Some summer sun in April

So, these past two days have been an early precursor to the upcoming summer. I couldn't miss the opportunity to soak up some sun. You couldn't ask for better weather. Sunny, cloudless, highs in the upper seventies to low eighties.

It's always the little things that get you. I had forgotten to take some sunscreen lotion with me. I only spent two hours at the beach. However, the last hour was on my stomach immersed in a new book I had gotten my hands on. It's not to say the book was that great, but that my brain needed something besides photoshop and f-stops. So, I paid the price for my oversight.

My back is already aflame with a recognizable heat that says that I overdid it. And yes, my back is the same color as a scalded lobster. Well, when I finally heal, I'll have the makings of a good suntan. An opportunity that may not appear again until May.

Where am I again?

This past weekend, I worked on my own, as a freelance photographer, for the first time. No one else to take the blame if a certain shot didn't come out. No safety net if pictures didn't expose correctly. I kind of liked the thrill I got with those thoughts.

Which, I might add, is probably the only good thing about it. I was working a sweet sixteen. A beautiful, blue eyed, blonde haired, young lady who really wanted to get the party started with as I shot formal pictures of her. Which I let her do in short order.

That's when I realized what dancing means to a teenager. Or what it might have been if they were actually facing each other when dancing. Yes, I signed up to photograph a four hour long grindfest with her mother and father grimly watching the ensuing "action" going on.

Couples were line grinding against a railing. Free lap dances were to be had in the VIP section. Stripper moves on a raised ledge. More panty flashing than I've seen in a few years. Girls with their hands on the floor, asses in the air, male friends bumping and grinding up against them. Was I at a sweet sixteen or a strip club? And if I were at the latter, why was I hired to take pictures?

I don't remember any of the sweet sixteens I attended as a teenager being quite as raunchy as this one was. And I attended quite a few of them. Heck, I remember a time when I watched a group of boys ridicule a girl for wearing spandex. I think I might be a different person if those sweet sixteens I attended had been like that. Almost wish I were ten or twelve years younger so I could go participate. *grin*

This is also the first time where I had to carefully inspect each image I took for decency, since I was giving these pictures to this girl's parents. If this girl only knew how many incriminating pictures didn't make it onto the CD I gave her parents. My present to the sweet sixteen girl, I guess.

The next day, I did a bat mitzvah for the DJ company, which seemed particularly wholesome after this sweet sixteen. I can't believe I used that word, wholesome. Must be getting old or something.

It all ends with a mile. (Reaching out to a shy person)

Lately, I've been receiving a lot of views from people all over the world visiting my blog with a common theme. How to communicate with a shy person. I am often left in wonder by these visits.

I wonder if these people whom look to insert themselves into a shy person's life do so without malice or ill intent. I wonder if they understand that each individual is a sensitive human being that has erected this shyness as a defense against an uncaring world and universe. I wonder if these are truly genuine people who are willing to put forth the time and effort to really commune with such intractable people, all of them, shy individuals. Something to note carefully, that each shy person is an individual.

I'm sorry to point out that there is no all encompassing guide or map that opens the doors to their quiet persona. I hope that those who visit here understand that. That's not to say that there are some keys that may work. I offer them to everyone because each and every single individual on this earth needs and wants positive attention from others whether they agree or deny that fact.

I own a shirt, a very old one, that has several words on it, all but one crossed out. It goes something like this: Black, White, Yellow, Red, Brown, Human. Embracing that concept is the first key.

However, that concept alone does not open doors to these individuals. As hokey as it sounds, a Christian concept that is often forgotten is the next key. Love your neighbor. It's hard to love individuals whose personalities aren't immediately accessible. Especially when they are children. That quiet, well behaved, attention-avoiding child is the first one to be ignored. So, to put it succinctly, you have to be willing to notice the ones who don't put themselves forward, or first for that matter.

Yet, noticing them also doesn't ensure that they will be willing to be open to you. Kindness is another key. Recognizing that harsh words surely slam the defensive shell around these sensitive souls faster than it takes to say "No," is a necessary ability. Compassion goes hand in hand with kindness.

Of course, you can't show kindness and compassion without engaging them. Even though you're not aware of it, they are quite aware of you and hoping that you will engage them. But how do you do that if words only make them act more shyly? It should be obvious to everyone. It's extremely universal too.

Do you know what that is? It's a honest and genuine smile.

A sharp coifed man

What is it about hair styles that women give so much attention to them? It never fails that when I get a hair cut, I inevitably catch people (especially women) around me giving me lingering looks. Today, I've caught out of the corner of my eye five six different (and attractive) women (as well as two guys) stare at me. If I had looked at them that long, they'd be very uncomfortable! One even looked straight back at me as she walked on by. I don't get it.

Last week, the same server that didn't even glance my way became flustered and all thumbs today serving me. I didn't look at her nor act any differently. Do I look that differently to them?

I begin to think that this reaction must be genetically hard coded somehow. Are women predisposed to visual attraction to clean cut men? Is it because I present to them an appearance of reliability and stability because my hair is cut close to my head? Some day, I'll dare pose this to some woman and see what answers I get.

As I've said often enough before, I don't mind the looking, I just don't understand why I get them only after I get a hair cut. Anyone want to explain this phenomenon to me in the mean time?