My slide talk was stellar, no technical glitches. Small group of inner city h.s. people and mid-talk one of the boys had his head back, mouth ajar. I had to restrain myself from bursting out laughing. His eyelids were even fluttering, REM sleep, quality snooze. I kept it more of a dialogue, asking them questions periodically. I was surprised at one point when a teacher from another class meandered in to make copies on the loud copy machine in the room. Q&A was fun, I passed around my equipment and they marveled at the weight of it all. After that a lunch engagement and then I photographed an immigration attorney. Specialty: sports stars & executives. One of her co-workers came in to offer a facial expression critique and it was revealed that she's a closet BSB (that's Backstreet Boys/Boyz to those of you not in the teen loop) fan.

Tomorrow I am participating in a collective show & tell - I am the show & tell item du jour at a local high school. I'm recycling a tray of slides for this and I have to go through and make sure the material is appropriate, I suppose. Slide talks are like weird dreams: dark room, your images are really big and disjointed, and all you can hear is your voice speaking out into the darkness for what seems like e-ter-ni-ty. Note for tomorrow to self: no swearing, no swearing, no swearing. One section of the slide tray is editorial and one image is from the clinic protests a while back. The image is kooky Rev. Schenk holding "Tia," the fetus, in his hands. This school is Catholic and the students will have just come from lunch, maybe not.

Yesterday I had a great freelance gig for a film production studio, as the still shooter. The event was a massive car auction for dealers (cars, not drugs) and among the several secret things I learned about the world of auctions was this: auctioneers, even the ones who auctioneer so fast it's not English, go to school for two weeks. That might be only ten days if they have weekends off for age old cramming. And another thing: car auctioneers don't use gavels, they use rubber hoses from engines to whack at each deal's end for drama.

A woman in the car next to me on the early morning expressway was very busy curling eyelashes as I passed her in my car. I did not pass in fear but in pure haste. I am also an auto-multi-tasker and would like to ask all anti-auto-multi-taskers to accept that some drivers are individuals with special skills who can safely accomplish much more than operating car & radio before park mode. In one of my prescribed magazines I saw an ad for a DVD player designed for dashboards (as in for driver and passenger, not a back mini-van seat DVD): the guy in the photo is having someone pump his gas as he watches a scene in which a meta-car is in the midst of a yellow fireball. Apparently intra-car amenities are acceptable as long as they're hands-free. This rankles my driving+cell-phone using self. Even with my snazzy ear piece I have to dial, yikes, and close my phone! But, wait a second, the DVD user has to, like a CD listener, eject, FF, etc. Ban my cell phone and I'll ban your cup of coffee, takeout, and drivesmokes.

The last post was written back before my facial skin was treated to 3.5 hours of roasting as I forgot to slather on the usual SPF 615 lotion before yesterday's FTAA rally & march & belly-to-belly protesters/cops standoff. Headed via thruway to the international border/Peace Bridge and then ended up on the wrong side of the law/police barricade of nose-to-tail garbage trucks, and dozens of units of marching (and chanting) SWAT team members, State Troopers, border patrol, and policemen. After much confusion and conflicting advice from aforementioned as to where to park my vehicle, I intended to leave it somewhere near the garbage trucks which greatly upset a little officer in huge orange rain coat (note: not a cloud in the sky). He yelled, baton up, as if to batter my vehicle. He screamed so loud it was rather amazing, his eyes had that glazed look of someone post-drinks & pre-fight - or someone who's had way too much uppity substances. He told me to remove myself and my vehicle and gave me vague directions, shouting "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, MA'AM?" When I heard the ma'am part I sort of chose to ignore him and kept driving, and thinking 'Fuck You, Sir.' Well that wasn't a wise, but rather a wiseacre, idea as he then yelled even LOUDER and ran towards my vehicle (note use of vehicle rather than car) with his baton higher. That made ten others in similar attire run towards me and the vehicle. I stopped then. He leaned into my car, his scary little face very near mine. I thought, ever so briefly, that I wanted to tell him never to call me ma'am again. "Ma'am? Did you not hear me yelling for you to stop?" I finally ditched the car and trotted to the march, shooting various people in both the legal and arrest-friendly zones. I saw Ani's mother and told her that she was marching along into non-legal rally zone and she came to a screeching halt, especially after I told her about the armies I saw marching minutes earlier. Got to the bridge and talked with several of my photo colleagues, and some protesters I know. Didn't know any of the cops, but who the hell could tell when they were behind scratched plexi shields, plexi face shields, and gas masks? Only one arrest happened, some skinny punk rocker with an anti-FTAA rag pinned to his filthy wife beater and sporting a skillful mohawk. He was later graciously released and I was the only media hack who did not run after him to make him hero for a day (I got him when he was wrassled to the ground). At one point I was nearly pressed against a SWAT guy when I turned and whacked my head on his shield. I then asked him some small-talk-style questions about the weight of his shield, etc. One of several weird moments: it's typical for the authorities to be irked by pressing media but suddenly yesterday the protesting mass was asking media to get out. One of my pals said his feelings were hurt. A revolution without still and video cameras is not only foolhardy, but suspect. 3.5 hours and then the protesters turned to go to another rally, and I made my brunch engagement, regaling some non-media friends with snippets which I washed down with strong coffee.