Holly Northrop Blog

My nerves are shot. My therapist tells me that I have enormous anxiety (ya think?) and to take more Xanax, that that is what it is there for. I so do. Clearly, with each passing day I become less and less employable. Oh sure I can go spend the day in Manhattan walking around for six hours shooting. I do think my photography is getting better but I can't help but think that in the not too far off future I'll be sitting in some Social Security office somewhere filling out a form having to do with my ability to 'handle' a full time job.

It started with a weird cold that I caught within minutes of landing in the Charlotte, North Carolina airport this past June. While Martha went to rent a car, I walked over to baggage claim to grab our bag. It's always a surprise when it actually comes down the chute isn't it?

Anyway, the minute I turned around to the carousel, a rush of air blew over me and within minutes, I had a sore throat. It was weird and got really weirder. The whole visit I had a wicked sore throat and on the last day it turned into a cough. Thankfully, the flight home wasn't a cough fest but from the first night home and for a solid week after I slept on the couch every night coughing my fucking head off. And I mean COUGHING. I would cough all the air out of my lungs and then gasp for air. It was frightening.

So frightening that after Martha tried for days to get me an appointment with a doctor but no one would see me for four-five weeks, I walked over to the emergency room where they took an X-Ray of my lungs, gave me a scripts for antibiotics and cough syrup with some yummy Vicodin in it. The X-ray looked good so they diagnosed me with Acute Bronchitis and sent me home with instructions to follow up with my doctor five weeks from then.

I took the antibiotics and nurtured the cough medicine and for about a week, I felt better. But the minute the drugs stopped I started coughing again. Some days it felt like I just couldn't breath. I started to get worried and well, a little weirder so the head doctor decided to up my meds. Nice.

A week or so later is when I dropped Victor's Horizon 202 camera.

After $158 to fix the camera I go to my 'follow up' doctors' appointment where my new doctor reviews the X-ray and then asks me if anyone told me what they found in my lung?

WHAT?

Seems there was something 'funny' on the X-Ray; a grayish area in the lower right lobe. She wants to have another technician review the X-Ray and then decide if we should do a CT Scan. She'll call me.

Right.

So I TRY to go about my normal existence by obsessively chewing gum and working out and then jumping out of my skin every time the phone rings. Finally, after two days my cell rings while I'm out shooting in Manhattan. They want to do a CT scan. I call Martha and in what can only be described as extremely pathetic, I start crying while walking along the edge of the East River under the Brooklyn Bridge. (Yet I still continued to shoot photos, very odd) I am convinced that I have lung cancer and that I was going to be dead by Christmas, or at least by the end of September. I think I'm turning into Woody Allen.

The CT Scan was set for that Friday with my follow up visit two-weeks from then. On the day I walked over to the hospital for the scan there was a monster storm coming over the Catskills. Thunder, lightening the whole works. I walked over a little early so as not to have the heavens literally open up on me. They took me early, walking me back to the waiting area of the machine. Just as I am walking by the open door of the room, a flash of pure white light bursts out of the door. It was as though an enormous flash bulb went off to my left just as I was walking by. The timing was perfect and I bet my skeletal image is UV Ray burned into the wall that was on my right. Kind of like an early man cave painting.

Obviously, the hospital, which is on top of a hill, was hit by lightening. The CT machine was fried and they had to take me over to the other machine in the ER.

After the scan I'm told that if they find anything they'll call me, otherwise I'll see my doctor in two-weeks. What is with the wait for a phone call thing? Jesus Christ. After a few days I have both Jasmine and Martha up my ass to call the doctor but I just can't. I do not want to know. La, la la la la la la... I retreat, withdrawal and go into my own little happy place. Besides Jasmine was easily distracted because she was in the process of moving back to Pittsburgh having finished up school. She found a nice one-bedroom apartment in a good area of town and she's even going to have a cat.

On a beautiful Saturday morning and four days before I'm to go back for my follow up doc visit, I innocently check the mail. In the mail was a letter from Jasmine's college. I open it thinking it was a letter congratulating her or maybe even her diploma, but no, it is a letter informing us that she isn't graduating. She is one credit shy of a degree and they have put her on academic probation but she is invited back for the fall semester to finish up her course work. The one credit that she needs is an incomplete. They also sent along a copy of her miserable transcripts unlocking the 5-year mystery on just what the hell was going on in college.

This event was truly unfortunate for all of us.

After the crying, yelling and a few nasty phone calls, Jasmine swears that once she gets a hold of her professor that the incomplete will be changed to a passing grade, I walked out of the house stormed across the street and called the neighbor a jackass.

Monday Martha got an alert from Jasmine's checking account that she was $100 overdrawn. Upon further inspection, it was discovered that Jasmine had managed to motor through $1600 in four days. All of which is more or less explainable except for the $263 at Ikea.

Tuesday Martha got another alert from Jasmine's checking account indicating that there is now $270 worth of overdraft charges.

Thursday at 8:30 in the morning and with 1 ½ Xanax in me I stood in the doctors' small exam room pacing like a caged tiger. Finally, she comes in and immediately tells me that everything is fine.

The 'funny' thing on my CT scan shows a calcified granuloma that is usually benign and generally caused from either a prior early childhood incident with the lungs like pneumonia, or histoplasmosis. Histoplasmosis is commonly caused by a fungal infection and is endemic to the Ohio River Valley. Interesting. I'm thinking it's the combination of sitting in the Ohio River Valley woods sniffing glue at the early age of twelve. That would cover both. Oh hush, it was only for one summer and the damn shit gave me a horrible headache. What can I say, it was Ohio and I no longer live there for many, many reasons. Think Gummo. Seriously.

So right. We go to Pittsburgh this Thursday to visit with Jasmine where we will dance and sing songs. Should be a good time.

It's not the individual events so much as it is the stress of the all events happening at one time or for an extended run of time. I dropped a friend's camera but it was fixed and he's still talking to me. As far as I know, I don't have lung cancer but for over two weeks I convinced myself that I did. I just have chunks of things in my lungs. So far, Jasmine is a mess but she will figure it out, she has to.

I just love the general oddness's and flukes that can happen within roughly a one-block radius in Manhattan. Sometimes it is as though a whole day is contained with in an hour.

Last Wednesday I stumbled upon the tired old bones of the Cheyenne Diner on 9th and W.33rd street located across the street from B&H. I was just up there in the spring when it was open, and at that time, it looked just like any other railroad type diner in Manhattan. So as I was walking across 33rd not only did I notice that the door was oddly propped open, it appeared that the building was in the midst of demolition.

I asked if I could come in and photograph it. They didn't care one bit. I wasn't able to poke around as much as I would have liked but I think I might have a few shots that are pretty interesting. At least right now in my head they are interesting, we'll see what happens when I develop the film. One guy mentioned to me that the Diner was moving over to Brooklyn. Probably Williamsburg in some bastardization of hipsterness.

Right after shooting ½ a roll at the Cheyenne I walk further down 33rd to Saint Michael's Academy where I shot a super weird photo of an all white Jesus. While walking near AP I was almost hit by Lincoln Tunnel traffic because I was too busy gawking at all the folks standing around outside smoking. At first I thought they were having a fire drill or something. We used to have them all the Voice. Stupid things. I'd usually walk out and go to lunch although many folks would just stand in the street, stare up at the building and wait to go back in. After studying the Associate Press folks for a few minutes I realized they were all on a break. Further along the road, (technically ½ a block down on 34th street) as I was shooting the New Yorker sign I looked down and saw someone I used to work with at the Voice.

We both looked at each other and smiled that big happy-to-see-you smile. "I was just standing there when out of the corner of my eye I saw this fuzzy red-headed chick with a camera pointed up at the sky and I thought to myself, NO WAY!"

Good to see good people and I do miss working with good people.

"I'm moving back to Greece. I'm keeping my apartment though, sublet it out I tell ya. That landlord can kiss my ass I tell ya, fuck him." —Greek diner on 23rd

The Horizon 202 Camera is officially back in the hands of the owner. He was to use it over the weekend and report to me how it's working. I'm just glad it's no longer around me. I didn't even want to hand it back to him, instead I displayed it on the center of the kitchen table. If I would have had a cake plate I would have put it on that. The technical report of what all was wrong with it: (Said in heavy Russian accent with a slight shaking of the head ending with a small puckering of the lips.)

"It was all screwed up. Berry, berry bad."

Every now and then, I remember that instead of wandering aimlessly around New York, there is stuff I want to do instead. I managed to see the When Color was New Show at the Julie Saul Gallery. As side from the rudeness of a Chelsea Gallery, the show was motivating in so many ways. Photography is luck, lighting and timing. I stood in front of one the most inspiring photos that I've ever seen. There are three things that work together perfectly with this shot.

The man is staring out into infinity with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The woman is looking at her wedding ring. There is a plate of white bread with a few pads of butter around the edges.

Man. Woman. Butter. Perfect.

The whole show was encouraging and many of the prints I've seen before in publications here and there. A few of them are in postcard form hanging in my studio. Just a subliminal reminder to myself that I need to look around more when I'm out shooting. Every shot is there, I just have to see it.

I got into an argument with a neighbor about noise. Now to be fair, his timing sucked for I wasn't really furious at him, (that's a whole OTHER story) but he took the brunt of my anger.

He and his fat fuck of a buddy were working on a car across the street. They had a volume control issue with their voices, deciding to shout normal conversation at each other while standing only two feet apart. After about 15 minutes of that horseshit I walked out of the house and across the street where I, in a rather calm tone, asked them if they could stop shouting at each other. No big thing right? Well while walking back to the house, the fatter one, started trash talking me the minute I was behind the hedge line, only he's an ass see, and he trash talked me loudly.

I turned right around, marched across the street, and got all up in their faces. I stood there sandwiched between too rather large and bulbous bellies with a combined weight of well over 400 lbs, bitching at both of them for saying shit behind my back. According to Martha, who by now was standing on our front stoop, I called one guy a jackass. I do remember being in his face and pointing a finger at him so it is of no real surprise that the words, "Listen here Jackass," came out of my mouth. But really isn't that just my way of making friends?

An abundance of workmen are currently plaguing me, adding to the overall persecution issue that I have. First off, there is the ongoing gas line replacement that Hudson is undergoing. They went away for a few weeks and I thought they were done but no, now they are back. Not only are they back they want to come inside and dick around in our basement for three hours on Monday morning. Then, we are having our driveway dug up and repaved. The thing is a mess and will not make it through another winter. And the same goes for the gutters, something Martha has been avoiding talking about. The siding people are coming back to rework all the trim around the windows and a few other things that they should have done right in the first place.

All this and a few other distractions have left me flustered, with my ADD working overtime. I'm so unfocused that while on the phone with Martha last week, I threw money in the trash and put receipts in my wallet.

Anyway, Jasmine took her 'final' final last week and now we wait. Tick, tick, tick. She said it was hard but she's sure she passed. Wasting no time at all, her health insurance sent us a letter informing us that if she is no longer a full-time student that they will no longer cover her. We or rather Martha, is going to have to start paying COBRA until Jasmine gets her shit together. Not only are we (Martha) going to have to pay COBRA but also her rent, and anything else that she can't cover. Martha said she wants to start claiming Jazz as a dependant, checking the box on the COBRA form for: Continuously incapable of self-sustaining employment as a result of a mental or physical handicap.

On the cool and exciting side of things, it looks like Jazz is going to be moving into her new apartment this coming weekend. How thrilling for her. Martha, who is living vicariously through her, is planning our trip to the 'Purgh' at the end of the month. We are going to spend five nights and four days in the lovely city of Pittsburgh. I haven't been back since September of 2000 so I'm looking forward to it. Martha wants to visit friends, go out to dinner and maybe a Baseball game. She also wants to drive around Mt Lebanon looking at her old house, various schools and general memory lane type stuff.

She also wants to go buy this two-bedroom condominium and move there, with or without the rest of us.

Aside from spending time with Jasmine, I want to visit my dead grandparents and go to the record store. Somehow that seems perfect. What the hell else am I going to do there? I have like one friend there, whom I will visit and of course I will be shooting photos but with some of the best records stores in the country located there, um yeah, I'm going to the record store. That and the fantastic Red, White and Blue.

I dropped the Horizon 202 camera that I borrowed from a friend. Well, technically it fell, (while still in its case mind you), but nonetheless it still hit the ground.

Actually, it looked more like a suicide than an accident. It chose to jump off a table rather than take anymore of my weird angled visionary bullshit. Instead of spending one more second or 1/125th of a second with me, it jumped to its death.

Now it sits in a Russian repair shop over on 30th street, where I've put down half of the $178.00 total to fix it. The equivalent of a Russian hospital—scary thought.

In two seconds, I spent almost $200 and put a hiccup in a friendship. Like I have tons of those to burn.

Jesus Christ.

I'm still not really sure what happened. I set the thing down to change film and it just took a swan dive off the table. I didn't even think anything happened to it because it was IN IT'S PROTECTIVE CASE, zipped up and everything. But just like most things in my life, it hit the ground 'just right'. It hit the one corner that didn't have that much padding and well, when I pulled it out the back was bent and I could actually see the spool of my film. I opened it up to see if it was just a temporary thing and no, it was not.

I called Martha.

'You're going to be really mad at me," I said.
Silence.
"You're going to be really pissed- I dropped Victor's camera."
"Holly, WHAT THE HELL? Where is the STRAP? Why isn't it around your NECK!"
I started to cry.
"Take something." She ordered.
"What?"
"Do you have anything with you?"

I stopped bawling for a minute and wondered if she was asking me if I had any drugs with me. And I wondered why she would think that I forgot my pill case. It's like asking a running faucet if it has water, isn't it? I tend to carry enough prescription and over the counter medication to kill both of us at any given time, if need be of course.

"What like Xanax? I asked.
"Yes, take it and calm down. I'm serious."

After I got my wits gathered, (without the aid of drugs thank you very much) together Martha and I worked today's technology. I walked up the West Side Highway towards any subway line, while Martha in Jersey worked Google, feeding me numbers of possible camera repair shops. There were hardly any choices but she did manage to find the one Russian repair place that appears to be the real deal. (I get the camera back this week so we will see) It's in one of those old New York buildings where the elevators ability to work is questionable so you'd rather walk the four flights up. The place was packed to the rafters with old and somewhat new, Russian camera parts, bodies and lenses. A photo in it's self.

The deal is this, either the camera is returned to its owner totally like it was when he gave it to me or I'll pay for a brand new one. Or I should say that Martha will pay for a brand new one and I will forever, suck.

Overheard at a Diner on 6th Avenue.
Mostly, therapy is nice. Last time I was there, he said to me; 'You drink too much coffee and then take the Klonopin. What's that about?'

I can't wait to start writing with you—well, I'll do the entire outline and the whole structure and then bring you in to clean it up, but I'm excited to start working together.

Overheard while waiting for the subway.
What do you do?
I'm a teacher. I teach 9th grade History. Early stuff, like beginning of time kind of thing. Ancient History.
Oh, you mean Jesus Christ stuff?
Long pause... No like the Bronze Age stuff.
Oh, when's that?

Jasmine to me on the phone telling me about her day.
I went busy.
It went busy.
It was busy, shit mom, don't write that down. Don't blog about that. Goddamn it mom I'm tired.

So that other day at the gym, yes I've been going to the gym. I started working out in June. I'm old and I need to deal with the many things that are wrong with me or that are not working properly.

Anyway, I was working out the other day and after my little round of back muscle strengthening exercises, I wanted to do my 45 minutes on the treadmill.

At the gym there are three TV's mounted to the ceiling and while running in place you can stare up at them and sweat open mouthed while being spoon fed useless garbage. I choose to listen to crazy music on my iPod but the images are still very there.

Sometimes one of the stations is Fox News. Now, if the treadmill in front of the TV with FOX News is on, I will not get on it. I'll wait. I could change the channel but undoubtedly there is someone there who is watching it and honestly I don't want to know who it is. I just might get a little vocal about it all. On this day there was an open one in the back so I figured I'd be too far away from the TVs to be able to read the subtitles on Fox News. I was wrong.

So check this out.

They were talking about how The Green Movement that is currently being taught in public schools needs to stop. Public schools shouldn't be teaching children things that are not based in truth. It should be up to the parents to decide if they want their children learning about something like 'Global Warming'. Parents are pissed that their kids are policing them about driving SUVs, recycling, and wasting energy.

Their concern was that the children are being fed this hideous propaganda AND one 'reporter' compared this teaching to the brainwashing of Hitler youth.

What. The. Fuck?

I am not kidding. It was like one long televised schizophrenias rant. I searched forever of the Fox News site, (until I felt dirty and on the verge of vomiting), for a clip of this but their site is a search nightmare. I think they keep it that way so you cannot go back, check, and deep link to any of their hideous propaganda. Seriously, Hitler youth?