too many choices

If you were shopping for shampoo this morning at the Edgewood Shopping District® Kroger, I apologize, because I stalled out this morning in front of the hair care section, and stayed there for fifteen minutes, and probably prevented you from accessing any of the stuff you wanted.

I was there to get some hair spray. The hair spray I was looking for was was not some elaborate, exotic French hair spray from the research laboratories of Vidal Sassoon. I basically wanted some cheap, generic, no-frills hair spray that would keep my luscious locks from blowing away in the strong winds we've had here lately.

And it took me fifteen minutes to find it. I found Dove Advanced Care Sheer Moisture Replenishing Mist™. I found Superstar Queen for a Day Thickening Spray™. I found L'Oreal Full Of It Upright Volumizing Foam Spray™. I looked and looked and looked and there was nothing that just said, "Just Some Basic Hair Spray That Will Basically Help Your Hair Not Look Like A Bird's Nest When You Go Outside At Lunch."

After fifteen minutes, I found it. Very bottom row, down by my shoes (of course!). White Rain Extra Hold™. Pre-tax price: $1.03. I claimed it and resumed my shopping.

Unfortunately I had to pick up some toothpaste next. Don't even get me started on the toothpaste issue!

Yes, this is a silly, shallow rant. I know But I have reached the end of my enthusiasm for the endless cycle of product improvement. I'm all up for helpful options, but at some point, it becomes irritating. Does anyone understand or appreciate the difference between Colgate Luminous Crystal Clean Mint and Colgate Total Clean Mint Paste? (Colgate's product line is so complicated that they devote a whole page of their website to helping consumers choose a toothpaste. My inquiry for the Colgate marketing team: Is this truly helpful or useful to anyone?)

Attention marketers: My dollars and my loyalty are up for grabs. They will go to a brand that streamlines their offerings and simplifies my choices.

Things I don't need to hear any more about

Today is Monday, and I'm feeling disillusioned with the state of the universe. I'm pretty sure this is because of the grad school no man's land I seem to have stumbled into. I had a feeling of tremendous momentum last week, and it was immediately followed by a feeling of impressive stuck-ness. So far, the stuck-ness is winning.

Therefore, I have put together a list of things I don't need to hear any more about:

1. the rising cost of health care
2. the eventual comeback of Britney Spears, Winona Ryder, Whitney Houston, etc.
3. the fact that nobody in the world is going to have enough money for retirement
4. that weird detox diet involving lemon juice and cayenne pepper
5. the fact that baby carrots make a great little midday snack. When baby carrots start to taste like Reese's peanut butter cups, then you can talk about them some more.

Conversely, I wouldn't mind hearing more on the following topics:

1. this song, which sounds like it was recorded for less than the cost of a meal at Denny's (but somehow it succeeds beautifully)
2. baby snow leopards
3. anything that the endlessly interesting Paul Ford touches

Tomorrow kicks off a six-week boot camp for me. I am tired of feeling like a slob. The boot camp will require rousing myself at the crack of dawn (5:30, to be precise) and reporting to a gym down the road. It will involve lunges, squats, and other uncomfortable words. I am finding that the "brisk walk at lunch" doesn't really do it for me. I sit at a desk all day and I'm craving more tangible reminders that I am not just a machine who knows how to apply makeup and operate a mouse. The boot camp cost $350 and requires me to keep a food diary. In a weird way, I'm looking forward to it.

your voice takes you to what it wants to sing

Last night I drove through an hour of primitive rush-hour traffic to the Atlanta campus of SCAD so I could see Greg Gorman give a talk.

He's one of the most popular celebrity portrait photograhers in the country. Though his name isn't as well known as someone like Annie Leibovitz, he's photographed hundreds of stars over the years, people like Muhammed Ali and Marlon Brando and Al Pacino and Bette Davis. He does beautiful black and white studio portraits, high contrast images with simple backgrounds.

He spent an hour with the audience, going through his wonderfully impressive slide show. Then took some questions from the audience.

One person asked him how he got started in the business. He said after he finished college, he started shooting headshots in LA for $35 a day. Eventually he got good at it and began to draw attention from studios looking for glamorous images of their stars. He got a few projects shooting high-profile stars like Barbra Streisand. And the rest is history. Now Bette Midler invites him to lunch, Pierce Brosnan asks him to shoot his wedding, and Robert DeNiro comes to his rooftop parties (not kidding).

When I hear stories about "humble beginnings" like his, part of me is inspired. Another part of me gets hung up. It seems like the days of starting that small and working up to something that big are long gone. The world I'm living in today is saturated with people with digital cameras and expensive lenses who want to make a buck off their skills. The 60s are over, Jim Morrisson is no longer available to be photographed, and I don't live in LA. Brand new game.

At the same time, I know this line of thinking is too pessimistic. Really, any story that involves an artist actually making a good living by producing good work is a story that I can appreciate. Greg Gorman had a passion, and he followed it, and believed in the fact that he had something interesting to contribute to his field.

A couple of weeks ago I heard an interview on NPR with Patty Griffin (whose new album, Children Running Through, is making me happy). The interviewer asked Patty about her artistic process. How did she manage to write so many great songs? The response:

"I just really need to sing and sing and sing, and not worry about writing. Just by singing for pleasure, your voice takes you to what it wants to sing. And that is how the best stuff emerges. It just pops right out."

More and more, I'm coming to see that this process of getting into photography, into my artistic life, is just about doing it. Going after it, even if I am sure that the market is saturated already. (What the hell does market saturation have to do with my artistic vision, anyhow?) This is not about the experience of someone who got started making images 30 years ago, or 60 years ago, or 90 years ago. It's about being awake to what's happening around me, taking photos every single day, and following the thread of pleasure that runs through all of it.