I think my life is driven by a flux capacitor because my entire existence always seems to be in a state of flux. Lately, everything’s been funky. Not having my camera, things were weird. And now that it’s back, things are a little weirder. I need new stuff. I want a Canon 5D MKII. And new lenses. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.

Just putting it out there.

Thought I was going to South America in December. Now I’m not quite sure whether I’m going or not. I don’t think I am? Don’t know.

My neighbors have been giving me crap for the past few weeks about my pseudo-girlfriend (their term, not mine). She’s not my pseudo-girlfriend. We’re just friends. It’s mildly amusing, the way they give me grief. My pseudo-girlfriend is mildly amused by it as well. All part of the shenanigans of South Beach Social.

(And here, I was going to include an embedded youtube video of Super Troopers where Farva says “Shenanigans.” Only, I couldn’t find a normal one. So here’s a link to Fountains of Wayne singing Stacy’s Mom. Also, here’s a video shot entirely by the Canon 5D. But you should listen to Stacy’s Mom because it’s awesomeness.)

(Feed people, link here.)

One of my favorite models was to move back to the beach but I haven’t heard from her yet. I need to call her.

Another thing, I’ve decided I’m going to start writing/composing music for videos. Probably not all, though. I’ve got the technology. And I’ve got the skillz. And it’s good for me. Back in the day, that’s what I was going to be. Originally, I was a music major. I was studying classical piano. Everyone always expected that that’s who I would be. That’s what I was known for way back when. I was going to be Trent Reznor. Although, I was more like Thomas Dolby or Jean-Michele Jarre. But I had the racks of keyboards, drum machines, sequencers, rack mounts, cables running everywhere and little blinking lights in pitch black rooms.

Headphones. Mixing. Sampling. Tweaking sounds. Finding that perfectly sublime groove.

So, yeah. I’m going to start doing that again. Photography’s been my creative outlet since I quit music. Now with what I’m doing, I can see where I can do everything. I ran some samples by my neighbors and they’re okay with it. Anyway.

Also, I think I’ve decided to start dating. I’ve been sufficiently single for a while. I think I’m going to run an ad. Here. I’ll work on it and get back to you. I’m a pretty good catch. I talked to the last girl I dated about a week or so ago. She told me that it was kind of a shame that I wasn’t dating. It kinda is. But I haven’t been ready. I think I’m ready now. Dating would be nice.

That’s really all I have. I just wanted to make an appearance since I’ve been really incognito.

I’ve been more than a little out of it for the past week or so. I’ve been so sick, two days ago, I didn’t even leave the second floor of this building. Yesterday, I barely left my bed.

I’m on the mend, though, I’m sure. I’ve let a lot fall to the side which kind of reminds me about how much stuff I do. My camera broke last week. From what I can tell, the sensor is blown. I’ve been without a camera now for a week. A lot of negative stuff seems to have happened which is unusual for me.

I’m not really stressed about any of it. But I’d like to feel better. My roommate and neighbors have been so good to me. P, Alejandro, Miko, Jessie, Mayday, Giselle. Oh…. they’re such good people.

I just need to get energy now. My body is entirely wiped. I’ve been drinking lots of fluids. And I’ve been putting food in my body. By Monday, I’ll feel superb.

So, here’s the deal: if you’ve contacted me and I haven’t responded, call me again today. I have two-hundred and some odd messages on Facebook, so you can send me another one if you want. I’m alert today.

I’m going to be making updates across the board today on stuff.

Today, Veteran’s Day, is my day. I’m a disabled veteran. Of the Navy.

I didn’t do anything when I was in the Navy. I went to boot camp. I got sick (“Cough due to cold,” asks Forrest), and then that was that. After boot camp, I spent nine months in medical hold in Bethesda, Maryland (with a little time at Naval District Washington). I was poked and prodded, sampled and scanned, and now-lets-go-with-a-higher-dosage and okay-maybe-a-lower-dosage. And then I was honorably and medically discharged.

I went home to my wife at the time and children. I went back to school on the GI Bill and got a BS in Math. I came back to the civilian world.

When I was in Bethesda, I worked about 40 hours a month. I stayed in barracks with other young men who were there for one medical condition or another. One friend of mine had a Napoleon thing going on: whenever he was put into a position that he didn’t want to be in, he began to act like Napoleon. I played a lot of cards with Napoleon in the common room. Watched a lot of Matlock.

I remember there being a gaggle of young men there that I referred to as the Lithium God Squad. They were all on Lithium, and they were all devout Christians. Although, they were all pretty mellow about it.

They were pleasant. You know.

My life as a veteran? For a long time, I felt guilt for being a disabled veteran. Really guilty. But I used to really enjoy guilt so it was okay. I don’t feel guilty any longer.

I’ve been sick. For decades now. Every single day, I deal with my sickness. Every single day, I bleed. Every single day, I’m in pain or discomfort. The ocean isn’t helping any longer. I spent weeks and weeks swimming out to the buoy. But I’ve been over this before and don’t even like mentioning it because I’m not looking for sympathy. Sympathy is not for me. However, I am dependent on you.

There are no doctors that can tell me anything beyond, “You have a blood disorder of unknown origins.” There are no hospitals that will make me well. There are no medicines that will heal me.

Nada. Nothing. Zip. (Unless something comes up.)

So I depend on you. Not for the government disability check that comes every month. Not for the free medical care. I depend on you for the emotional and mental support which helps keep me sane (although some might argue that it’s too late). And I can never thank you enough for that. I’m lucky to be surrounded by such beautiful people. I’ve come to realize lately, and not through this, that we all depend on one another.

I heard a story on the news tonight of a guy that was being mugged. When his assailants found his military ID, they stopped. They gave him his things. Then they gave him one of those “we’re cool” hand bumps.

Early in the evening tonight, my neighbors and I lounged for a while in the breezeway as we’re sometimes prone to do. Half had the day off from work. Some (yours truly included) were sick with whatever’s going around. So we sat around and had a small Veteran’s Day party for me. They don’t know it was a party. But that’s what it was. Even though we were just sitting around talking.

“Which war were you in, Scott?”
“The Great One.”

“You were in three days, weren’t you?”
“No, eleven months.”

“Did you get me a card?”
“We get you a card each month in the form of a check. Be happy with that.”
Another chimes in, “In fact, we’re only keeping you alive so that you’ll blow you’re government cheese on us.”

I don’t understand why nobody got me a card. But god, did they make me feel good. Their warmth.

I know my place in this life. I’m not military personnel. But there are plenty who are. And each and everyone of them depend on us. Service men and women are out there trying to do right (hopefully most are, anyway). They’re out there doing good stuff. And the ones that already went out there and did stuff, trying to make the world a better place? Yeah. They need you. Veteran’s Day should simply be a reminder of that.

I hope you did something extra nice for one of them today. Don’t feel badly if you didn’t get them a card, though. Apparently, it’s not really a card-giving day yet. But maybe get them a cake next year. Like Red Velvet.

Oh yeah. Who da man? I passed the 1,000 view mark on Flickr!

Let’s see. 1.6 mil divided by 1,000 = something or other. Maybe 1,600. And it took me a few days to get to 1000 so… so 1,600 times that number of days. Divided by 365. Carry the two… Plus five…

80 billion years and things should be back to normal!!!

Seriously, I’m putting my eggs in a few different baskets from now on. I haven’t done so yet because I’ve been busy with everything else, but I seriously need to drop my stuff elsewhere. DeviantArt. Erotisan. Other places. I really need to shift where I’m placing my stuff and not just solely leave it for Flickr eyes. Best photo sites on the net for sharing photos? Anyone? And not just those geared toward erotica.

4:30pm.
“I’m in my circle, OK?!” She draws a semi-circle, fingers pointed to the ground. She is screaming. She is crying. She is hysterical. The Dominican leans against the stop sign, the bike is on the ground. The police are at their wit’s end.

She is certain the bike is hers. I was asked to come down and identify the young man as the thief. I looked at him and I couldn’t say that it was him. The officer said if I could, I would need to come to a lineup. I responded that unless every other man in the lineup was a Hasidic Jew, there was no way I could pick the guy out.

This did not make Luciana happy. Right about then is when she drew the circle. The Dominican was willing to SELL her back her bike for $60. She had no proof it was hers. It wasn’t pretty.

10pm.
The building begins to thin out as neighbors make their way out for the night.

12:24am.
Lincoln Road. Still tons of people. TONS of people.

1:08am.
On Collins, I see a hooker approaching me. She’s dressed well for the part.
“Hey baby,” and she is now walking with me arm in arm. I realize that, in fact, she is a hooker.
She tells me that she just moved here two weeks ago from California. That she spent the first five days in jail because of a big crackdown before Obama came to town.

“What part of California are you from,” I ask. I’m going to be turning onto 9th in a minute, getting on my scooter and leaving.
“Ontario,” she responds.
“Oh. Interesting.” I chuckle inside. (I later google Ontario, California and find out that it actually exists.)

She tells me it’s difficult to be a ho in Miami. I tell her that this is my turn, I wish her good luck.

1:45am.

“What time is it,” I ask the guy sitting across from me.
“2:45. Let me double-check. Wait, it’s 1:45.”

I go inside to work on photos.

2:17am.
“The best way to get over a man is to get under another one,” she says. Nice. I hadn’t heard that before.

4:40am.
Sleep. Finally. Sleep. Halloween 2009 comes to an end.

I’ve yet to put the photos from Halloween on my site, but I have made them available on Flickr. Slideshow of Halloween photos here.