GPOYW- New Passport Application Edition
My parents’ dog chewed a tiny corner off my original passport (the one with all the cool stamps in it), which apparently requires me to get a brand new passport (containing no cool stamps) before I leave for Kenya on Monday. These are the kinds of things that come up when you decide to spend more than a month in a foreign land with only a week to prep.
Also, I was told once that you weren’t supposed to smile in your passport photo, but when I asked Regina, the passport maven at the post office, about this, she said, “Why not!? You gotta look at this picture for 10 years; might as well look good, right.” Thanks for the advice, Regina!
GPOYW: Hitting-on-supermodels edition.
I had to blur out what’s written on the book jacket because it will ruin the joke in the video, but it definitely raised some eyebrows in the room.
Part 1 of this 2-part series will be live tomorrow, so don’t miss out on that. Part 2, which features the interview pictured here, will probably go up Tuesday, so if you’re interested in seeing me shamelessly flirt with someone while surrounded by her entourage and camera men, then you’re in for a treat.
GPOYW - Being interviewed via Skype by the freshman journalism class from my high school in Wichita, KS. I’m the guy in the lower, left-hand corner.
They asked me how I liked working and living in New York, to which I responded, “I mean, I just woke up about an hour ago, and I’m not even wearing pants right now, so you tell me.” They laughed. Some of them dry-heaved, but that could have been bulimic girls or something. It is high school. When I was in high school I caught a bad case of the bulimia.
GPOYW: Kodachrome Self-Portrait Edition
After my Kodachrome road trip, I had 3 rolls left to shoot before the deadline to have the film developed, so I used one of the frames to snap a quick self-portrait on my stoop in Brooklyn. Note my iconic gaze into the distance (or as distant as you can get in Williamsburg). That takes practice.
GPOYW: I just went to the bathroom edition
It was number-1, if you’re curious. And there was no blood or burning, which I always interpret as a good sign.
This level of sharing is why blogging was invented. My only concern is that I’m going to lose NPR Fresh Air as a follower, because a post like this lets them know that I’m really not worthy. Don’t leave me, NPR-FA! I’m only human!
GPOYW: Happiest-KU-Basketball-Fan-Alive Edition
The sign on the door said, “Allen Fieldhouse court is closed to the public. Do not enter,” but you’d be surprised what a Newsweek business card and some rambling about a Kodachrome road trip will get you. 15 minutes of free reign in the best arena to see a college basketball game!
Big thanks to Dave for being a huge help with my Lawrence photographing, and for snapping this pic for me.
GPOYW: 3 Ninjas Edition
Apparently I’m only comfortable uploading pictures of myself between the ages of 2 and 10, but this is me in my prime, save for the incredibly large glasses (thanks, mom!). After seeing the movie 3 Ninjas, my brothers and I decided we needed to take karate, and here we are in our early days. I’ve already spoken to my love for that particular motion picture, so I’ll spare you the redundancy.
In the photograph are my brothers, our sensei (top right), the shihan or master instructor of our particular style of karate (center), and sensei Steve (right). Sensei Steve was not our sensei, but one from a sister dojo. Nobody took him seriously, because he was obviously on the Chuck Norris bandwagon even before all the clever one-liners. Plus, the name Sensei Steve just sounds ridiculous.
My little brother believes that since taking this picture, shihan has been fighting the good fight in Afghanistan, waging a one-man war against the terrorists one hammer-fist at a time. I for one believe him.
For the record, in the roughly 18 months that I took karate, I made it all the way to purple belt, which left only brown and the varying degrees of black for me to reach. Point being, I’ve been adequately trained to kick your ass and then feel no guilt about it.