in that i'm now married at the hip to st louis, i regularly partake in the excercise of defining positive things about living here. number seven on the list of why it's good to reside in a depressed and blighted city is that going to un-addled cities has much more appeal and benefit as can be seen in my latest photo essay on the twin cities.

I spent the last few days in St. Paul/Minneapolis on a work boondoggle. It was a surprisingly event packed trip considering it's quick and dirty nature. In fact, enough humor occurred that I'm considering putting a photo essay together over the weekend. I say 'I may' because coming home has not seemed to interrupt this crazed routine just yet. So, if I can get more than a 10 minute gap over the next few days, I'll see what I can do.

I spoke to Bosnia Chris today over his web phone and had commented on the recent update where they were climbing up some mountain and one of the people took a tumble and cut his wrist impressively open [photo not for the weak of gut]. I conveyed to Chris that had this happened to me, a flight for life chopper would have had to escort me to the nearest trauma center. He simply laughed it off and said how they didn't have a first aid kit and had to improvise. Their makeshift solution began with a tampon, which was applied directly to the wound and served as the initial gauze. This was followed up with a wrap of toilet paper and then a sandwich bag to keep all the fixings in place. Once applied Chris escorted his mate down the mountain and to more traditional medical care.

I asked how he could not divulge those details when retelling the story on the web. He said that he didn't feel comfortable putting the word tampon on his site (tampon, tampon, tampon). After calling him gutless I said that I would share this juicy detail on my own in that I've already freely used the term (tampon, tampon, tampon) a number of times and it appears in my working journal an additional 24 times.

Furthermore, I'm not sure how I would have fared in this fellow's situation. You see, I have a immense phobia towards this and other like hygiene products. If you've ever meandered down the pink and blue isle at the supermarket or department store, the smell emanating from these shrink-wrapped packages is just not right. It's like in math where two negatives make a positive. The stuff is just too clean, too natural that they are actually unclean and unnatural. But, in typical fashion I believe in getting in the face of that which terrifies you/me and this is my vehicle for this aggressive posturing. Man, just imagine if I was born a non-tripod.

this is what i was doing today.

Today Bella takes her first plane flight and I'm extremely nervous. Nervous because I'm hyper-aware of the effects a screaming child has on non-parents in that I was one a mere six months ago. One of the first traits you acquire as the keeper of a tiny human is an auditory numbness towards shrill screaming. It kind of becomes simple white noise. But, that is not to say that I don't remember being seated next to a wailing kid in my pre-parent days on the way back from a business trip and debating whether my ears or their vocal chords should be removed. So, in the event the trip does not go well, I apologize in advance to any people sitting near seat 13A on the 11:15 to Cleveland. I know your pain and feel for your misery.

Well, Chris and Gina are at it again. Continuing to amaze me and garner my total and complete respect.

I have for a long time been enamored with the photographic process both technically and conceptually. Technically for all the obvious reasons (and of course we're speaking fully manual here); lighting, color, composition, etc. To effectively graft onto paper an image that either accurately or deceptively captures a vision of whatever using this wondrous shutter-bound mechanism absolutely wrecks me...

A few people have razzed me recently regarding my sandals and socks look as seen in this month's gallery selection. It is time for us as a people to get past this hangup with socks and sandals. I am doing you a favor by masking from you my least appealing and cleansed body part. And, all this without even touching on the medicinal implications of the foot--bunions, calluses, lost toenails (which is super-gross if you've ever had the pleasure), foot odor, athlete's foot, etc. So let us dissect our friend to the south at a raw and anatomical level.

Unless you are a part of the wasabi tribe of southern Africa or one of their charter members, your feet are bunged up all the time in a B.O. ridden vacuum you call your socks and shoes.

All male feet at one point or another have come into contact with human urine, and oftentimes it's not our own. Tut, tut, tut ladies, don't wipe that brow just yet, because if you've ever lived with a male, your little piggies have swam in the yellow water as well.

While my feet are exceptional in this next area, most people's feet possess at least one oddity. My claim to fame; my feet are as wide as they are long. Yes, you did the math right, that would make them square.

I have never seen two sets of toes that look the same. This is unnerving. I've also known people whose second toe is longer than my pinky finger. Also unnerving.

Lastly and most importantly, people's grotesque negligence towards the routine and non-optional maintenance of their feet is appalling. You gotta get between the toes, between them.

Given the abuse I have taken over my cloth-covered toe, the obvious need for discussion and the fact that I am right, I am dedicating this entire week to the human body. And, can we get a game of socks versus skins going here?

I spent last week up in St Paul on a work gig. In the facility I was located they threw gobs of art up on the walls to lessen the Orwellian effects of the cube city these folks work in. Before this trip I've heard tell of those starving artist shows but never thought anyone went let alone purchased the stuff. The majority of the pieces represented here could have been painted by your grandmother or the shut-in next door.

One work in particular caught my eye. I passed it, stopped, took a few steps back and found myself studying it for what could have been three minutes. I later called a colleague over and asked what he thought was going on in this scene. He proclaimed ignorance but was pretty sure they were standing on the cheek of the guy in the Norelco commercials.

So this person posed a question to me the other day. You're leaving to head home on what should be about a 15-minute drive. Approximately halfway there you get stuck in a gridlocked traffic jam. One problem, you really had to go to the bathroom, number one, when you left but figured you could make it home in a reasonable time. Now you find yourself stuck here in this traffic. All the major obstacles apply; no facilities, no cover, no receptacle in the car and no sign of relief on the congestion. What do you do?

In honestly assessing the scenario, I wouldn't have the gumption to stand next to my car or on the side of the road in plain sight and attend to my need; I would therefore have to loose the torrent in my britches. I was relieved to hear that this was this young woman's solution as well. Man, do you know you took a wrong turn, when as an adult, you are purposely spreading that warm sensation in your lap. I really, really hope it never comes to that and going forward will always ensure I have a stale McDonalds cup rolling around in one of my foot wells.

Walt, Bella and I are off to Chicago for a few days. A few years ago Walt and I headed up there with some friends to do that whole biking Lakeshore Drive deal. We stayed in a youth hostel that had no hot water or sheets on the bed, almost knocked my bike off the roof of my car when entering a parking garage and got fleeced by a ticket scalper for Cubs tickets. Man, I love that city. And, I'm not being facetious here. I truly do love the city.

If you get a chance to ever bike Lakeshore Drive, I'd highly recommend it. Talk about a spectacle; grandiose skyscrapers, muscle beach, private airport, hippie entertainers, sand volleyball and suits eating lunch, this little jaunt truly contains it all. At one point in the ride I spied this pier deal which ran out into the water quite a way. Being the photo buff, I thought it would make for a great shot of the city with the water in the foreground, so I mounted my two-wheeled steed and peddled my way to the jut's precipice. Upon arriving there, my beautiful shot was mildly marred by what had to be a chi-town native.

The second half of my recent trip to Oregon was spent on the slopes of Mt. Bachelor. As we all know the Pacific Northwest touts copious amounts of rainfall annually. The ski resorts are surprisingly not exempt from this characteristic. Saturday, after renting our equipment, a woman tried to give me a sleeveless plastic bag to wear for protection from the rain. I readily dismissed her with a wave of my hand and the furrowed brow I am known for. I didn't come all this way to ski with a garbage bag draped about my torso.

Four hours later, in the upper lodge for lunch I peeled through five layers of waterlogged clothing. I now regretted my earlier decision. Jetting down a mountain in 30-degree weather when you could boil pasta in the amount of water you are toting in your clothes is not my idea of healthy recreation. But when the lift ticket is expired and you're back in front of the fireplace, the fact still stands that a wet day of skiing beats a dry day of nothing on this Colorado-boy's checklist.

Tonight I'm writing you from downtown Portland, Oregon. Portland stands as one of the most impressive large cities I've ever visited. They have successfully maintained their historic structures while implementing new endeavors with a style that does not degrade the older. Traffic is non-existent, they have the greenest grass I've ever seen, an ocean to the immediate west and mountains within sight to the east, a bustling downtown after 5pm, a thriving public transit system, and a Ruth's Chris steakhouse. In full, I would define Portland as the most centered city I've seen in a long, long time.

Now one must not lose sight that I call Saint Louis my home. For any who may have never visited the keeper of the gateway arch, allow me to draw an image. John Carpenter elected to film his cult-classic film Escape from New York in St. Lou because no additional work was required to emulate a post-apocalyptic backdrop. Enough said?

Friend and former colleague chris mcgrath recently made quite a moving addition to his website chronicling war-torn Bosnia. If you ever need an attitude adjustment, chris' site is not a bad place to start. And, it never hurts to be specifically mentioned (on page four at the bottom) to add to the story's intrigue. I think that may be my first external link. I guess it's only right that the guy who got me started in the biz be the one to deflower me in this manner. Thanks Christopher.

1. Do not urinate in the elevator. It may seem like a convenient, private location, but the entrance-way to the building is usually better ventilated.
2. Do not cast objects over five pounds of weight into the elevator shaft. Although the shaft is very deep and has space for a large amount of trash, heavy objects could penetrate the roof of the elevator, causing hurt to passengers inside. This rule does not apply if you are certain that the elevator car is on a floor above you.
3. While forcing your way into the elevator, it is polite to excuse yourself when you need to push others by the arms and shoulders and buttocks. While entering, if you accidentally push people in the face or in the privates, a quick apology is in order.
4. On average-sized elevators (approx. 3 feet wide by 4 feet long) the passenger limit should generally be regarded as 6. It is not polite to force your way onto a 3 by 4 elevator if there are already six people on board.
5. While writing, drawing or spray-painting on the walls of elevator, make sure not to get any felt marker or paint on fellow passengers.
6. While the elevator is moving, avoid contact with the floors passing by the open door. A poorly placed arm or leg could quickly be torn off if caught between a floor and the elevator car.
7. Especially for new users: If the elevator car jerks strongly or free-falls for a meter or two, do not panic or scream. Locals find this behavior disruptive and irritating.
8. While smoking on the elevator, try not to blow smoke directly in other's faces, and try not to touch them with the burning end of your butt. Remember that it is safer to extinguish your finished cigarette on the floor of the elevator rather that to cast it down an elevator shaft and risk it making contact with unseen flammables.
9. If you are a non-smoker, do not grimace, wince or cough while others smoke in the elevator car. This is considered extremely rude and presumptuous by the locals.

Item compliments of Chris McGrath, retired web developer and bosnian resident. This certainly does help to put things in perspective, chris and gina are ever-reliable on that front.

Walt and I are about to celebrate our 3rd wedding, 11th together anniversary. We honeymooned in the big N.O., New Orleans for any nubiles out there. This probably wasn't the best-suited locale for us. We dont drink, eat very little, and reserve our nudity for one another. One might think, well, you got each other. Yes we did, but on this day we have been sharing such time for eight years and we ha...

ahhh, at last, the much anticipated and highly ballyhooed italy slideshow. two months in the making, i hope you find it worthwhile and enjoyable. allow me to apologize to my non-dsl/cable subscribers, the presentation is not a modem-friendly beast. so use em (fat pipes) if ya got em.

and, to answer the question above, i think the final count was 27 rolls of film. but in my defense, 3 were taken by marty and 5 were only 24 exposure.

Welcome to the Stanley Manor of Estes Park Colorado. Built in the early 1900's, this stately place has been the host to several presidents, celebrities and even a few suspicious deaths. Reputed by most to be haunted, including Stephen King, whose novel the Shining is based upon, this storied shelter is worthy of all attention it has ever received. This is the only supposed haunted house I've ever ...

Welcome to outback camping in Rocky Mountain National Park. Our campsite is just to the left of snake there, in blue, at the base of the rocks. Spending the night where the closest human to you is at least 10 miles away is a bewildering experience, given all the humans on the planet to think you solely occupy such an uninterupted piece of real estate is a touch, well, freaky. Any amount of effort ...

By far my favorite form of photo...the candid. Properly done, such photos capture the essence of a place or moment. This shot immediately returns me to New York City's Washington Square where this was taken.

Headed to Rome for a little while, so anyone getting miffed that I'm not responding to e-mail, step off. And make sure to look for the anxiously awaited Italy by Idiots slideshow. And, be sure to also check EBAY for the Roman Coliseum hitting the sales block. I'm going to start the bidding at 5 million Italian lira and claim that some native homeless guy sold it to me for 20 American dollars. Marty said that she will serve as my witness.

note to burglars: we have housesitters.

POPMADOUR: (noun) a man's style of hairdressing in which the hair is combed into a high mound in front.

Holy smokes how does this happen? I obviously had no friends during this period of my life to offer consul in the ways of hair preparation. For those who do not recognize this backdrop, it is the desk and set of the David Letterman show (nbc era), minutes after the taping.

G...