, and we realized we'd have to miss our weekly ritual. So we decided to meet for breakfast at 8 o'clock this morning at Aranda's, a little taqueria in the neighborhood. Since my birthday is next week, and Faustinus will be out of town, a celebration was in order.

Imagine our waitress' look of concern when we each ordered a beer just as the other customers were sitting down for breakfast. Nothing washes down a couple of potato, egg and cheese breakfast tacos like a cold Tecate.

Just then the notorious curmudgeon, raconteur and candidate for Texas Agriculture Commissioner Kinky Friedman walked in, looking like the morning after the night before. Glancing over at our table, he sat down nearby and ordered heuvos rancheros and a beer.

Working From Home

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 17:39:00 +0000

I forwarded the following ad from craigslist to a friend of mine who is considering a career move. It sounds like a great job, except that neither of us understood a single word of the job description besides the phrase "working from home", which she is more than happy to do:

From: john langford

Subject: i think you'd be perfect for this....

Date: Friday, February 19, 2010, 3:45 PM

WPF/XAML Designer (Downtown Austin)

We are looking for a WPF/XAML Designer (on contract basis) to implement Photoshop mockups of User Interface for WPF application. The user interface has been laid out using Telerik controls and the basic WPF controls. We have a graphics guy who has built screen shots of the entire user interface and now need a WPF guru to take the mockups and skin the existing controls and user interface. If you are interested, please have some sample work to show us (in WPF or Silverlight). We are flexible with you working from home or here at our downtown office. There is potential for a lot more work after this project if you turn out to be a great fit.

That last sentence should read "There is potential for a lot more work if you are one of the three people on the planet who can decipher this ad and who knows WTF WPF is."

Bon Voyage

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 02:42:00 +0000

It was freezing cold, and I was standing high up on the windy deck of a passenger ship overlooking San Francisco harbor and the Golden Gate bridge. I was four years old, and along with my baby brother and my parents had left our home in New Orleans to cross the Pacific Ocean to begin a new life in the Far East.

The U.S.S. General W.P. Richardson was commissioned in 1944 as a navy transport ship, carrying troops to and from France, Italy, England and Morrocco. Subsequently converted to a luxury liner and renamed the S.S. Roosevelt, she carried a different kind of passenger.

During her colorful career, she was sold several times, and was called Atlantis, Sapphire Seas, Emerald Seas and Ocean Explorer I, like the names of lovers tattooed on a sailor's arms.

After exploring the the Mediterranean for many years, the old gal was finally scrapped in India in 1990, a seasoned world traveler with a lifetime of incredible adventures in exotic destinations.

For some reason, I thought we would be making the long voyage by paddle boat! I suppose this was because I had seen paddle boats on the Mississippi River near where we lived. Former riverboat captain-turned-writer Samuel Clemens took his pen name, Mark Twain, from the slang for "two fathoms", the depth of water needed for a steamboat to pass safely.

As I shivered in the cold wind, a grown-up handed me a tightly wound roll of crepe paper....a colorful streamer given to all passengers to throw to those on the pier below who had come to bid them farewell. I flung mine as far as a four year old could, watching it unfurl in slow motion as I grasped tightly to the end. Far below I saw a beautiful woman in a fur coat and a pill box hat catch the other end. For a long moment, we smiled at each other...a total stranger beaming up at me. I felt a mixture of excitement and shyness and confusion as she waved goodbye to me.

The three week crossing included typhoons, fine dining on crisp white tablecloths (which on days when the seas were rough were dampened so that the plates and glasses wouldn't crash to the floor), a screening of 101 Dalmations, and my first experience sleeping in a bunk bed.

Since then I've scuba dived with sharks in Tahiti, watched in amazement as a herd of elephants strode silently across the Serengeti, marveled at the majestic waterfalls in Brazil, run through the ruins of Florence before dawn, hiked through the jungles of Costa Rica as howler monkeys prowled overhead, gazed at the constellations from a thatched hut in Thailand, skied across snow covered rice paddies in Japan and plunged over white water rapids on a raging river in Honduras.

Many years have passed, but I still have the vivid memory of gazing into a stranger's kind eyes, joined to her by an umbilical cord of bright red paper, until it drew taut and tore apart, leaving her behind and launching me into a future that even Mark Twain could never have imagined.

The Emperor's New Clothes

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 04:03:00 +0000

This evening, after a long day of work, I stopped by Sarah's Mediterranean Grill, which is where I go when I'm really, really hungry. Nothing satisfies quite like a mountain of chicken shawerma with a side of hummus and pita, topped off with a piece of flaky baklava for dessert.

As I was finishing my meal, the owner, whose name is Maethem, joined me at my table. He's a charming guy with a winning smile and an easy going manner, and we struck up a conversation about this and that.

I asked him about his family back in Baghdad, and he told me about an incident he witnessed when he was 13 years old and working in his father's clothing business.

One day, as he and his father were returning to their shop, they happened to be passing by as the Crown Prince of Kuwait, who was visiting Iraq, stepped out of his limousine. His dutiful chauffeur closed the door behind him, accidentally slamming it on the sheik's robe, worth thousands of denarii.

As the sheik shouted at the driver, threatening to fire him for ruining his priceless garment, Maethem's father intervened, offering to repair the Prince's clothing at no charge if he promised not to terminate the unfortunate and humiliated chauffeur.

After much persuasion concerning his abilities as a tailor, Maethem's father escorted the Prince to his clothing shop and told him his robe would be ready in half an hour. With skilled hands, he deftly repaired the intricate needlework on the opulent garment and presented it to the Prince, who could not believe his eyes.

As promised, the humble tailor refused to accept payment for his handiwork. A true prince is not always recognized by the clothing he wears.

Third Eye Blind

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 18:31:00 +0000

Everyone has spotted a "tilaka" or "bindi"...a mark worn on the forehead by Hindu men and women. It marks the location of the sixth chakra, the seat of concealed wisdom, and symbolizes the Third Eye of introspection and spiritual enlightenment. It is also said to protect against demons or bad luck.

I now have one my very own tilaka as the result of slamming my car door against my forehead last night while talking on my cell phone with a customer service representative in....wait for it....India!

As a result of my self-inflicted injury, a couple of choice words sprang spontaneously from my mouth, one of which began with the word "God", and the other of which signifies the sacred union of two people. The customer service rep on the other end of the line did not find me enlightened in the least.

With any luck at all, my tilaka will form a permanent scar as a reminder to be conscious and aware...and what happens when I'm not.

Magic Man

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 29 May 2009 01:45:00 +0000

This week I had the good fortune to photograph an amazing performer and all around good guy who goes by the moniker Magikhana, also known as Arsene Dupin.

Last night we went out for Thai food, and as we entered the restaurant, we encountered a Jamaican guy with long dreadlocks holding a beautiful, curly-haired baby. I started making funny sounds with my mouth, and Magikhana balanced the brim of his baseball cap on his nose. The baby was mesmerized. The dad said "Rastafari!" and gave each of us a fist bump.

Magic moments like that appear out of nowhere when I least expect them.

See Chell

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 29 May 2009 01:36:00 +0000

On Saturday I did some more experimenting with my underwater camera. Many thanks to Chell Parkins for being such a good sport and for staying submerged in the chilly water for more than an hour on a single breath!

Chicken $hit Bingo

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Mon, 25 May 2009 03:29:00 +0000

I am not a gambling man.

I've been to Vegas twice and I didn't put a nickel in the slot machines. But every Sunday afternoon at Ginny's Little Longhorn Saloon, for $2.00 you can buy a 6 x 6 inch piece of real estate on a sheet of plywood (limit: one per customer) and have the time of your life.

Since there are only 54 squares available, tickets sell out fast, so you better move quick when they announce it's time to place your bets. The sheet of plywood is laid the pool table, a wire cage is placed on top of it, and then Ginny comes out from behind the bar with "C.C." the chicken under her arm. If the chicken makes a deposit in your square, you win the pot...so to speak. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase "playing craps".

You've never seen so much hootin' and hollerin' in your life. You'd have thought we were watching the final seconds of the Super Bowl. The excitement continues only as long as it takes C.C. to take care of business, and this afternoon it was a 15 minute hair-raising, nail-biting, white-knuckle, razor's edge roller coaster ride.

Cameras were flashing, people were shouting, and the chicken would stop periodically to pose for pictures. She's a real entertainer, and she knows how to strut her stuff. In the end, the jackpot was divided between #19 and #37, because C.C. made her mark right on the line.

In Kentucky they bet on thoroughbred horses. In Monte Carlo they bet on high performance race cars. And here in Austin, we wager on where a feathered farm animal is gonna take a shit.

Mermaid Sighting

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 22 May 2009 20:19:00 +0000

Click on each image to enlarge

I had the good fortune to spot this lovely creature on a recent diving excursion, and thankfully I had my camera with me! Who says mermaids aren't real?

digital voodoo by kendall witherspoon

Bad Juju

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 22 May 2009 07:03:00 +0000

Do you ever feel like you're at the epicenter of some sort of electro-magnetic vortex?

This past week I had to replace my kitchen disposal after it flooded the area under the sink with what looked like baby vomit. Cost of replacement and installation: $300.00

I also had my car towed. Cost of retrieval from towing yard $175.00. Parking ticket $25.00

And my computer hard drive crashed, resulting in the loss of hundreds of photos and all my applications. Cost of repair: $200.00 Loss of data: Priceless

$700.00 later, I'm still trying to figure out which photographs are gone forever and how many survived. The good news is that while sifting through the wreckage, I discovered a bunch of images I shot in Africa more than two years ago. Turn your speakers up and enjoy!

Music: Miss Q'n by Zap Mama

iBuddha

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Thu, 21 May 2009 06:45:00 +0000

Like so many users of the ubiquitous iPhone, every time I bump into a friend we're comparing the latest "apps" we've downloaded. Or, if they're one of the 37 remaining people on the planet who hasn't purchased this amazing and addictive device, I'm compelled by some evangelistic urge to testify how it has changed my life.

It's about as obnoxious as being trapped in an elevator with an insurance salesman, a Jehovah's Witness and an acquaintance from college you haven't thought about in years who's appeared out of nowhere to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get in on the ground floor of a new business "opportunity"...and the guy who told them about it is raking in 5 figures a month and drives a Rolls Royce convertible...but it's not "multi-level marketing."

In other words, I've become a complete iHole.

The number of useless, time-sucking, inane applications for the iPhone is literally mind-numbing. I chose a word at random and searched the iTunes Store, which produced the following list of applications available for download:

Sheep

Sheepish

Electric Sheep (?)

Catch the Sheep

Sheep Abduction (?!!)

Black Sheep Lite

iZoo

Construction Site (huh?)

Animals Sound Machine

Sheep Count

A World of Lullabies

Pre-School Music

and my personal favorite...Death Screams (what the...?)

Who thinks these things up? And then spends hours and hours writing computer code and building a cute user interface so people can download them for free and do who knows what with poor, innocent, animated sheep? In my spare time I can barely keep up with mowing the lawn. Maybe a sheep.....

That said, I've really enjoyed an application I downloaded recently called "Buddha". If I'm waiting for my order at a restaurant, or stuck at a traffic light, I can gaze at an ancient statue of Buddha with late afternoon sunlight streaming across his placid features, accompanied by a quotation to ponder. And if I shake my iPhone vigorously, a new quotation is revealed. Magic 8-Ball meets the Bodhisattva.

And...when the light turns green, if I'm still pondering the sound of one hand clapping, I'm soon enlightened by the sound of many hands honking.

What did the Buddhist monk say to the New York hot dog vendor?

"Make me one with everything."

I've Got a Buzz...How 'Bout U?

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Mon, 18 May 2009 00:59:00 +0000

Do you ever wanna cut off all your hair?

Me too! Frequently. But someone always talks me out of it. Or I resist the urge.

But this time I didn't. It's fun to be impulsive and shake things up every once in a while. Or maybe it's a cry for help.

Friday night I went to a party. Apparently I didn't get the memo that you were supposed to wear orange and be a young, hip, extremely attractive person with thick, curly, black hair and flawless skin the color of mocha, and have an exotic name like Bijoy or Zion.

Instead, I came dressed as an uptight, middle-aged white guy wearing a shirt I bought on sale at Steinmart. Good thing I forgot to bring the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Wonder Bread®.

But they let me in anyway.

Stranded

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 15 May 2009 09:04:00 +0000

Tonight I went downtown to meet my friends Kinuthia and Leticia, who got married last December. Leticia is pregnant with their first child, so inevitably the topic came up of whether they'd opt for circumcision if it's a boy.

They're both from the Kikuyu tribe in Kenya, and tradition dictates that a boy's passage from boyhood to manhood takes place around his 13th birthday. Part of this ritual includes circumcision. OUCH! I hope it's a girl.

As I left them, pondering our discussion, I encountered a homeless guy who introduced himself as Max from Hattiesburg, Mississippi. As we walked the 3 blocks to where my car was parked, Max told about his stint as a cook in Houston, and how he had to give up the bottle after he had a stroke. When we got there, my car wasn't. It had been towed.

I let loose a string of expletives, not just because of the $200.oo it was gonna cost me to get my vehicle out of hock and pay the parking ticket, but because of the inconvenience and the fact that I've parked in this spot dozens of time without incident. Well, there was that one time.

Meanwhile, my new acquaintance Max was scavenging for cigarette butts in the cracks in the pavement next to a nearby dumpster, and by the time I got off the phone with the Austin Police Department, I was furious. What a buzz kill.

As I was commiserating with Max about my misfortune and how much it was gonna cost, he asked "You wouldn't happen to have any spare change, would you?"

I had to laugh out loud. "As a matter of fact, I do" I replied. "Here's a coupla bucks".

As Max shuffled off down the sidewalk, I had to re-evaluate my situation. I have a car that runs and a friend nearby I could call on my iPhone to pick me up and drive me to the impound yard. I have a comfortable home that's air-conditioned when it's warm outside, and heated when it's cold. I have a bathroom with hot and cold running water and a shower that I don't have to share with anyone. I have a comfortable bed and plenty of clothes and shoes, and a washer and dryer and a stove and refrigerator. And I never have to worry about where my next meal is coming from.

And I've already been circumcised.

Bruce Lee, Barbie's Birthday and My First Kiss

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Wed, 13 May 2009 19:07:00 +0000

Today is Barbie's 50th birthday.

The doll created by Mattel in 1959 reached the half century mark this year. But the Barbie I'm talking about was the first girl I kissed.

I was 15 years old, and hadn't ever kissed anyone on the lips before, other than my great-aunt, and that was against my will. When Aunt Jewel puckered up, you had to just grit your teeth and take it like a tetanus shot. She had a wispy mustache, smelled like baby powder and wore bright red lipstick which leaked into the creases around her mouth...a memory which came flooding back to me the first time I saw a satellite photo of the Nile Delta.

But Barbie obviously had some experience in the smooching department. It lasted only a few seconds, but that first kiss rocked me back on my heels. The feeling was kinda like your first leap off the high dive...terrifying, unfamiliar and thrilling all at the same time. I wanted to try it again.

Walking home that night, feeling 10 feet tall and bullet-proof, I passed the home of Bruce Lee. Yes, that Bruce Lee. He lived in our neighborhood in Hong Kong, and I remember thinking "You may be the world's greatest martial artist, but right now, I'm pretty sure I could take you!"

Barbie and I have stayed in sporadic contact over the years. We both live in Texas, but we never see each other. We're friends on facebook and we e-mail each other once a year or so. I called her today and sang "Happy Birthday" to her voicemail.

She has the same birthday as my brother James, who died when he was 21 and I was 24. There aren't too many people in my life nowadays who knew James, but Barbie did. He would have been 47 today...but in my mind he'll always be that skinny 21 year old guy with a big grin and sad eyes.

And Barbie will always be that 15 year old girl who gave me my first kiss.

Collaboration

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Wed, 06 May 2009 19:18:00 +0000

A phenomenally talented creative director and graphic designer, Kendall Witherspoon, contacted me about the possibility of collaborating on a project just for fun.

We're getting together tomorrow to talk more about that, but in the meantime I e-mailed him a photo I shot recently, to see what he could do with it.

Here are 11 variations he came up with...amazing!! You can check out more of Kendall's work, as well as his blog, at www.thinkspoon.com

Click on each image to enlarge

Ethiopian Encounter

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Mon, 04 May 2009 23:17:00 +0000

There's an obscure story in the Bible about a chance encounter between an Ethiopian eunuch and a guy named Philip who hitches a ride in the eunuch's chariot and then vanishes without paying the fare. The "Eunuch's Chariot"...isn't that the name of the new hybrid car from Chrysler?

But I digress...last night, my friend Tracey and I caught a cab driven by an Ethiopian guy named Abraham. We struck up a conversation, and when we arrived at our destination, I asked him to write down the name of the musician we'd be listening to on the car stereo.

Instead, Abraham pressed "eject" and handed me the CD. I protested, but he insisted. I loves me some international hospitality...thanks Abraham! The artist's name is Teddy Afro... you can check out his music here.

In the Bible story, Philip ends up baptizing the Ethiopian eunuch before evaporating into thin air. Instead, Tracey and I went skinny-dipping. The water was kinda chilly, so I sorta felt like a eunuch if you know what I mean andithinkyoudo.

Our late night adventure took place at the Hotel St. Cecilia. Turns out she's the patron saint of musicians and church music...I loves me some synchronicity!

Get Cool New Look

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Sun, 03 May 2009 22:44:00 +0000

My friend Kathy is an elementary school teacher.

One of her students, Danny, is autistic, and often says and does things that are funny and endearing. Like one day he said to her "Mrs. G, you're really tall. I respect that!"

The other day he was completely agitated as he came running into class. He kept muttering over and over, "I need to make my list....I need to make my list!" Kathy handed him a pencil and paper, and he started scribbling frantically.

After class, Kathy found the following list on Danny's desk:

1. Get cool new look

2. Win dance off

3. Start club

4. Eat cheese

5. Go on an adventure

Words to live by...Atta boy, Danny!

Buffer Zone

noreply@blogger.com (John Langford) — Fri, 01 May 2009 05:48:00 +0000

Last night I went to the movies with my buddy Jonathan.

We arrived kinda late, and the theater was already packed. We spotted two empty seats, one on either side of a guy who was sitting by himself, so we asked him if the seats were taken. As he turned towards us to respond, we both recognized him from the neighborhood pub, so we asked if he'd mind sliding over so the two of us could sit together.

“Actually, I WOULD mind” he responded. “I like to keep an empty seat on each side of me as a buffer zone.”

I thought he was pulling a very convincing practical joke. It’s Friday night at a crowded movie theater and we both know this guy…in fact, I’ve talked to him at length on more than one occasion.

I grinned and repeated my request: “Seriously, how ‘bout sliding over? The movie’s about to start and there’s no place to sit.”

Turns out he wasn’t kidding.

People around us started to laugh nervously...no one could believe this guy was actually serious. Loud enough for those sitting nearby to hear, I said “Then how ‘bout we sit on each side of you and the three of us can snuggle up nice and cozy?” thinking that would embarrass him enough to get him to move over.

“That would really suck!” he retorted, glaring at me. I couldn’t believe it!

Just then, Jonathan spotted two seats on the other side of the aisle, and we sat down just as the lights dimmed.

In a rare moment of detachment and clarity, I realized that there was no way I could take this situation personally. It’s simply his policy when he goes to a movie to try to hang on to three seats, despite having only paid for one. I might not agree with his policy (and I don’t!) but if he has the audacity to defend it, I kinda gotta hand it to him.

The cool thing was, I never felt upset or angry. Disbelief...sure. Incredulity…you bet! But it was interesting to simply observe how his view of things was so different from mine. And so impractical, it turns out, because five or six other people asked if those seats were vacant, and he eventually had to relent and give up his “buffer zone”.

So why do I get upset about stupid stuff all the time?

It's usually when I'm suffering from the delusion that things "should" be a certain way. And last time I checked, the Constitution hasn't been amended to include "John's Rules of Order".

Epictetus, the Stoic philosopher, expressed it well: "Do not seek to bring things to pass in accordance with your wishes, but wish for them as they are, and you will find them." My guess is I'll probably need about 38,756 more attempts before I become proficient.

Maybe the next time there are no empty tables at the pub, I’ll ask Mr. Buffer Zone if he’d like to join us.