Brady J. Shoemaker

So I’ve been keeping a Photoblog…

in addition to this blog, which isn’t too hard considering…

Anyway check it out at http://shoddiness.tumblr.com/ and subscribe so you can always stay updated.

An update regarding me and the intertubes…

Please visit my page at http://flavors.me/shoddiness. From there you can access my Flickr page, Twitter, Tumblr and more…

I got an iPhone…

Now I can post right from my phone and even upload pictures. I promise not too many of Rose…

Sometimes I like to look into windows…

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t set up a ladder with binoculars, or have a telescope in my apartment (anyone with a telescope in their apartment uses it to look at anything but stars). There just happens to be a lot of windows in Manhattan, and, well,  I look in them.

Most of the time, the apartments are dark with no one home, or just the flickering of the TV set. Others have the light on, but it illuminates an empty room. The majority of window are so high up, you can only see the ceiling of the apartment. But every once in a while, you’ll catch a cat in the window, or someone leaning out on the phone or having a smoke, or the crossing from one room into the next.

In the cold mornings when it is still dark on my walk to the train, there is a store front window that has plastic women advertizing a “Peep Show” for those people who are tired of not seeing anything when they look into a window. The light is always on.

But I think there is always something to see. When a light comes on in a window I think “now the show’s about to start” like the picture coming on a movie screen. Except it’s more like the window that no one ever looks into at a movie theater, the one behind the seats, high up on the back wall. The window where the projector is beaming.

And we sit in the dark, watching what’s coming out of that window, pretending we aren’t looking in a window, but we are. The light is always on.

So, I walk down the street on an island full of projection booths and in the cold dark mornings I think about what movies could be playing inside those warm yellow windows.

Actually I got them all cut…

In the sixth grade a kid at lunch told be I would never get a girlfriend until I got a “hairstyle” and for the most part, he was right. And even though I never had a hairstyle, I persevered and managed to get someone to agree to marry me, even with my hair handicap.

SMASH CUT TO:

For the past 8 months I have not cut my hair. Yes, that might sound crazy especially if you know my usual hair length (look at my self portrait). But 8 months ago when I was about to go to the barber ( ok, the barber school for a 4 dollar haircut) I was informed by my blushing bride that I should not get it cut “too” short because when the big day came, I was going to her stylist and I needed to “give him something to work with.” “Okay”, I stubbornly though, “I just won’t go at all.”

I’ll have to say, at first things were kind of crazy. My hair kinda puffs out when it gets long and since I have never grown it out long before I didn’t quite know what to expect. Around March I had students asking me about my hair and “what’s that all about?” but determined to let it grow I ignored my students questioning comments and pushed on.

In May I was able to contain my hair by using the tried and true method of hair grease and slicking it back. I looked like I should be cast in a Martin Scorsese Picture but the hair was less poofy and that’s what mattered at the time. By the end of June the back of my hair was getting long and I was slowly turning into a 70′s feathered hair wanna be. I knew July and August were going to be rough months.

Then something happen…

I actually started getting used to the hair, and the hair was getting used to me. The length was getting to be at just long enough to make the hair actually look “good” comparatively speaking. Bree however had just about enough of the hair and was counting down the days to getting my head shaved. I joked with her, “What if your stylist says that my hair is perfect and he’s not going to touch it?” She was not amused.

The big day came this past weekend and much to Bree’s horror and my delight, her stylist thought it looked great the way it was! She insisted he look at a picture that she brought of me, back in the day, with short hair. We came to a compromise and he took away the Seventies-ness and brought me back into the 21st century.

The crazy thing is, now I feel like a grown-up. My hair is not buzzed and does not look long and messy but it’s cut like…like…like an adult. Oh the humanity!

So gentlemen, despite the odds, you can get a girlfriend without a hairstyle, however you gonna need one to get married.

I believe in second chances but…

I like football, watching it, playing it, I’ll even watch soccer if I’m in a country and they call it “football”. However due to recent events I might be watching a lot less.

The Eagles are my team. And anyone who has a team can tell you, “your team” is very important. First, your team defines what kind of fan you are. Your team tells you what other teams to hate, and what other teams to really hate. Sometimes you may think your team is a bunch of bums or the greatest group of players to ever touch the pigskin, quite possably in the same game. The point is that no matter what, you are loyal to your team.

My team just signed Micheal Vick.

For those of you who do not follow the game of football and don’t watch the news, Micheal Vick was a quarterback who thought dogfighting was a good idea, AND thought that torturing dogs to death who didn’t win an even better idea.

Micheal Vick got sent to jail.

Now the coach for the Eagles believes in second chances, my brother however feels differently and desided to write Coach Reid a letter:

Dear Andy Reid,

I grew up just northwest of Philadelphia and have been an Eagles fan
since I started watching and playing football over 20 years ago.  I
passionately, my wife would say religiously, follow the Eagles and
have supported the organization through the bad times and more
recently the good times.  I have a great deal of respect for your
character and moral values both on and off the field.  Since moving
out of state I take great pride in telling people that I am a
Philadelphian and Eagles fan.  That has changed today.

I am disappointed to learn that the Eagles have decided to make
Michael Vick a part of the team.  As you know Mr. Vick financed and
operated a dog fighting ring for at least six years.  He allowed and
oversaw the torture and murder of dozens of dogs whose only “flaw” was
pacifism.  Mr. Vick permitted dogs in his care to be hung, drowned and
electrocuted.

Several years ago my wife rescued a dog that was found wandering the
streets.  He was skin and bones and would have surely died but for the
intervention of my caring wife.  Spencer, who is the same breed that
Mr. Vick would have been familiar with, is now a loving and happy
dog.  I have no doubt that Spencer would not have done well in Mr.
Vick’s compound.  The thought that someone would be able to attach
jumper cables to Spencer in order to execute him makes me sick to my
stomach.

I have never written a letter like this before.  It would be easy for
me to stand by and say nothing but I am reminded of a quote by Nobel
Laureate and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, “Neutrality helps the
oppressor, never the victim.  Silence encourages the tormentor never
the tormented.”  Spencer has no voice, but I do.

Actions speak louder than words, so I wanted to personally inform you
that I can not support the Philadelphia Eagles while Michael Vick is a
part of the team.

Sincerly
Brady’s Brother

So my brother is not messing around and neither am I. Athough my dog would surely kick anyones ass, so there is no need for me to picture her paying the price for losing, I would not want any living thing treated that way.

However I do believe in second chance and believe Micheal Vick may be sincere in his apologies, but “actions speak louder than words” so, Micheal, you better start giving back before I watch a game again, make me believe that you are repentant in your ways.

And to Coach Reid: What the eff? The guy hasn’t played football for 2 years?! We need some recivers not another QB! I hope that you were truly looking to help a guy get back on his feet, I hope you prove me wrong, but that was a dumb move. Really dumb.

So since I won’t be watching any games, dear Readers, please let me know how things fair with the Eagles and if Michael Vick is doing good work both on and off the feild.

Thanks…

(oh and I still hate the Giants)

I’ll admit it, I never asked for a dog…

I was the one who said, “Do we have time for a dog?” I mentioned “Can we afford a dog?” I remember saying “Will having a dog in the city be ok?” and then the issue of “Do we really want to house train a dog in a 3rd floor walk up?”

I was not ready for a dog. (Is anyone really for their first dog?) I did not know how to housebreak a dog, how to train a dog, how to do anything with a dog. And to be honest I didn’t want to know any of these things.

I wanted to take my time on my commute home, not have to rush home to the dog. I wanted to relax after work, not walk the dog, I wanted to sleep all night, not let out the dog.

But even-though I was trying to be the voice of reason, we got a dog. And her name is Rose. Rose liked to pee, she liked to play and she liked to walk.

Did I mention she liked to pee?

I vowed to be a good responsible dog owner, but it was tough because I felt that I was the one who had to rush home to be with Rose, I felt I was the one who had to take her for long walks after work, I felt like I was the one who had to get up in the middle of the night to take her out, and I felt it wasn’t fair, I never asked for a dog, the responsibility was just given to me.

Of course I look back on this now and realize what a team effort it took to get Rose from age 1 to age 4. Bree and I worked hard (and still work hard) to raise our little dog. But lets face it, 3 years ago I was going out of my mind with the injustice of it all.

That is until one day I looked at Rose and saw that she couldn’t take care of herself without me (or Bree). She needed me and although she can’t say it (and even if she could she wouldn’t) she needs me in order to get the right food, to take a walk safely, to be let out when she needs to pee. Without me, she can’t do it.

That’s when I realize that not only can I do this, and that I have to do this, but I WANT to do this and that has made a difference in everything.

Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy a day or two when Rose is in New Jersey and Bree and I have some time to ourselves, but we miss Rose, I miss Rose and it’s nice when she comes back to be with us.

Being responsible is hard, but it’s easier when you finally figure out you love what you are responsible for.

Central Park has Pale Male…

But there is a hawk in Tompkins Square Park too. He doesn’t get the children’s books written about him or the songs, but as far as I’m concerned he’s way cooler.

First of all he doesn’t have a name, which makes him all mysterious and junk, and second he lives in Tompkins Square Park which has a higher coolness level than Central Park, if you’re in to that sort of thing, which of course this hawk is not, which makes him even cooler.

The Hawk and I are also good friends. Lots of people want to be his friend, taking pictures of him, wanting to hang out with him, but the Hawk and I always say “hi” in that cool way of nodding your head up and saying “hey” or not even saying anything but just acknowledging you’re there and cool with a head nod. That’s our relationship when other people are around.

But when other people are still asleep in the mornings and Rose and I are walking in the Park, or when I am walking to work in the mornings and I see him on a fire escape watching, the Hawk and I have a chance to say “hello” and not have to act cool or tough.

The Hawk and I are friends because we’ve both adapted to city life pretty well, he has squirrels and rats to eat, I have Nino’s Pizza and Banjara. I have Bree and Rose to hang out with and love and he has…well, squirrels and rats. But we both get by where we live, both have adapted well to our man-made environment of concrete and steel, of asphalt and brick. And both of us would rather live with a little more trees and a little less people.

So for now, the hawk and I will be cool because the people we love are here (and the things we love to eat) and we couldn’t love living somewhere else without them. We have Tompkins Park with the trees (and rats and squirrels) and when the people are around we’ll head nod and play it cool.

We can talk in the morning.

As far as Mother’s Day presents go, I’m not always on top of things…

I usually end up giving something from the heart (ie. handmade) and usually late. This in no way reflects my love and respect for my mom, it just reflects that I can never get my act together.

I remember one gift I gave my mom in Elementary School. It was a portrait of her drawn on old yellowish paper in Crayon (or “crown” if you are one of those weird people).  It was a lovely representation of her and since I was way past the “stick figure” phase she had a body and legs, which was good because I needed to draw the “Lee” brand sweatshirt (from the Vanity Fair outlets in Reading, PA) and have her holding the vacuum cleaner. And even at that young age I was able to render in perfect clarity the “mom” jeans she was wearing. The drawing was advanced for my age but in no way flattering to my mother. Still, she loved it, and to this day it is thumb-tacked to the wall.

Even though the image of my mom with a old sweatshirt and vacuum cleaner in hand may not be the one that she’d want everyone to see, I think what I captured in that image is, first and foremost, my love for my mom no matter what she was wearing or doing, but also that she is just that, a mom.

And she does that so very well. She is a mom that loves being a mom even if it involves wearing old sweatshirts and vacuuming (although she does have someone to do that for her now). She’s the mom that will be a mom to anyone if they need it (she was a fifth grade teacher, need I say more?). And most importantly she’s my mom and is the greatest mom to me.

So Happy Mothers Day Mom! You’re the best and I love you, thanks for being my mom.

(oh- and your cards in the mail, or at least it will be soon)

Love,
Brady

A word of advice…

All night we couldn’t stop talking about Fram Filters and how awesome they were. “Dude, Fram Filters are the best!”, “I love Fram Filters!”, “I wish I had some Fram Filters right now!” Everyone would crack up, even Wish, although his expression betrayed his mirth. He didn’t know why or when, but he knew he was left out of the joke somehow. He still laughted, I mean he had to laugh, if he didn’t laugh it would prove he didn’t know what he was laughing at and then everyone would laugh at him, which, it seemed to him everyone was doing anyway, but there was no need to prove it.

Earlier that night, Wish’s dad had stuck a Fram Filters sticker on the back of Wish’s shirt. We, being his good friends, did not tell him and let him walk around all night with it stuck to his shirt, while we regaled the wonders of Fram Filters. Wish did his best to keep up since amazingly enough, he had just yesterday installed a new filter in his car and, yes, it happed to be manufactured by Fram.

By the end of the night, as we were in the parking lot walking to our cars, expressing the merits of Fran Filters, Wish suddenly stopped and a look of comprehention came over his face. Slowly he reached back and ripped the sticker from his back. Applause all around…

So this is my word of caution to you, dear reader. If you hear someone going on and on about the amazingly, wondrous amazement of thier product, step back for a moment and think about Fram Filters. Either they are just playing with you or you have a sticker on the back of your shirt.