Saturday, March 29, 2008

Charlotte

I don't think I've ever really said this enough, so I'll say it now. I don't like Charlotte. I don't know that I ever have, and I doubt that I ever will. Most times I come to or through Charlotte, I end up with a headache the size and shape of North Carolina somewhere between my eyes and a little south of my senselessly-kill-things synapses. This time, however, has been a treat:
  • traffic sucks and I arrive late to my hotel and to the Southern Short Course for News Photographers, which has brought to this urban hell.
  • whilst going to a "community coffee hour," I slam the small finger of my left hand in the door, resulting in a painfully sensitive pinky that has yet to subside.
  • the panelists, though hopefully and seeing lots of potential and competence in my portfolio, point out that I too goddamned "safe" and "there's obviously something that's distracting you, so deal with that." (So I guess this is not so much an I-hate-Charlotte-and-it-hates-me bullet, but more of an informational tidbit.)
  • that night is spent restlessly twisting and turning, intermingled with slightly offsetting dreams and thoughts, and the usual question of "What in the hell am I doing awake this late?"
  • overslept the next morning because the damn alarmclock is broken
  • my car was raided sometime in the middle of the night and the assholes didn't have the decency to shut the door, and now one of my favorite flashlights is MIA. but they left eveything else (boots, tent, voice recorder, monocular, TrailMix, various things underneath the seats, fire extinguisher, two jackets, spare shoes, and the rest of the accumulated junk that coats the floor of my car)
  • and I'm not feeling too hot.

Yeah, it could be worse. But I still don't like Charlotte.

Ciao ...

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