Most Likely to Take Over the World

I don’t know why it seems to take so much energy to update this blog. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to run a community blog (http://www.postcardsfromnj.com) at the same time as I’m trying to start a photography business (Girl+Camera LLC) at the same time I’m trying to hold down a full-time desk job, all while maintaining an apartment, being a mother to a kitty, and giving my husband attention and support.

Oh, and find time for writing, naturally.

When I asked Penelope Trunk over at Brazen Careerist about being a “slasher” (someone who has two equally-important careers, like writer/photographer) she basically said it was going to be difficult and that I should focus on one thing. Of course, I’ve never liked being told what not to do — 90% of the reason I married my first husband was due to a Paxil high and his parents telling us not to do it — so I’ve pushed ahead, almost to the point of mental and physical collapse.

And where am I for all of that work?

On Saturday morning, I had an interview with a potential wedding photography client who was impressed with all of my work, but wants to see proof of my wedding capabilities. My first thought was, “Well, I’ve been married twice, so does that count as wedding experience?” but I tempered my smart ass mouth and instead explained that I shot my own first wedding and shot my college best friend’s first wedding as a gift, so I don’t have any digital prints to show her. She still wanted to see proof, so now, instead of just being a guest at my brother-in-law’s wedding, I’m going to have to fire off fifty-or-so photos.

So much for a relaxing time in England in April.

By the time I left the meeting, the rain was torrential, but I had promised to shoot a gig in Philadelphia anyway, site unseen, which was kinda crazy. What I turned up to was a massive University City-wide pub crawl for St. Patrick’s Day, in four massive bars that were packed so tightly, I could barely breathe, let alone stick a camera up for group shots for three hours.

When I met to get my assignment, the owner of the event promotion company said to me, “You’re expected to get about 100 photos an hour. If you can get more, we’ll always pay for more, and you can stay as long as you like.”

Two bars, two streets apart, in sideways rain with 30 mph wind gusts that were tearing trees in NJ out by their roots? Bars into which I could barely squeeze my booty, let alone the camera, camera rig, flash, and battery pack strapped to me like some sort of white, Irish terrorist? (Hmm, maybe I should pursue a career with the IRA?)

Yeh, after three hours, I had 75 photographs. The other girl working the event had just over sixty and was going to stay longer to get the requisite 200. I just called it quits — especially when beer was knocked into me and spilled on my equipment.

The best part was driving home with no visibility, at dusk, tired, soaked, and hungry. Still, all-in-all, the day hadn’t been a complete failure, even if I did spend $20 to park in the city, $10 on tolls, and put 200 miles on my car. Even if, due to my inability to get 200 photos at the event, I only got a portion — or none at all — of my pay, I’d met with a client and got at least one photo I was proud of. That’s all that I believed really mattered.

So I hit Route 1, hopped over the bridge, onto 29 and 295, and then, as I hit the exit for my street, the dashboard lit up.

LOW TIRE PRESSURE! the lights screamed.

“Oh well,” I thought to myself, “It’s probably just the weather. I’ll take it to the service station and fix it tomorrow.”

After parking in the driveway, I checked all four tires, kicking and pushing down to make sure they were inflated, and all seemed fine.

“Just the atmospheric pressure, moisture, and temperatures,” I assured myself and thought nothing else of the incident until I walked out of the house this morning, on my way to the fitness studio for my boot camp class, at which point I spied the completely flat tire on the left, rear wheel.

Fuck.

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