Holly Northrop Blog

First off let me just say that I cannot even believe that the Pittsburgh Steelers are going to The Super Bowl.

I shot Newark, yes that would be Newark, New Jersey for the Voice on Sunday morning. Not quite at the crack of dawn, but shortly there after. I'm thinking my editor has it out for me. He seems nice and all, but he does keep sending me to these odd pits of shit. No one WANTS to live in Newark, do they? Isn't Newark the kind of town that once you figure out where you are living you try with all your might to get the hell out of? Yeah, yeah, urban pioneers my ass.

We drove for a couple of reasons. One was because Martha has a nasty, snotty head cold and the other was because there was no way I was going to walk around Newark. Fuck taking pictures. The bar for this kind of bullshit is the South Bronx, which is worse but you know, in some ways, not really. Prior to Sunday, I had only been to either Newark's Penn Station or Newark Airport. Neither of those leaves any kind of positive impression. But driving around, I mean, who knew it was a real city at all. It's small, like Pittsburgh, or rather more like DC with tall buildings.

The sad truth is Martha and I could buy a whole building there for what a studio is going for in New York. I could do it. Buy a big old thing, turn half into live space and the other half into a darkroom/studio, play music really fucking loud space. Run razor wire and grenades around every square inch of the outside, gate up every single window and install a security system the likes of the Hope Diamond and just sit back and wait for the yuppies to come. Oh and they are coming believe you me, the proof was in the Starbucks sighting right there on Broad Street.

TWISTED
Jasmine's second semester of college has started out just the way they all do, at the hospital. Over the weekend, she fell down and jammed the thumb on her left hand. Once X-rays determined that nothing was broken, she called me to let me know what had happened. After listening to her explanation of how the sidewalk dipped and she took a tumble, I asked her one question.

"Were you drunk?"
"Yep."

Okay then. Jasmine has exactly eighteen months before she will no longer be on our health insurance and little things like this will become big fucking things called "self pay". This, to me, does not mean Mom & Mom pay. It means self, as is Jasmine pays. Ah well, Jazz is the one who has to live with the knowledge that she fell down drunk in public and knows damn well that I would probably write about it.

CRAZY PUSSY
Cats are so fucking strange. Lily, the black and white, had been hissing at Zoë for the past few days. It was as if she no longer recognized her. I figured one of two things was happening here. Either Lily had finally snapped and was starting to display signs of senility, (she is 13) or Zoë was getting ready to have another seizure. She popped over a year ago (that was a great day let me tell you) and hasn't had one since.

Now, up front this was funny behavior to observe but in the middle of the night, when hissing and thumping broke out on top of me, pulling me from the sweet dead sleep of dreams, I got a little cranky.

What was funny about it all was that Lily thought she was in-charge and Zoë had been humbled. She entered rooms very slowly and bowed her head down to Lily. Somehow, Lily had flexed some kind of alternate alpha cat stance and for the moment, intimidated Zoë into submission. That is until Zoë finally got pissed and called Lily's' shit out on the carpet and well, slammed her black and white fur onto said carpet. Suddenly, Lily's hiss had a very different sound to it, more like the slow tire leak that we usually hear. Even though the hissing has now stopped, we are still waiting on the seizure. Great.

I am sick again. This is like the third cold I have had in three months. Jesus

I've been off of work for almost five-days and despite the snotfest I am sort of liking the hibernation of it all. With just a little more nurturing I could become, Agoraphobic. But when one is sick that's how the mind goes. Curl up listen to music, read and retreat. My cold isn't what has kept me home. Oh no, I had a little 'procedure' thing on Thursday and it is with that, that I am moving like grandma.

The only thing good about the hospital are the drugs. Fentanyl and Demerol, yum, yum. Yep, nothing better. Clean and pure as an Alaskan stream. It's still pristine up there, right? They haven't started drilling for oil yet, have they?

All this time off has been good for the back end of my site. Seeing as how I can't lift anything heavy or really clean to deeply I've been working on the code deep in the photography section. That whole area is/was such a mess; it didn't even have the right menu system. I would like to be able to post again and maybe do a whole thing on New York neighborhoods. Yes sir, five days at home and I don't miss work not one damn bit. But I haven't taken a photo in a few days either and I really don't like that at all. Ah whatever, it all comes to a screaming halt Tuesday when not only do I have to go back to work, it will be deadline day to boot. Woo hoo.

Jasmine's was down in Tennessee towards the end of last week for her grandmothers' funeral. All very sad and strange for her I'm sure. She starts the second half of her junior year on Tuesday. I already miss her and feel awful about her entire Christmas fiasco. The only fun she had was during the week she went home early. A few of her friends were there, and she was able to be fucked up without the added tension of having me around. I think I would like to go visit her but my guess is that she is sick to death of her entire family.

Oh yes, but there is a fun little road-trip in our near future. In about a month from now, near Valentines Day, Martha and I will be driving to Vermont to visit Sheri and see what all this down-home, small-town Vermont fanfare is about. Sheri is in the play, The Vagina Monologues and not only will we get to see THAT, but we are finally going to meet her parents. (That reminds me, I should place a film order now.) Anyway, I've never been to Vermont, nor seen Sheri act professionally, so this is all very, very exciting.

I am anxious to get back out to Green-Wood Cemetery and shoot but I have to wait for the right weather. The other day was perfect, with all that fog and mist but Martha was at work and I was house bound. Plus, I have ordered a new filter for my holga and would like to use it but B&H is still processing my fricken order eight days later. I know shit is out of stock but how out of stock is it? Is it being made in China as we speak or what?

I knew going in that it would end badly and there would be crying. Lots and lots of crying. That's why I brought plenty of pocket tissue and gum. After all, what gay themed mainstream movie can any of us name where the main characters live happily ever after? I said mainstream, not underground but suburban mall mainstream. So, I openly bawled in a crowed New Jersey theater as I watched Heath Ledger channel Gary Cooper. He is awesome and the movie, Brokeback Mountain, is beyond epic. I haven't been that moved in a theater in years.

My only bitch is with Hollywood, not the movie. It is with the way Hollywood handles gay/lesbian characters. Yes, one could make the argument that this world is full of ignorance and hate, but you know, I am more than a little annoyed at watching gay people be murdered, suffer with horrible cancers or addictions, "accidents" or when all else fails, throw in a suicide. Sometimes it's all of the above.

A character is, oh lets say; a former alcoholic/drug user, who has been clean for five years and living a single, well-off disposable income lifestyle, develops breast cancer. Upon learning of the news, she becomes severely depressed realizing she has nothing to show for her life except pricey art and endless shallow anonymous sex. Her family has disowned her because of her lifestyle and her pride has kept close friends at bay. She relapses, going on a bender and while stoned and out of her mind, she causes a major car accident, where miraculously no one is hurt. At this point, she has hit bottom and tries suicide by attempting to overdose on Valium.

Finally, hospitalized and under some serious psychiatric care, the character slowly pulls her life together. After months of chemo and hair loss, she survives breast cancer and realizes she is powerless over whatever it was that she was addicted to. She starts her life over, having a new appreciation for living. Months go by, when one day she meets a wonderful lesbian who has two kids from a previous abusive marriage. Years go by, the couple is living a normal suburban lifestyle in an oversized McMansion in Vermont, when suddenly, the ex-husband of the wonderful lesbian with two kids, is released from prison, hunts them down and shoots cancer survivor in the head, right there in the yard in front the kids and the dog. She is as dead, dead, and dead.

I am a little sick of watching love punished by over dramatized incidents but Hollywood can't seem to get enough of it.

And then you have the other end of the spectrum when something like The L Word floats into the living room. I have no idea what reality that show is grounded in.

This is the type of lesbian show where unnaturally skinny over-produced pretend lesbians sit in roundtable at the local lesbian coffee house and compare pet names for their pussy. The show I love to hate is back for a third attempt at entertainment and by the looks of the season premiere the writers have managed to fuck up the one funny character by making her a pathetic ex-lover turned stalker. The truly fun couple to watch will be Tina and Bettie who are so far beyond the realm of ridiculous all-female parenting that they are giving Lesbian Motherhood more of bad name than the Christian Right ever could. No wonder they are having difficulty making a sexual connection, (i.e. Lesbian Deathbed) I wouldn't fuck either one of their self-absorbed brains, not even drunk and on a bet. But the one character that not only makes my eyes rolls every time she's in a scene but is the main reason I swear at the TV, the fucked up writer known as Jenny, has Margot Kidder cast as her mom. What a coo. This is both believable "in character" and in real life. I can't tell if this chick (Jenny) can't act or if the scripts are that bad. Maybe it's both because it is sooooo painful to sit through.

This show has so many different stereotypes wrapped in similar hair and makeup it is like looking inside a carton of eggs. At least you can make something with eggs. Like a good omelet or something. These people don't even play well off of each other. But they are the only game in town and I am obviously expecting way too much from the show. But couldn't they have at least changed to opening theme song/visual nightmare that starts each and every show? Betty is bad enough, okay fine use them if you have to but that video montage is embarrassing to us all, gay or straight.

Jasmine's Christmas vacation is officially a bust. All last week she was fighting a wicked head cold, snotting all over my red couch and Lily. I think being sick was the thing that pushed her to the point where she would rather be at home in her own apartment then here with us. Oh sure, she misses us, and of course, New York City, but life so sucks here on a barely-over-minimum-wage job. She is constantly digging in our change jar for Path money to go to work. She had been here well over a week before she even had a day off so she could come into New York for sushi and record store shopping with me.

Now the bar on the whole shitfest has been raised even higher. Grandma Northrop has taken a turn for the worse. She is in critical condition down in the land of fire and brimstone. The call was sent out New Year's Day (Happy Fucking New Year) for the clan to come home because momma is going to die. Jim is already down there and Jasmine will probably leave Wednesday to go back to her apartment, drop off her shit and then hitch a ride with her step mom, who doesn't want to leave until the funeral. (Nice) Mrs. Stepmom doesn't really like Grandma Northrop and I'm pretty positive that is a two-way street. Yep, Jazz's step mom is great. She is the same woman who was at my mothers' side while she lie dieing, but never bothered to say two words about it to me. My mother was very fond of her, but you know, my mom was out of her goddamn mind. Ah yes, this latest behavior on her part just provides more proof that it really is "all about the Benjamin's". Grandma Northrop doesn't have a shitload of money.

I feel badly for Jazz and wish like hell there was something I could do for her besides buy her a bus ticket. We could send her direct to Grandma but she wants to go home first. I don't blame her. I'd so need to smoke a big ole bowl and be near my goofy friends before embarking on a road trip of that nature. All I can be is a cell phone call away, which just might be the best thing.

FREEZE FRAME
All I really hope for in this New Year is for peace of mind and heart. Health, wealth, laughter and love should cover it. I don't have any resolutions seeing how I tend to change shit up all year long and whenever the mood strikes. (Good luck with that, Martha) I would like to loose the 10 pounds I gained back from being sick and I would really like to start smoking again. Yes, that's right I said it, I want to smoke again. I won't, but I want to. I'd love to smoke, drink and act like a big ole asshole but I only get to do one out of three. Ah well, a girl can dream.

This New Year's Eve was different only because instead of hanging out in the bedroom all three of us hung out in the living room and watched a movie until it was almost midnight. Then, it was Dick Clark time. Was is me, or was Dick Clark's Primetime New Year's Rockin' Eve 2006 disturbing? Look, I know he had a stroke and I am all for the whole recovery process and I am sure that in 'therapy world', his improvement up to this point has been amazing, BUT it was disturbing to watch him try to move half his frozen parts into something resembling human broadcasting. He kind of look like an aging Max Headroom. I am sure it was some kind of personal milestone but with an already difficult show to begin with, all long shots of him with that frozen smile on his face push it over the edge into creepy TV. Which, normally I like, but that, um no, not so much. Disturbing little way to bring in the New Year, thanks Dick.

PHOTO HEAVEN
Last year, roughly seventy-five rolls of 120 film at twelve images a roll went through my Holga, ten rolls through my little Russian Lubitel, sixty Polaroid's popped out of my One Shot and roughly one thousand digital images pixilated in my little 2.5 mega pixel Canon. Almost all my digital photographs are for work now, instead of play. I used the folding Ensign camera once and my trusty 35mm didn't even get shot in. I should haul that around with me more. It's a great camera and has served me well beyond the intended length of service. I messed around with a pinhole camera and found myself in a make shift darkroom again, loving every minute of it.

I shot three-hundred and twenty-six Photo of the Day images last year. I only missed thirty days. I should start working on the Photo of the Day poster here any day now.

I have been pulling back on my music consumption to focus any extra money's for film processing in order to pay for all that photo fun. Martha original intention behind buying me a digital camera three years ago was to save on film processing, but what it did do was get me shooting again on a much larger scale. Last Christmas, she bought me a Holga and then, well, all bets were off. Now all she can hope for is a tax break come IRS day.