Ploafmaster General

The best camera is the one you have with you.

I don't know who said that first - searching for a proper source is tough because it's been appropriated by countless blogs, photographers, and even electronics manufacturers. But I think we all get the point - photography is about the photograph, not the gear. Pining for the next great piece of equipment is fruitless and wastes the energy you could be putting into the the next great piece of imagery.

There's another, oft-stated meaning behind this post's leading aphorism: regardless of how many and what sort of cameras you own, the best isn't always measured absolutely by lens quality or megapixels or film/sensor format. You take the picture in front of you with the camera on your person and be grateful for having seen it at all. I'd combine these two meanings and say that if you want to take pictures you need simply have some form of camera - pinhole, digital point-and-shoot, or medium format - and have it with you as often as possible.

That's all fine and dandy. I do happen to have a lot of cameras. Most of them were given to me, and some I've purchased. I only use a handful of them these days, but my clear favorite is a bulky and heavy Mamiya medium format camera. This thing weighs around 6 pounds with lens and metered prism attached, and I only get 10 shots per roll of 120-format film. I have two interchangeable backs, but this still makes for frequent film changing and a lot of weight to carry over my shoulder when in use. Now it's easy for me to consider the capabilities of this camera and judge it my best camera. But due to its bulk I don't often take it with me unless I have plans to use it. I was willing to lug it around Ireland because I intended to use it for vacation photos, for example.

I don't just throw this beast in the car with me, however, when I head to the coffee shop. And I don't take it with me to the office. And I don't take it with me on any casual outings. Why? Because it's cumbersome and inconvenient. And I sweat too easily as it is without carrying this thing everywhere.

But I think this needs to change because my real problem ends up being that I don't take any other camera with me since the Mamiya is the one I really want to use. So this morning, for the millionth time, I saw a glorious photo opportunity...

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...only I missed it because I didn't have a camera with me at all. A combination of my laziness and stubbornness left me undone. If I'd taken any of my cameras with me I could have made the photograph I saw in my head. But I really saw that photograph in a 6x7 landscape format with all the detail of medium format film.

So here's the thing: I already know that I love photography - taking pictures, processing them, sharing them with people. I'm faced with some choices, though: either get over my desire to use the Mamiya over my other cameras, or get over my feelings of inconvenience toward hauling around a huge camera. And the more I think about it, I'm pretty sure I'm going to choose the latter. It doesn't mean I'll never shoot 35mm again, but if I can make this work, I'll probably shoot it less than I already do (for now).

Because isn't it worth my sweat and tiredness to get the images I'm after? Isn't it worth the inconvenience of dealing with short rolls of film? Isn't it worth the more-often-than-not possibility that I'll carry around a heavy bag full of gear and come home without having opened it? I'm not suggesting that everybody needs to use their bulkiest kit when they're out and about. I'm just saying that, for me, I'm trying to get past my excuses for not taking the pictures I want to take. I'm not a working photographer, but that doesn't mean I can't work for my photographs.

EDIT: For those asking, "What about your phone's camera?" I'll say this - about a year ago I accidentally dropped my un-cased iPhone 4 on to asphalt. I was lucky that the phone didn't shatter, but the camera lens was scratched beyond use, unfortunately. So yeah, I do always have THAT camera, but unless I want all my shots to look like I smeared Vaseline on the lens (I don't), the phone stays in my pocket.

Stand by for stream of consciousness (This is not trying to be anything, least of all poetry):

More time. More free time. More time to take pictures.

More time to write. Poorly.

More time to learn web design, graphic design, type design.

More time to pick up new hobbies. To return to old hobbies.

More time to cook. To eat. To see friends. To read. To romance my wife.

More time to see my family. More time to mourn my family.

More time to struggle with my faith. To resent it. To re-embrace it.

More time to go to the gym. To clean the house. To fix the house.

More time to waste.

Oh, hi! It's been a while.

What the hell.

It's over a week after the first spoon. (yes, the name is "spoon." just like that) pop-up dining event, but I still want to write about my impression of the whole thing. It's the second such event in Richmond (the first having been the extraordinary Meddle from Secco's Tim Bereika), and I think it continues an exciting direction for the leading edge of Richmond's dining scene.

spoon. is the brainchild of Richmond cooking prodigal John Maher, in which he brings his brand of artful and thoughtful cooking to the River City. This inaugural event was hosted in the hip-casual space of Pasture and also had an optional cocktail pairing available for each course from Comfort's bar-tending wizard, Mattias Hagglund. I paid for that pairing and got more than my money's worth, let me tell ya.

So what can I say about the food (and the drink)? Well I'll keep it simple: Maher's dishes show evidence of somebody who loves food; loves to cook, loves to eat, loves the ingredients that comprise each course. Nearly every bite in this dinner had the kind of balance I like so much, with each ingredient providing vibrant expressions of their own flavors in addition to careful combinations from dish to dish. And the cocktail pairings! Rarely have I had beverages so well-suited to the food with which they were served. Hagglund's drinks were exceptionally creative while also purposeful and complementary. Even my least favorite drinks at least matched well with the intended course. By the end of the meal I found both my stomach and curiosity sated, and I'm eager for the next incarnation of Maher's cuisine (which, I should point out, looks to be a collaboration with Bereika for "Meddle with Spoons" - heh - which may be more awesome than my palate can handle).

I've heard a lot in the past year or so about Richmond being "late to the party" for a number of things - particularly in our culinary scene. Whether it's food truck courts, fancy donuts, and of course, pop-up restaurants. Sure. Whatever. That kind of commentary misses the point though; it's the quality of the product that matters. And where quality is concerned, Richmond's pop-up restaurants are 2-for-2 so far.

SO, in case you're still interested in some more detail, here's an expanded version of my notes from the evening.

Course 1: English pea soup with preserved lemon, charred onion, and mint

I thought this was a delicious pea soup, but I have to be honest - I didn't really pick up on the additional flavors that much. This was the only course where I thought there was a significant flaw, but only in that the additional components didn't really express themselves. But it's hard to complain about a delicious pea soup.

Cocktail 1: Ron Zacapa rum, mint, lime, sparkling wine

Tasty, refreshing, matched well with the soup - not much more to add than that.

Course 2: Asparagus variations with salt cured egg yolk and prosciutto

It looked, basically, like an asparagus salad arranged beautifully (and linearly) on a black-laquered, routed-out plank. I've never eaten asparagus cooked so perfectly as the tender sections of the plant in this dish. There was a variety of textures and flavors moving from one end of the plate to the other.

Cocktail 2: Allagash White, honey, lemon, Fernet Branca

My absolute highlight of the evening, beverage-wise. I've never tasted or smelled anything like this, and there was crispy prosciutto on the rim (and a little in the glass) that lent some complexity to the whole thing. This is a definitive beer cocktail in my mind, and I only wish I could get the recipe so I could make it myself at home. I'd drink it on its own almost any day of the week. Needless to say, it was an outstanding companion to the asparagus.

Course 3: Atlantic mackerel with fiddleheads, greens, and sea beans

What an incredible piece of fish. There was some little mushrooms as well (I can't identify mushrooms to save my life), and they were a tasty surprise. And fiddleheads - oh my, quickly becoming one of my favorite green things to eat. This was my favorite dish of the night for its use of ingredients and pure deliciousness.

Cocktail 3: Lunazul Blanco tequila, ginger, beet, citrus, and Ringer Farms egg white

I liked this one - it was sweet but not too much, and the faint funky aroma that I get from most tequila worked well, too, balanced by the ginger and citrus. Because of the beet and egg white, the whole thing came out looking like grape soda in a champagne flute, which made me chuckle.

Course 4: Marrow-basted beef calotte with smoked potato mousse, pickled ramp, and bordelaise vinaigrette

Translation: "calotte" is the cap end of - I THINK - the ribeye. And "smoked potato mousse" is certainly a finer way of saying mashed potatoes. Maybe the preparation is more like a mousse than the more vulgar mashing, but texturally they were indistinguishable from mashed potatoes to my admittedly crude senses. Regardless, they were absolutely delicious. The beef was wonderful, tender, and juicy, and taking a bite of everything together was a joy.

Cocktail 4: Broadbent 5-Year Madeira, savory rum, bread & butter pickle, and Ringer Farms egg yolk

Not gonna lie - this was the most challenging cocktail for me. Most folks who've shared a table with me know of my pathological hatred of pickles, so seeing pickle in the bill of materials had me worried from the start. But I pressed on, determined to at least try it and see how it worked with its paired course. And you know what? It was clever, well-executed, and matched the dish just fine. The savory rum was made so by the addition of duck fat, and the pickle component didn't assert itself too much. It was a balanced drink that served its purpose, but when I got to the end the excess pickle did make me gag a bit. I chalk that up to my own tastes, however. Your mileage (should you ever come across such a drink) may vary.

Course 5: White chocolate and cream cheese cremieux with red velvet cake, huckleberry sherbet, and yogurt sponge cake

Such an excellent finish to dinner, and almost my favorite course. I liked the inventive red velvet "paper" along with the crumbled bits of cake, and the cremieux itself was a delight. And I just loved the huckleberry sherbet.

Cocktail 5: Russian Standard Vodka, huckleberry, Gallano, citrus, "heat", and sparkling wine

I thought this was an interesting cocktail, but it didn't have a lot of flavor going on - maybe it just couldn't stand up to the richness of the cremieux? I'm not sure. And the spiciness that made for the "heat", while clever, didn't seem to add much to the dessert for me. While it wasn't a bad cocktail, it was last on my list for the evening. But it didn't, at least, detract from the wonderful dessert for which it was made.

Do you want one of the tastiest burgers in Richmond? Do you want it to have great texture, perfect and crispy browning, and still remain pink and juicy in the middle? Pony up $10 and you'll get a bacon cheeseburger that's sublimely delicious. At least that's what I felt sinking my teeth into a near-perfect patty at Burger Bach (pronounced "batch", not like the composer) tonight. I don't know how consistent they'll be over time and under pressure, but what I tasted tonight might help bring on the pressure that comes from hungry crowds.

Ten bucks isn't cheap for a burger. Full stop. Not when we've grown up on cheap fast food and frozen patties in the grocery store. But there are distinguishing factors about these burgers that, to my mind, justify their seemingly-lofty prices. Right up front is the meat; whether it's lamb, beef, or chicken, they get their meat from New Zealand and claim it all to be naturally, humanely-raised, pastured as they ought to be (their fish is all supposed to be wild, non-farmed fish, too). I asked if they grind their own meat, and sure enough they do. Besides that making me willing to get a burger thats pink in the middle, I think it did a lot for the texture.

My burger was cooked just right, too. The patty was just the right thickness so that you could get the exterior brown and crispy all over (not charred) but the interior was lightly pink. Melted on top was some really good organic cheddar and some tasty bacon. The rolls, which Valerie and I both thought to be quite good, come from across the parking lot at Ellwood Thompson's, it turns out. I don't know whether or not they salted or otherwise seasoned the meat in the burger, but between the texture, cooking, toppings, and bun, it was easily one of the best I've eaten in years. I haven't had a burger this good since eating at The Shake Shack in Madison Square Park.

The burgers come with a fresh-looking side salad, but you can order a side of hand-cut fries. Two people could probably split their small order for $2 that comes with one of their 10 different natural, organic (and in many cases, house-made) dipping sauces. Since they haven't been open for long, they let Valerie pick out several extra sauces for free, and she loved the cilantro and tzatziki sauces.

This is not going to be a regular stop for grabbing a burger. And a better balance of quality, flavor, and price is still best found somewhere like Five Guys (unless somebody can tip me off on a better option - Carytown Burger and Fry doesn't cut it for me anymore). But I haven't yet eaten a tastier burger in Richmond. And you know, maybe burgers shouldn't be cheap. The true cost of a cheaper burger is poor quality and inhumane farming practices. Better that Americans treat a burger as a special treat that we eat infrequently anyway. At any rate, I highly recommend you try a really simple burger to start just so you get the most out of the burger's flavor itself.

And I really do want you to try this place out (unless you don't eat meat - though they make veggie burgers, too). But I have to be honest. I'm a bit conflicted about this place, and it has nothing to do with pricing. It's this whole New Zealand thing. I'm not anti-Kiwi, but I have to say I find it odd that, in this age of increasing momentum in the direction of "local" we have a restaurant sourcing all of its meat from literally halfway around the world. Owner Michael Ripp told Richmond.com that his plans are economically and environmentally close to or better than trucking domestic beef. A big part of me, though, wants to know whether that's compared to commercial American agriculture or the many local and regional producers in the Mid-Atlantic. Are there no comparable Virginia farmers raising good grass-fed beef at prices competitive to flying it in from New Zealand? It's possible I'm being naive; if so, please correct me.

It all just seems so peculiar, though, like the New Zealand thing is mostly marketing (like the tacky neon "Angus" signs in the windows or the t-shirts already available for sale). Delicious beef helped, sure. But that tasty burger I ate tonight was mostly the result of good burger craft, and little to do with New Zealand. But for heaven's sake, get over your sticker shock and go try one of their burgers.

I'm going to split some hairs now. I say that because I'm going to draw distinctions about something that already annoys most people. My pointlessly-bold statement du jour is that there are two kinds of foodies: those who value the presence of something on a menu, and those who value the execution of something on a menu.

A pointlessly-bold statement, no doubt, because to the average American diner, both sub-species of foodie come off as snobbish and annoying where eating is concerned. But we'll set that aside for the purposes of my little post here.

I'm not sure whether its implicit in my wording or in my simply drawing the distinction, but I feel a little bit of discomfort around the first type of foodie, and place myself in the second camp. You can include all the rare, peculiar, or local ingredients on your menu that you can find. That will, admittedly, catch my attention. But when push comes to shove, I actually plan to eat something at a restaurant. So your pastured rare-breed such-and-such had better taste good. Give me instead a fine loaf of bread, expertly smoked pork shoulder, or a perfect "Perfect" Manhattan. You can't get me to shut up about good pizza crust, but I grow cold from a complex dish crafted poorly.

I say all of this to set a baseline for those who don't know me well enough to understand my approach to cooking and dining. I don't mean to denigrate menus with fancier fare - on the contrary, my love of exploration and creativity predisposes me to try restaurants and dining experiences that include peculiar ingredients or preparations. I just happen to enjoy restaurants - clever or otherwise - that get some of the basics right: balance in the meal from start to finish; proper salting; ingredients that work together harmoniously. I believe I experienced an extraordinarily clever menu last night that worked so well because the chefs totally nailed the basics.

Meddle is the long-in-the-works pop-up restaurant from Tim Bereika and Collin Wagner. Tim's been cooking at Secco since its opening in 2010 and Collin has been cooking and working all over the place since leaving his job as Tim's original sous chef. Their kitchen reunion for the purpose of this pop-up was a brilliant one. Together they conceived of and delivered a series of delicious, focused courses that built in richness and complexity of flavor as the meal advanced. Each course, from the amuse-bouche to the dessert, lingered on the palate just long enough to remind you that a) you wanted more, and b) you could never have it again.

The meal started with an amuse-bouche of sea urchin and blood orange-infused tapioca suspended in a cava gelée. Enough for a single spoonful, and served in the emptied test of a sea urchin, itself resting in a miniature cast iron vessel. It was an initially strange bite of food, but it woke up my sense of taste as the flavors mingled, and the tapioca added a pleasant textural element. Ocean flavors continued with the first formal course, and those ocean flavors were oyster all around: poached oysters with oyster leaf, oyster root (salsify), and oyster emulsion. These components made up a cool and light salad with sea beans and seaweed, and left behind a pleasing, faintly salty flavor of the ocean.

Course two was warm and introduced a variety of textures to the meal. It had a playful title, "Chicken or Egg", and it was a playful presentation/construction as well. The dish consisted most prominently of a "nest" made from crispy-fried parsnip shavings, dried mustard greens, and crispy chicken skin. Sitting on top of some granny smith apple sticks was a soft egg with a wonderful custard-like texture, pickled mustard seeds, and a few drops of chicken glacé. This was one of my favorite courses because of the interplay of textures, and I couldn't resist simply stirring up the whole thing into a mash in order to get a bit of everything in each bite.

The next warm course included some of the best goat I've yet eaten: goat sausage, goat tenderloin, carrot, goat curd, juniper berries, some micro greens, baharat spices, and what I think may have been honey? Whatever the case, it was deeply flavorful and savory. A fitting course for the apex of the meal.

And finally, dessert. And this, while reigning in the otherwise-escalating intensity of flavors, still held its own following the goat course. Here was a beet root ice cream (or sorbet?) with malted barley, coffee, dark chocolate, and sorrel. Each little bit of the frozen treat a perfect bite size, like little jewels found beneath the sugar-dusted sorrel leaves, resting in earth. Man, that's some really trite-sounding prose, but I can't dumb it down. It looked superb with flavor to match.

And then? I returned home. I can't go back and experience these dishes again because they were designed to be ephemeral - more so than everything else that we consume already. Here were four (five, counting the amuse-bouche) courses proffered by two chefs Richmond is lucky to have, firing on all cylinders, crafting special items that perhaps would not survive the general public of our local dining scene. But for these two nights of Meddle's existence Tim and Collin, with their collective grasp on the craft of cooking, were free to create food the likes of which I've not seen or tasted in Richmond before.

I sure hope it's not too long before I can taste such food again.

Oh yes, and in case you're interested, here's whate all of the food looks like: 

Last night was the first open-to-the-public night of service at Pasture, the new restaurant from Comfort's Jason Alley. They've been serving friends and family since last week in a limited capacity, but last night anybody could take a crack at the menu (including actor David Straithairn, who was dining alone in the booth behind my wife). I've been looking forward to this new joint for a number of reasons. I'm already a huge fan of Alley's work in Comfort. The concept makes me think of Comfort's food with Secco's format (i.e. small plates intended for sharing/sampling, but with refined Southern food in this case). And the location is in a part of town that could seriously use some evening destinations.

So Valerie and I arrived last night around 5:15 and were seated immediately. I have a feeling the weekend could be quite busy, but opening on a Wednesday on East Grace Street meant it wasn't crowded before 7. But before I talk food, I have to say - the interior of this place is freaking cool. Spare, contemporary, and open, Pasture will be loud when it's busy. But you'll want to be there. Simple furniture and bright shades of green stand out against dark, heavy wood walls on either side of the restaurant. Dangling exposed bulbs on bundled cords shed additional light along the perimeter, and the bar is lined with tall stools you'd more likely see in a wood shop. And the bar! I think there are 16 taps (only draft beer at this place), and you immediately notice two things: there are no flashy tap handles, and there is no visible liquor or wine above the bar. They serve both, of course, but the real visual emphasis is on this gloriously utilitarian row of taps on a stainless steel drip pan, set into one of the aforementioned heavy wood walls. Superb.

But I don't go to restaurants to gawk at the walls and banquettes. There's food to be eaten. And the food here is off to an exciting start! Valerie and I ordered up some of the bread, butter, and jams while we decided on additional fare, and even that was quite nice: some rustic bread accompanied by sage-honey butter (Mmmmmm...) and three jams. These jams were cranberry, fig, and a spicy green tomato-jalapeño - a nice variety. We each had a few beers from a pretty nice selection, and explored the menu a little further.

Now Valerie LOVES deviled eggs, and I hate them. Full stop. But I tell you, her little plate of deviled eggs with bits of black truffle and salmon roe on top was quite pretty. They looked like the highest order of the form, and Valerie thought they were delicious. I, on the other hand, tried out the pork rillettes. This arrived in a cute half-pint mason jar with some really good toast,and two garnishes: pickled red onion with some herb (parsley?) and "quince mustard" which was chunks of quince cooked down with mustard seed. Valerie piled some of the rillettes, onion/herb mix, and quince on some toast, and I said "it's a redneck bruschetta!" The rillettes, by the way, were super tasty without being too salty. Could have used a bit more toast, though.

Moving on from the cold to the hot, Valerie went for the fried chicken. This arrived in easy-to handle smaller chunks with a 1-cup disher of potato salad on the side. I tried some of the chicken, and while the crust was light and crispy, there wasn't a whole lot of flavor going on. Granted, I'm not naturally a fan of fried chicken, but I think this one could stand some tweaking. Valerie enjoyed the potato salad, and felt more or less the same as me about the chicken, but she still ate most of it. I ordered up the braised beef brisket with grits and turnips, and Valerie and I both agreed this was fantastic. Some of the braising liquid was on the plate and added to the flavor of everything else. The brisket was tender and moist, the grits creamy with just the right amount of texture, and the turnips richly flavorful.

Then of course we had to try dessert. And wow, these were something to behold (and taste!). Valerie had the deep fried apple pie with salted caramel and whipped crème fraîche. It looked like a classic pocket pie (or Hostess fruit pie, if you will), with a paint stroke of the caramel across the plate and two cannelles of the crème fraîche permeated with flecks of vanilla bean. Sweet mercy, it all tasted incredible. But I think I liked my dessert a bit more...the "candy bar" made with a rich chocolate ganache and filled with caramel and bits of hazelnut. There was chocolate painted on the plate and flakes of some sort of candy - maybe a hazelnut candy? - scattered across the top. A single, candied hazelnut adorned one corner of the bar. This was an absolutely stellar dessert that could hold its own against any other in the city of Richmond (and far beyond).

What a meal - and great service, too. Michelle Jones, co-owner and general manager, was making the rounds thanking and chatting-up guests, and Valerie and I had a very pleasant conversation with her at the end of our meal. She also told us that we can expect the menu to change around every month, which will certainly keep palates entertained.

Either way, I'm intrigued. And I'll be back - repeatedly!

Here's a detail shot of the wing-flexing control mechanism for Rick Young's hand-build, functional replica of a 1911 Wright test glider. This is the glider that was used to improve in-flight stability after the Wright's had already achieved powered flight years earlier.

I felt like a little kid just having the privilege of seeing this thing let alone being allowed to photograph it with my 4x5 camera.

One of the newer hot spots on the Richmond dining landscape is The Blue Goat - a restaurant beside the art house Westhampton Theater. It's a self-styled "gastropub", an appellation which hails from England where some clever restaurateurs decided to mix the atmosphere of a pub with fine dining.

So the environment at The Blue Goat is pretty cool - nice and open, plenty of exposed beams/rafters/whatever, and the kitchen visible through a window in a small, glass-enclosed private dining room. The bar, where I sat, was straightforward. There were TVs on the wall tuned to NCAA football. I can understand the desire - if this places is supposed to be a pub, patrons will want their sports. But I admit my own unfamiliarity with the dining concept made me feel a bit of cognitive dissonance at these flat panels in the middle of what is, theoretically for Richmond at least, forward cuisine. Otherwise the bartender was friendly, and I had a tasty glass of Tripel Karmeliet to boot.

How was the food? Well, I don't mean to nitpick, but when a place like this gets lots of buzz, purports to do something different in our city, and charges upscale prices, I'm not pulling punches. Now I don't have many punches to throw, but I was a bit disappointed with both food items I ordered.

First I had the house-made ravioli stuffed with braised goat, ricotta, and Swiss chard. These were dressed with sage, brown butter, and shaved pecorino. This dish sounded great, but a number of things bugged me about the execution - none more than the doneness of the pasta. Now I like "al dente", but either this pasta was undercooked or they had too much flower in their dough because it was slightly tough despite its thinness. As for the filling, I didn't catch any flavor other than the goat (didn't see ricotta inside either) - tasty, but not the only ingredient on the list. And the ravioli seemed to be swimming in brown butter. Sure, there was sage, but I couldn't pick up on its flavor (short of eating big wilted sage leaves). I'm pretty sure it was unsalted brown butter, too, with no salt added after the fact. This wouldn't be an issue, I think, if it didn't have to compete with the ravioli filling. But I felt like I was eating chewy goat ravioli in a grease puddle that occasionally had the nutty finish of brown butter. I'm not putting it that way to be snarky - that's really how the dish came across.

My second item was a pair of comically-large veal marrow bones (around 6 inches each), roasted and served with black olive tapenade, gray sea salt, and a little toasted bread. The marrow here was flavorful at the ends where it had browned considerably and came in contact with the salt, but the majority of the marrow was uninteresting. I feel like this would have worked considerably better had the bones been cut in smaller sections allowing for more browned marrow. That may just be my preference, but this is also my write-up. Just having bone marrow on the menu isn't enough to get me excited. You have to prepare it well, too.

So I know that's a bit harsh on the food front, but I'm not going to sugar coat things. This restaurant is supposed to be something new and different in an increasingly interesting Richmond food scene, and I always hope this sort of stuff succeeds in order to keep dining interesting in this town. I do plan to return in at least a few weeks to give it a second chance, however. A friend of mine who is a frequent Blue Goat patron told me they're changing their menu in about two weeks, and I'd like to see if things lighten up (there are like three pâtés on the menu right now in addition to rillettes, cassoulet, and the aforementioned marrow bones). I don't expect health food, but the menu at the time of this writing feels like an open protest against the existence of hypertension.

Oh well. I hope things are better when I check it out next time, but it'll be tough to go back and ignore my first impression. We'll see...

Time to burn that ironic "VCU Football: Still Undefeated" t-shirt. VCU club football lost its first game against the Radford University Highlanders 19-18.

Play was disorganized and undisciplined, but it was still a heck of a lot of fun to watch. Both teams squared off on the field at Thomas Jefferson High school, and in between refs yelling at VCU to step back away from the side line and players cramping up as early as the first quarter, we managed to have some football.

I have to say, there were some promising moments, though. Our quarterback, junior Mike Jones (#7), threw a few clutch passes for some big gains. And we did a great job of capitalizing on Radford's pathetic punter. Of course that same punter gave the kick of his life when it mattered most, and put VCU too far back to march down the field at the end of the 4th quarter. Desperation led to a final turnover that provided the final nail in VCU's coffin.

There were actually quite a few people there, too: around 200-ish people filling up the VCU stands and lining the fence. Chants familiar to VCU basketball fans filled the air, and the atmosphere was generally exciting. The team's website doesn't have any information about the next game, but I hope it's happening soon (and in Richmond). VCU lost, yes, and it's not NCAA-sanctioned play, but I'm just glad to see a football team for my alma mater.

That's right! I'm selling a print of my photograph "golden" (two posts below) on my Etsy shop! Check it out!

Today's the last day at my first "real" job after I graduated from VCU. I've been a database developer/analyst for Affinion Loyalty Group for the past 7 years working on points systems for credit cards. Yeah, it's as dull as it sounds :-)

But I did learn a ton from the people I worked with, and I'm glad to have been a developer for so long. On Monday I move on and leave development behind. Ah! Transition!

So here's my last shot from my San Francisco photos. Ending on an obvious note. But I really, really like this shot.

Val and I got up at 5 AM on this day, and we caught a cab in front of our hotel around 5:30 and headed to The Presidio and the south overlook. When we arrived it was only just starting to get light out, and the fog was pretty thick. It was even intermittently raining, so I had the rain cover from my bag strapped on top of the camera while it sat on the tripod. When it stopped stpitting just a bit, I managed to take a few long exposures, and this is the one I liked the most.

I may not have left my heart in San Francisco, but I do miss the place, and I hope to make it out there for a longer stretch sometime in the future.

Today is the start of my last week at first post-college job. I'm bracing myself for what could be a crazy 5 days as people scramble to reassign my work or get in their last questions before I'm off the payroll.

On the other hand, it could be a slow crawl as my work is reassigned elsewhere efficiently. Either way, I'm anxious for the transition to complete. At least I'll have my new classes starting this week to distract me a little.

Spool of cable at the Cable Car Museum in San Francisco.

The truth is, I get a lot of me time. I get me time whenever I put off taking out the trash. Whenever I curse at a negligent driver from my car. Whenever I'm mean to my wife. Whenever I eat too much. You see, I get me time whenever I give in to my selfish desires. And the problem is that the ego is insatiable. That's why screaming at somebody never really makes you feel better. That's why that next doughnut doesn't taste as sweet. And that's why procrastinating just leads to loafing on the couch surfing the web while an unwatched TV flickers in the background. The common notion of me time where I get to do what I want, for myself? Yeah, I think I get plenty of that already, and I've already said where that leads.

So I want to try and keep the me time in check. I want to, instead, make room for a little stillness time. Time when I can sit, disconnected, uninterrupted.

Be still and know that I am God. - Psalm 46:10