It’s monday, so it must be canines.

I’m going for simple today, since I’ve got the urgh-and-quease and I’m typing this from my laptop in bed, where I’ve got instant messenger open, so as to appear productive and available and fully upright.

I’ve been skulking down photogenic alleys on the internet lately, and all my explorations have only confirmed that, while all great photographers can take a tack sharp picture when they need to, there’s often more beauty, more art, in lo-fi, hi-noise images. Sometimes, it’s less about clarity and more about the chihuahua’s smile, and the way his scritchable chest-whorl catches the light.

In other words, I love my bigboy Canon, but sometimes only the iPhone will do.

Portrait week continues, and you may have caught onto a theme: dogs and babies, babies and dogs. Clearly, I need more people in my life, because who else can I shoot on snowy days when all I see are little terrors of the two-leg and four-leg variety? The neph is staying with Grandma Cookie and Papou while his parents take their much-belated honeymoon trip, and, as you see, he and the Cookie are exploring the lingual possibilities. What you don’t see here is The Subtle Mother going Gene Simmons on our asses (you’re welcome, mom!), but believe me, Ford is mightily intrigued.

I did a photography workshop yesterday, which necessitated yet another trip to the camera store, this time for a hot shoe connector leash so I can look all photog with the flash in one hand and the camera in the other. Now, I’ve always been one of those sniffy natural light originalists who thinks flash photography seems all fakey-fake. But stay tuned for some cute shots of Ford eating* where he looks well lit, but not washed out. Fill flash! Who knew?!

*I know, I know, it’s a trope as tired as the tree in silhouette, but it’s February and my world right now is dark and small.

Yeah, it snowed again. For the eleventy-billionth time since October. But it was so still and lovely yesterday that even my bitter, winter-hating heart cracked open a tiny bit as I tromped around in all that white (which reads a little yellow here. Oops*). I found this fellow tied up next door and, even though he’s a snow dog and built for these conditions, I was thisclose to bringing him inside and tucking him under the Snuggie.

*Said yellow could be due to the fact that I had the camera set to portrait style, to bring out the warm tones in skin, and forgot to set it to landscape, which highlights blues and greens, or it could have been an overenthusiastic slider correction in photoshop (I get a little excited making the colors dance). I do not believe it has anything to do with the earworm I can’t stop singing this morning, which I’m now going to pass along—you’re welcome! You know the one: Watch out where the huskies go, and don’t you eat that yellow snow…

I’m on a portrait kick this week, so here’s one of two of my favorite people: the Neph and his Papou. Although I call him “The Neph,” his Papou calls him “O Beloved & Long-Awaited Only Grandson,” aka Ford. And although Ford knows him as Papou, he’ll always be Quiver to me. You know, this guy. And this one.

We’ve all got a given name, but usually we’re given other names, as well, based on our passions, our relationships, our funny ears. For instance, the Neph knows me as Aunt Banana, but Quiver calls me First Born. What are some of your many names, and how did you come by them?

Don’t Mind Me, I’m Just Miffled
My brain invented a new word today, and that word is “miffled,” which describes the sort of pissy confusion I’ve been feeling all week. It’s a conflation of the word “miffed” and “baffled,” but you probably already figured that out, you big smarties. The urban dictionary calls this “word-bining,” but I’ve just decided it’s really called “blording,” which you pronounce with the “ur” sound of “blur” and “word,” not the “or” sound of “lord.” And “lord” have I “blorded” two new words today? Color me “miffled.”

For Messy, with Love & Squalor
My housekeepers are here right now, and let me tell you, if I didn’t pony up the ducats for their biweekly cleansing regimen, producers from high-channel cable stations would be scouting my ass for their new show on Those Who Live in Filth. And honestly, if they paid even marginally well, I might consider it.

For Mushy, Who’s Just Miffled
I took a bunch of pictures last night and about five out of 500 are crisp at 100%. The others are a warm bath on a hot day, which is too bad because there are some ruined gems in there. Sigh. I kind of miss the half-assed cameraphone days, when it was the light leaks and vignetting that made each shot special. Now I’m getting all picky, picky, picky. Sometimes knowing more means enjoying less. (There must be a word for that. Let’s make one up…)

Via

Stella’s eight now, with white on her eyes and muzzle, but she’s been orchestrating my existence since she was just a tiny squirrel only 8 weeks old. In those first days, her ears could not even hold their own weight yet, but even then she had the wiles and guile to bend others to her will, which usually involved snax and belly worship. I have to work to be the top dog, but Stella, she just is.

This was a lazy morning shot, taken to see how my new boyfriend, the Sigma 50mm asskicking portrait-honcho lens, handles himself wide open (which, in this case, is f1.4…HAWT!). Even though I got the white balance all wrong according to my photography teacher, just CHECK OUT THAT BOKEH. And don’t be fooled by Stella’s expression. She may look like a dog of a certain age in thoughtful repose, but you can see what’s really on her mind: THIS BELLY’S NOT GONNA PET ITSELF, HUMAN.

My assignment this week is portraits, portraits, and more portraits. So c’mon over and lemme take your picture…

Ford turns one next week, and it’s like he went from babe in arms to leaping toddler monkey overnight. One day, he was dragging himself along the floor like a commando, the next he was standing, then climbing, and now jumping in place with shrieking glee. He hasn’t taken his first steps yet, but I would not be surprised if those steps were taken at a run. Walking seems too sedate for the neph; he’s got places to go and things to poke.

I like this shot because for such a smiley, exuberant kid, he’s also got a serious side that comes out in pensive moments like this. I’ll post some classic Ford grin-porn for the scattered relatives next post, okay?

Oh, dear lord. Ask a stupid question, get a loaded answer. I succumbed to the lure of the celebrity look-alike during a long and tedious conference call. Basically, you go here, upload a face shot, and get a collage of your closest celebrity matches.

My top match is Angelina Jolie, which—woo!—but it all falls apart after that. Celine Dion and her pointy skillet-face is next, then Vin Freaking Diesel (I have to believe it’s the arched brows in this shot of him, and not some actual resemblance), then Twitchy Teri Hatcher. Somehow, Jean Harlow is on this list, and I can only imagine she’s another brow-outlier. Then some other horsy looking ladies I’ve never heard of, along with Bridget Moynahan, who’s classically pretty and also photogenic, while I am neither of those things. At least Angelina’s kind of odd looking, which fits.

OK, now you.

Tell me who you matched with (or better yet, post a link to your results) and let’s see who’s got the most random array of celeb-alikes. So far, I’m winning.

Maybe I mentioned the whole camera thing? Anyway, it’s big…and thank god I have something large and learnable to occupy my tormenting brain; otherwise it would be premenstrual self-torture 24/7 around here, what with the emotional waterboarding and the psychic stress positions. As a goad and an outlet, I plan to post a picture here every single day for the next year (that’s 365 shots over 365 days, people!) so I can track the progress of my prowess. I will also type some words to go along with the picture, since that’s what we’re all about here in Subtle Rutterdom: the entwining of word and image to some larger purpose, whether synergy or collision.

If possible, they’ll even be shots FROM THAT VERY DAY, although I’m breaking that rule already, since it’s Tuesday and my boss has all these desires and expectations and my photo teacher (hi John!) wants me to practice panning over different shutter speeds before class tonight and those shots ain’t for lovely, they’re just for learning.

Anyway, today’s photo is not so great, technically or otherwise, but I like that it looks like the flag of a small rodent nation. It also makes me think of how when I say “skwerl” it sounds like the word is boring itself into a screwhole, but when my Australian ex does, it comes out “skweeeer-elllll,” which better captures the swash of their glorious, chihuahua-taunting tails.

PS: This will not interfere with my usual lazyman’s posting schedule. Expect yr usual array of baby animals and big-girl ruminations, just now with more pix.

PPS: If you click the photo above, it should jet you over to my flickr photopage, so you can see it (and more!) all big and stuff.

I, like you
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky-blue
landscape of January days.

And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.

I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.

And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love,
little things,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.

-Roque Dalton

My Revolutionary-Sweetheart-Hope&Ponies-Bread&Poetry incantation; I used to whisper it to myself in the dark, back when I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years old. I got out of bed this evening to share it here (this being where I whisper now).

image via