On a personal level, I’d been trying to affect the weather for a long time. To talk, to reason and to help make sense based on the sense I have. And I thought I was doing some good. After all, there were moments of clearing light visible through the disappointingly overcast sky. But one day, as the darkness deepened, I realized, I’m not responsible for these—what I’ll call—meteorological changes, good or bad. It’s like I’d been a weatherman, waving his hands at the clouds, taking credit for their change in direction. The question is; when will I stop hoping they’ll change for me?
He’d come from a long line of ographers. Dad was a photographer. Grandmother on his mother’s side had been a biographer, then, when she wrote a book about writing books about other people’s lives, an autobiographer. Mom was a cartographer – although not a very good one – she’d gotten lost attempting to map a particularly remote section of the Andes Mountains and had never returned. And his cousin Jake had been, for a short time, a choreographer—but, attempting to combat the more or less constant challenges to his heterosexuality, had made a successful transition to pornographer. And here he was, with his camera, digitally recording behind the scenes events at high-profile advertising commercial shoots. He was an A-list, B-roll, videographer.