Tag Archives: Inner child


Hey guys!!!

What have we been doing all this time we haven’t been blogging?
We’ve been lying on beaches, sipping margaritas and working on our tans.

Yeah, right. In our dreams…

No we’ve been doing the whole “working for a paycheck to pay the rent” thing. And putting together our very own ETSY SHOP!!!!

Yes thats right, we’ve got an etsy shop. We caved in to public demand and put up our very own shop. So if you need a gift for that someone special during the holidays or just need to quench that burning desire to spend a few bucks, please consider purchasing one of our amazing prints!

You’ll sleep better at night knowing you’ve supported a local artist (local in the general sense of the word. I mean, we’re both from the planet Earth I assume) and that one of our prints (soon to be YOUR PRINTS) came direct from our adventures on the road. It’ll probably still have the faint smell of stale cigarettes and dirty martinis.

Now, when you view our shop, we only have about a fraction of the photos we took up at the moment. Don’t worry; we’re uploading more and more every minute. AND when you view our WEBSITE any and all of those photos are also up for grabs. Just email up with the title and info, and we’ll sell you one of those. We’ll sell you any and all of our prints.

Shit, we’ll even sell you our grandmothers. As long as you don’t mind long nights of Scrabble and shots of Ensure.
Really. They’re mean Scrabble players.

So to conclude: ETSY

Go buy.


That is all

This is one of those A-Mazing prints you can purchase from our Etsy shop!


Oh wow, look at this. ANOTHER A-Mazing photo!!!

-M & V


Monday mornings are perfect for a hangover

New Orleans is beautiful. Mardi Gras beads hang from picturesque trees like spanish moss. Everything is old and dirty and perfect. I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say that we had the time of our life here.

Getting to New Orleans was a bit of an adventure. Lots of driving down grassy (often dull) stretches of road in Alabama. We found a couple really awesome abandoned buildings (pictures to come, don’t worry), and I found out that I was running in the local election for a judge’s position. We were tired and maybe even a little cranky until Mobile, AL which was a pretty neat town and had some of the charm we would find through Louisiana. We cruised down 90, by the ocean, facing a beautiful sunset. We pulled over and ate dinner under a full rainbow over a pier. Yes, we’re just THAT good. By the time we rolled in to town, it was 9:30 and we were wind-blown, exhausted, and looking forward to bed. But that is not what you do in New Orleans on a Saturday night. no. oh no.

We went to Bourbon street.

We got wine and daiquiris TO GO. and drank them while WALKING DOWN THE STREET.             IN PUBLIC.  It’s LEGAL.

That was the biggest cluster of people and jazz and drinking and strippers and men dangling beads over balconies and drag queens and brides to be and business men and homeless men and drunk men and women dressing in full glitter costumes and masks and voodoo and hipsters and hippies and tourists and poets and every last one of them were partying. The jazz electrified the air. the alcohol poured freely into the street. everyone was dancing and singing. I was shamelessly blinding all of them with my flash and collecting several rolls full of wild ecstasy.

The day after is a blur of shooting and exploring. The highlight being a bar Mary barged into for a cold beer. Our feet hurt, we were tired from walking everywhere, we needed a rest and we were hungry. Unfortunately they didn’t have any food I could eat at the bar, so Mary had a beer, I had a water, my feet had a break, and we planned to jet out as soon as we finished; but these unexpected times are the times when shit happens you won’t forget. Mary left for the bathroom and Mary, our bartender, came out from the kitchen and she and I started chatting and venting about bar patrons who give you an ungodly amount of unwarranted, personal information and we were neck deep in a conversation about suicides and parties when Mary returned and the conversation only got brighter and more tangled as Paul, the other bartender (BT Mary’s brother from another mother, and he declared her his sister from another mister) came out and joined in with us. We found ourselves accepting 100 proof minty shots, the four of us shooting and coughing and crying, and we bonded with New Orleans right then and there. I gave BT Mary our bumper sticker and she let Mary put it on the bar mirror and we took pictures, and I tell you that we all must have been friends in a former life. They felt like family. It was wonderful.

Last night we partied pretty solidly. A lot of wine. One shot that tasted like swill. Lively conversation with our hostess, Coleen and her friend Justin. Bar hopping. A blur of loud opinions and debates and stories. A blur. This morning found us crawling out of the French Quarter, “like iguanas,” doing the walk of shame that can only come, I believe, from New Orleans. Here, it’s accepted, expected and widely done. Here, you live your life and that is your life and you will not be judged or scorned or bothered. I fucking love this jazzy, spicy, dirty city.



Holy Hallelujah. I love New Orleans.

I had no idea what to expect. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting anything. I mean, I thought it was cool we were going to drive through, and even better when I found out that we had a place to stay for free. But I’ve been so focused on getting to Arizona (and definitely getting out of Alabama) that I didn’t really give New Orleans much thought.

My bad.

We drove through Alabama all day and as Valerie said above, we found some cool abandoned sites like this one

Abandoned post office off of Route 5 in Alabama. Taken using 35mm Kodak Gold 400 speed film. M.Miller

But by the end of Alabama we were cranky. Mobile was much prettier than I  thought it would be, and we stopped for coffee. While we stopped and consulted the map, we realized that we both suck at U.S geography. Both of us thought that Louisiana was the next state.
“Okay, after we leave here we’ll drive for an hour and then totally be in New Orleans.”

Apparently I’m not smarter than a 5th grader. I apologize Mississippi. I didn’t mean to overlook you.

So we arrive in New Orleans around 9:30pm and immediately headed out to Bourbon street with Coleen (who graciously put up with us, our luggage, and our antics for 2 days). It was AWESOME. I know that if you’re a native here you’re probably thinking “Oh God, another tourist on Bourbon street. How original”
Yeah, well you can suck it. I LOVED it. The people, the atmosphere, and energy, the COCKTAILS TO GO. As Valerie stated above, we were both stoked. We took many photos, had many drinks, and stumbled back to the apartment.

Sunday was just as wonderful, exciting and unexpected. We walked around as much as we could and discovered that New Orleans is just as cool during the day when you’re sober, as it is when you’re shit faced at night. I wont re-tell the bar story above, but needless to say we were thrilled. Now our sticker resides at Mike’s Place off of Canal St. Go check it out.
Sunday night was just going to be relaxing with wine at a courtyard. Except that one glass turned into a bottle and then another bottle, and then Colleen’s friend Justin came and more drinks were had. Then we headed over to another bar where more drinks were had (can you see a pattern here?). This bar was great because as you’re drinking your beer (or shots of unknown liquor like Val did) you could watch the B slasher movie on the screen behind you.

New Orleans has the coolest bars.

If you’re still reading this, thank you. We didn’t mean to write  a novel, and even more happened than we wrote. Swamp rats, transvestites, showers with wrenches, 24 hour bars, serenading bicyclists, strangers beds, cats with extremely small legs are just parts of the many experiences we had that made up our stop in New Orleans. If you haven’t been, I highly recommend it.

I felt like Jack Kerouac this weekend

Kodak is AMAZING.

Sorry we haven’t blogged in about a week. *gasp* It’s like TWO YEARS in the blogging world. It’s a really big deal and we feel pretty guilty about it. But we’re also feeling pretty AWESOME about something else! Watch our video to find out what we’re so happy about! We know that it’s a bit long, we like to talk. This is what it would look like if you met us for coffee (we would love to meet all of you guys, so let us know if we’re driving near you on the road).

Thank you for all your support. 6 more days and we’ll hit the road!!!


Update on our life

First I have a sneaky video that Mary recorded without telling me. I know that I keep looking at the camera, but I really didn’t know she was recording me. Mary doesn’t always remember to hit “record.” She also likes to play with her camera a lot. I have had a false sense of security around her camera. This gives you a good idea of what we sound like when we drive normally. You will notice that Mary has no concept of bike laws. She thinks they are pedestrians and grows irate when she sees them “pretending to be cars.” The problem is that most bikers decide when to behave like pedestrians and when they will behave like cars. You never know what kind of bike you are driving around. Mary, God bless her, hates all of them.

I am happy to announce that we have a map! You can now see where we plan to go, and we welcome your input on what sucks and where you think we should go instead. The map will appear on our sidebar and we will be updating it when we are driving.

As my final piece of business, I want to remind you that our campaign on Kickstarter.com will be ending tomorrow at midnight. we have 27 hours to raise more than half our goal, so we’d appreciate it if you could throw us a couple dimes and tell your friends about us. The url is http://kck.st/z4TzkJ and you can find a link on our right sidebar. Please share us on your social media of choice, we appreciate it.

I’m going to be so relieved when all of this is done. It’s so much work, asking people for money. Oh, and if you’ve already donated what you can, or you don’t have a lot of cash, we’ll be asking for donations of stuff. Please look for a new page popping up where you can send us any old film or photography equipment you don’t want (because we probably do).

I have poured my heart and soul into this project. I will be so disappointed if we fail. I got really frustrated today and drove around town, driving by huge houses and thinking about having so much money that $5000 is just a small drop in the bucket. One day. Then the sun started poking out through the clouds and all I could think about was rushing home to do some cyanotypes in the lawn, and the sucker went away again. C’est la vie. I guess I will have to see what tomorrow will bring.


Confessions of a hermit.

Thank GOD I did not have to assist this week at the studio. If I were waking up at 6:30 AM then I would not have been able to stay up until 4:30 AM on Monday, compressing and re-compressing that damn video that I am fucking proud of. It just about killed me. The stress of making everything work flawlessly, mostly on schedule, and without any major arguments was enough to make me sick. Getting sick might have something to do with my coffee/grapefruit juice/champagne diet, but I’m pretty sure it was the stress. I am alive, and writing to you now, but I just want you to know, that I was ill-prepared for what it would do to me. I feel like I’m back in college again.

That said, I have spent the past few days relishing the luxury of not doing anything and not paying the consequences. Which only resulted in my obsession with the wreaths hanging on the doors of my neighbors. No offense, neighbors, but they lack imagination.
wreath collage

Here is a quick capture of the wreaths at fault. We have everything from the wreath that’s been up since last fall, the wreath that’s plausibly been up since the Christmas before last, and the people who want it to snow on the fourth of July. I’m not entirely sure what’s up with the moss heart requesting “peace.” Is this from Christmas? Are they hippies? I can understand if they’re hippies, but it’s just a little Hallmark. The hideous-angel-wreath-people left their door open, so I had to sneak a shot of it behind a bush. It’s small, but you can smell the ugly. My least favorite wreath is also the newest one of the bunch. It’s directly across the lawn from my apartment, and I have this paranoia that’s it’s smiling happily at me just to make me feel inferior about my wreath-less door. It’s also pointing the finger at all the front-door faux-pas happening in the complex; it sits there and says “Hey guys, don’t you know it’s springtime?” I want to rip the stupid yellow thing down. The worst part is that they are also planting pansies around their front step and two days ago they set out this ENORMOUS Japanese maple IN A BIG-ASS POT. You just know they’re going to take that thing with them when they move into their perfect, precious, suburban, new-construction home. I have the same irrational hate for them as I have for Kelly Ripa. How can that woman be so, fucking perky all the damn time?

I understand that I need to take a major chill pill, stop hating on suburbia (since I kinda live there now), and grow up. I understand, and I plan to grow up when I get all the foolish and rash impulses out of my system.

My plan of attack is to make a wreath for my door. At first I wanted to make one out of broken vinyl records, then I remembered this clothespin wreath I saw to hold tea bags and thought that would be controversial if I replaced the teabags with condoms. I would maybe add an uncomfortable little sign that said “No sex is safe sex, but if you’re going to do it, take a condom.” Maybe it could say something about love being in the air. Or maybe the back of every condom could have a Bible verse condemning either sex before marriage or contraception. Then I could enjoy the faces of displeased neighbors all day long from my window. Would you take it? Man, what a great piece of angsty installation art that would be. Now, this idea would upset my roommate, parents, and probably cost more than the satisfaction it would give me to be the neighborhood assholes, so I’ve discarded it. I could do the same with polaroids, but I thought I might throw this idea out to our readers and ask for some creative, yet somewhat appropriate ideas and opinions. I’m making a wreath.


We are the lost girls

This is what happens when you go off road.

Second star to the right and straight on til morning

Why I Love the Word Fuck

It has been brought to my attention many, many, many times that I have an affinity for swearing. More specifically, for the word fuck.

I can’t help it. I fucking love all swear words, but especially that one. And honestly, I don’t know why I have to be sorry for it or try to curb my appalling language. True I use it quite often, but to be fair it is sincere every time I say it. I’m not one of those people who uses it so liberally that it has lost its shocking but enticing feel.

Why do I love this word?

Well for one thing, it is so versatile. Unlike other swear word such as shit or damn you can use fuck in every situation. Really. EVERY situation.
Damn and shit are great words, and I use them in appropriate circumstances, but their use is limited. Damn, for instance, can only be used with glee (Hot Damn!) or anger (damn you!), and is pretty low on the profanity scale.

**If there were a profanity scale, ranging from 1-11, damn would qualify in the 1-3 zone, and shit would be around 5-7, depending on the usage. Shit alone is probably a 5, but “cocksucking shitbag” would merit a 7, or possible even an 8**

Unlike damn, shit is usually said with a feeling of only anger or frustration. “That test is today? Shit!” Or if  you’ve bumped your foot on the corner of the table, then its usually “SHIT!”

Fuck, however. Oh fuck. Its wonderful. Its lovely. Its magical. It conveys every feeling on the emotional rainbow and can be used as a multitude of grammatical structures. It expresses pain, sadness, happiness, frustration, and lust. Hence, the versatility.
PLUS it can be modified into a whole assortment of words. Fucking, fucker, fuckest, fuckyer, and even added into words like rifuckingdiculous or fanfuckingtastic.

Whenever someone uses fuck, you know they mean business. It adds  passion and emphasis to whatever you’re saying. Sure, “I fell down the stairs and broke my foot over the weekend” tells someone that you had an accident and have now incapacitated yourself. But saying “Fuck, I fell down the stairs and broke my fucking foot” adds the pain and anger you feel about your accident.

To my mother who is worried that I might not be able to find myself a means of employment due to my vulgar mouth, I’d like to point out that George Carlin made a career out of using profanity. Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television made him a household name. Rest in fucking peace my man.

Additionally, I’ve heard that Julie Andrews has quite the mouth, swearing like a sailor according to her co-stars. And that bitch can make anything seem classy. Kudos to you Julie. Go on with your Mary Poppins badass self.

If you were too lazy to read this article, here is a video recap.


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