Clif the Lawyer has a Blog and Arizona Justice League of Photographers Rides - the Train II

I'd like to take this opportinity to blatantly plug fellow Arizona Justice Leaguer, Clif the Lawyer's new blog. Check him out at :

http://www.fatesensation.com/photoblog/

Clif the Lawyer is one of the smartest guys I've ever known. And he's got an unstoppable left handed hook shot.

Here are a few of my shots from the Arizoona Justice League's train shoot.

Artsy, huh?

It's alive.

At some point hanging out with talented photographers like Eric the actual professional photographer, Clif the Lawyer and Mario the Chef will start to rub off on me.

Or not.

Here is another of my failed attempts at a group shot.

I fully intend to post a few of Mario the Chef and Eric the Photographer's shots this week.

What did one hat say to the other?

You stay right here, I'll go on a head.

The Arizona Justice League of Photographers Rides... The Train

On Saturday, October 10th the Arizona Justice League of Photographers rode the light rail to downtown Phoenix. We purchased our all day passes for 3.50 and waited. The 10:15 train slowed down a bit ahead of the stop. As we jogged ahead to make the train the heartless bastard left us in the dust. Eric the Photographer noticed the driver giving us a hand signal that must have meant we were number one in his heart.

We caught the next train where I attempted to get a group photo. It’s not as easy as you’d think, not if you’re technological nincompoop like me.

As I was trying to get the shot, I mentioned to the guys, that I had made up a joke that had already been made up by someone else.

"Hey fellas." I said, "What did the governor of California say when he wanted to become a composer? I'll be Bach."

Clif the Lawyer (behind the camera) proceeded o ask, "What did the governor of California say when he wanted to become a chicken? I'll be bach, bach, bach, bach."

I should point out that he sounded very much like a chicken.

I might also point out that I laughed - very hard. It's inprtant that I include this kind of thing so you can get the real feel of an Arizona Justice League of Photographers shoot.

After 27 failed attempts, I was able to get a shot of all four of us. (left to right) That's Mario the Chef, Clif the Lawyer, Eic the Photographer and yours truly. By the way, no one checked our passes. We could have ridden for free - if we weren't the ethical types.

Downtown Phoenix was pretty much deserted.

There was an awful lot of construction going on. I thought everybody was broke.

Here's a shot of Mario the Chef trying to keep up with Eric the Photographer. It's not the Mario walks so slow, it's just that Eric is the fastestwalker I've ever seen.

Hungry from all of that fast walking we ducked into a joint called the Coney Island Grill.

This joint had some serious atmosphere. That's Marge and Hank and they run the place.

We spent a half hour or so enjoying hot dogs, burgers and sodas.

I don't remember hearing Hank speak. But Marge, she was the Energizer bunny, baby. She went on for 30 minutes without stopping.

Hank and Marge are from Chicago, but they've been in Phoeniz for 30 years. She's a former legal secretary and back in the day, she ran a tight ship. Marge told us stories about Phoenix power brokers like Phil Gordon, Fife Simington, and Janet Napolitano.

The food was good, but it was Marge that really made the experience.

If you're ever in downtown Phoenix you're missing out if you don't stop in to have hot dog with Marge and Hank ant the Coney Island Grill.

I like this shot. It was taken right after we left the Coney Island Grill. I forgot I was still holding half a cup of Diet Coke when I raised the camera to shoot this magnificent picture. Drenched myself. Anything to provide a little entertainment for my fellow Justice Leaguers.

This picture had to be taken. There's got to be a story behind the pink rose with a broken stem.

There are more photos to post and stories to tell. Eric sent me some beautiful photos. I just have to figure out how to load them up. Look for The Arizona Justice League of Photographers Rides - The Light Rail Part II later this week.

An Exerpt from The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son

An exerpt from The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son “Surfer Girl"
by W.Z Snyder
© 2008 William Snyder

The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son can be downloaded for just 5 dollars. Click on the link below...

http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4

It's All in the Hips, Boys

What did the governor of California say when he wanted to become a composer?

I’ll be Bach.

I’m sure I’m not the first person to come up with that bad pun. Makes you wonder. How many people did come up with the “I’ll be Back” bit? At least five. I’ll bet no more than 5,000.

The point is I came up with the bad pun for Patel the orchestra guy. Coming up with bad puns is the kind of thing I do when I’m assigned to guard the restroom at a high school homecoming dance.

That’s right, Saturday night Patel the orchestra guy and I guarded the restrooms for the homecoming dance. The dance was quite an extravaganza. Search lights shot upward to the heavens from outside the entrance to the school gym while upwards of 600 teenagers danced the night away on the basketball court. It was a good night. I might add the kids handled themselves in a manner far superior to your average group of 600 adults.

You might ask “How do you guard a restroom?” Our job was to make sure the boys and girls made it into the correct commodes.

Toward the end of the night a cop walked by. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, “Better than you. At least I’m not guarding a bathroom.”

Guys like this clown give cops a bad name.

As the night wore on, I began to search for ways to make things interesting. The orchestra guy and I got to know each other. Patel plays a ten thousand dollar cello, he’s carpeting his house next week, his brother is a struggling actor in Hollywood and his favorite color is periwinkle.

A half-dozen or so crying girls made their way to the restroom. I made it a point to tell them they didn’t have it so bad, that back in the day, my girlfriend ditched me at the prom for the mayor’s son in a silver corvette. If they were consoled by my little anecdote, they did a good job of concealing it.

I began giving the young men tips on dancing.

“Remember boys, it’s all in the hips, boys. Be sure to move the hips.” I told them.

I’ll bet some of them took my advice and improved their dancing on the spot. It is true, you know. Most guys don’t understand the importance of moving the hips. Even if it is true, I’m guessing some of the guys walked away saying to their dates, “That Snyder is a creepy old guy. He was talkin’ me about movin my hips."

All I can say is I’m just a guy trying to do a job.

Say it Ain't So, G Man

I’ve been teaching The Crucible to my American Lit students. Last week we discussed the sullied hero, John Proctor and his struggle with guilt over his extramarital affair. It seems that an inordinate number of powerful men have engaged in adulterous liaisons. Bill Clinton was not the first American president to commit adultery. Many historians suspect founding father, George Washington was an adulterer. And we know FDR, JFK, LBJ, and Ronnie Reagan, just to name a few American presidents, were adulterers. We’re relatively sure hundred dollar Ben Franklin had plenty of action on the side.Winston Churchill and Albert Einstein fooled around on their wives too.

I find it troublesome to accept the fact that Martin Luther King was a cheater. I just can’t seem to wrap my brain around the fact that Martin Luther King, a man who sacrificed his life for others, was an adulterer. Worse yet, the history books tell me that Gandhi was a member of the cheatin’ husbands club. Gandhi? GANDHI? I mean how did that work? I’m trying to visualize Gandhi fasting away in his loin cloth, proving to the world that change can come through nonviolence, eyeballing some hot young number as she slinks by.

“Hey sweetie, wanna meet me up in my room for a night cap after the nonviolent protest?”

A few years ago I was sitting in an educational leadership class toward my master’s degree. It was a cohort class hosted by the Tempe School District and was taught by the superintendent of Tempe schools. I was the only teacher in the room who didn’t work for Tempe. We were discussing common flaws in leaders and I brought up the tendency of powerful men to engage in extramarital brouhahas. Baby, you could have heard a pin drop. Nobody said a word for what seemed like forever and a day. Finally the instructor said something about all men being flawed and moved uncomfortably to another topic.

As I walked to my car one of my classmates asked,” You ever read the paper?”

“Not lately.” I replied, “It’s been a busy week.”

“You might want to check out the front page of today’s Republic.” he said before climbing into his car and abruptly slamming the door.

I stopped at the Gas and Gulp on the way home to pick up a copy of the paper. And plastered on the front page was a photograph of none other than the instructor of the leadership class, a.k.a. the superintendent of the Tempe School District. It seemed that he had gotten himself into a messy affair with a younger woman. The angry woman had made public some embarrassing emails and the superintendent’s wife wasn’t very happy him.

Weird.

But Gandhi?

Gandhi?

Swine Flu, Scorpion Wars, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Man v. Food, and Steve McQueen

It’s been a long short week. I couldn’t seem to kick it into gear after the three day weekend. My throat’s a little scratchy. Of course the first thing that comes to my mind is, Oh my God, I’ve got the Swine Flu! Good thing I can count on the media to remind me to cough into my arm and to wash my hands at least 63 times a day.



SCORPION WARS
My five year-old daughter exterminated her first scorpion last week - got the little sucker with the heel of her shoe. I'm so darned proud I could cry. The Arizona bark scorpions had no idea of what they were getting into when they invaded my household. My nocturnal back yard scorpion hunting expeditions yielded just six confirmed kills last week. A month ago I was killing 60 a week. Victory is within reach. The scorpions are on the run.


Super Blogger, Gueley of Sweden recently explained that he and his daughter watch classic films like Charlie Chaplain’s The Great Dictator.

Wow. I’m feeling pretty mediocre over here. Do you want to know what I watched with my daughters last night? Dog the Bounty Hunter. I'm not proud of this. My kids and I can't seem to take our eyes off of Dog and his gang of cartoon characters as they chase anemic bail jumping drug addicts.

And then we watched Man v. Food.

We are what we are...
Wait a minute, what right thinking family wouldn't enjoy watching some schmuck shovel away a six pound burrito in 30 minutes?

STEVE MCQUEEN TRIVIA
Kevin Costner, Collin Farrell, Bruce Willis and Homer Simpson have each listed Steve McQueen as their personal hero.

Good Evening Ladies and Germs

You know, I did a lot of standup comedy in the eighties.

But now I don’t care what the temperature is.

Lately, I’ve been following Norman Cho’s blog about his experiences doing standup comedy across the pond in England. It’s been over 20 years since I last told a few bad jokes before an audience of live drunks. Thanks to Norman in England, it seems the old comedy eye of the tiger has been working away at my gut. I’m thinking about banging out a few bits and dragging my tail out to a local open mike night.

But am I still funny?

My five year-old thinks I’m the funniest man in the world and so do her little squirt friends. Sometimes a random neighborhood pipsqueak will show up at my door.

“Hello,” the kid will say.

“Hello.”

“Are you Sophia’s dad?”

“Yes I am.”

“Can you sound like Goofy?”

“Yes, can,” I say before executing a dead on Goofy impression, “Yuck, yuck. Hey Mickey, you wanna go fishin’? Yuck, yuck.”

“Ahh ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” The kid goes in to hysterics.”That was good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Bye.”

“Good bye,” I say, shutting the door.

Yeah, I can crack five year-olds up. If only I had that kind of power over half-drunk adults in low rate comedy clubs. If only they had kiddy comedy clubs. Yeah, I’d slay ‘em sitting there at their little kiddy chairs and tables. Yeah, it would be comedy Heaven - a laugh a minute … until the milk came up someone’s nose.

OK, it would have to be a milkless kiddy comedy club.

I dug up a few snap shots from the glory years.
"What is this, an audience or an oil painting?"

"Hey, where're you guys going? I'm just getting to the good part."

Did I mention I watched a lot of Miami Vice in the eighties?

Bad Epiphany

I wasn’t looking for any trouble. Then again I suppose I never actually look for trouble. Who does? Another long hard day of educating the youth of America was over and out. Grabbing the TV remote control, I plopped down on the couch for some mindless channel surfing when my wife asked me to head out to the grocery store for a box of sugar cubes. My daughter was building a sugar cube pyramid for a history project and she had gone through something like 26 boxes of sugar cubes. We were going to need another five boxes. Yeah, it was a big sugar cube pyramid.

Being a good husband and father I did exactly as I was asked. I found the sugar cubes and made my way the checkout counters. There was only one checkout counter manned by an actual human being. Since a half dozen or more blue haired senior citizens were lined up to cash out with the live employee I decided to try my luck with the self check out. Bad idea. It seems that I have trouble with technology. After the transaction stalled out five times I decided to line up with the blue hairs. I don’t know how long I was in line but I had time to read entire articles on Britney Spears, Paula Abdul and another on Brad Pitt. I’m not proud f this, but what else was there to do? When I finally made it to the human she asked me how old I was.

“I’m 49. Why?”

“At 55 you’re eligible for the senior citizen discount.”

“YOU THOUGHT I WAS A SENIOR CITIZEN?”

“Well, you’re not that far away from 55.”

“Oh my God, you thought I was a senior citizen!”

“Well, I've seen you in here with the grandkids. You are a grandfather, aren’t you?”

“But a senior citizen!”

I walked out of the store blubbering like the Cowardly Lion. What a rotten epiphany! I’m getting old. And what’s worse is people actually see me as an old guy. You see, before this little reality beat down, I thought of myself as youthful or at the very least, youthful looking. Sure my hair is thinning out and maybe my face is starting to show a little wear and tear, but I thought of myself as – athletic. Hell, I ran a half marathon, what was it? Three, no… six years ago?

Has it really been six years since I ran the half marathon?

And six years from today I’ll be eligible for the senior citizen’s discount???

No!

No.

no.

Senior citizen discount, my left elbow.



You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to watch Steve McQueen kick ass in The Magnificent Seven. It won’t make me younger but it’ll make me feel better. The Magificent Seven always makes me feel better.

The Arizona Justice League Rides Again - Bumble Bee Ghost Town

The second expedition of the Arizona Justice League of Photographers is now in the books.

We met early Saturday morning at a park in West Phoenix. The fun began when Clif the Lawyer rear ended Eric the Wedding Guy's van and they nearly got into a fistfight. OK, maybe they didn't almost get into a fist fight. Maybe Clif didn't rear end Eric. Maybe they were just deciding who was going to follow who. As far as I'm concerned, the fist fight story is a lot more interesting.

Our destination was Bumble Bee, an old stage coach post about half way between Phoenix and Prescott. The road was rough...

and treacherous.

I had the opportunity to be scared to death. Did I mention I'm terrified of heights?

The town was so minute we literally caravanned right through. Eric suggested we take a few desert shots before heading back to Bumble Bee.

Notice how the Palo Verde tree has wrapped itself arounf the Saguaro cactus in the above photo.

Not something you see every day.

Saguaros are a magestic site to behold. Every time I stand next to a Saguaro I'm reminded from a news story from a few years back. A couple of kids brought their shot guns out to the desert to do some shooting. They stood at the base of a Saguaro and blasted away. The cactus fell on them and they were killed instantly. Guess those Saguaros are heavy. Sometimes Mother Nature fights back.

Speaking of Mother Nature fighting back, check out the gorgeous Prickly Pear Cactus. They were everywhere.

I decided to slice one of the pears off the cactus with my handy Swiss Army knife. Then I asked Eric the Wedding Guy to hold it so I could take a picture. Eric and yours truly soon found out why they call it the Prickly Pear Cactus. The pear you see above is covered with hundreds, perhaps thousands of fine razor sharp barbs that are invisible to the eye. You don't feel them going in but once they're in they sting like nobody's business and they're really hard to remove. You learn something every day and I guess sometimes you got to learn the hard way. Thanks again for helping me out with the photo, Eric.

Old barbed wire fences were ubiquitous.

Darn, I love it when I get to use the ubiquitous in a sentence.

Here's Rick the I.T. guy and Clif the Lawyer snapping away. Did I mention it get's really hot in the desert?

Established in 1879, Bumble Bee was originally called Snyder's Station. Founded by a character by the name of W.W. Snyder, (no known relation to renounded blogger, W.Z. Snyder) the town was a stop on the Phoenix to Prescott stage coach line.

The town died out when a Phoenix to Prescott rail road put the stage coach line out of business.

Bumble Bee, Arizona rose from the dead in the 1930s.

Entrepreneurs built a ghost town and gift shop on the site.

The ghost town tourist attraction didn't last long and what remains is a ghost town of a ghost town.

A handfull of gritty Arizona still inhabit Bumble Bee.

The microscopic town actually has a modest functioning school house.

I guess Bumble Bee is the a great place for people who love the desert and don't care for crowds.

The Justice League finished up the day with a few pictures and lunch in Rock Springs. I'll do a posting on phase II of the adventure later this week. I'll also post some amazing shots by the league's legitimate photographers.

As far as the Justice League of Photographers go, I'm the novice of the group, but I suppose I'm picking things up as I go. Come to think of it, I'm learning not to pick up prickly things.

TEECHUR JOURNAL - 2001

I've been keeping a teaching journal since 1987.

In October of 2001, I taught English and coached cross country runners at Canyon State Academy, a residential treatment center for boys in Queen Creek, Arizona.

Monday, October 15, 2001

My youngest girl, Barit has an ear infection. It’s a helpless feeling when your baby girl is in pain and you can’t do a darned thing to help.

I ran six miles Friday. According to my scale, I’m skinny.

The United States Air Force appears to be bombing the hell out of Afghanistan. Letters laced with anthrax have been sent to the headquarters of The National Enquirer in Florida, NBC Studios in New York, Microsoft in Reno, and today, to a congressman in DC. These are scary times.

They say the economy is headed to hell in a hand basket. Tens of thousands have lost their jobs since the September 11th attack. My neighbor, Dave lost his telecommunications job last week.

The other team didn’t show up to my daughter, Macaulay’s Saturday morning soccer game. Some knucklehead decided it would be a good idea for the parents to scrimmage against the kids. About midway through the game I decided it would be a good idea to attempt a bicycle kick. It didn’t quite work out; I just kind of crumpled to the ground in a heap. I think I hurt my back, shoulder, knee and ankle. But that’s not all; I also managed to embarrass Macaulay and my wife.

Last Wednesday, I took my runners to Safford for a cross country meet. I enjoyed the drive east through the mining towns of Superior, Globe and Miami as well as the trek across the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. There were ten schools at the meet and my boys did a good job behaving as gentlemen in front of the girl runners. They don’t see teenage girls at the residential facility they call home. Chase Sullivan placed 16th in a field of 67 runners. The low point of the day came when Joe Courtney walked off the course because he was in last place. The ride home through a rainstorm was downright hairy. I forgot my glasses and had real trouble seeing on the rain slicked mountain roads. To the chagrin of my boys, I stayed behind a truck, driving a safe 30 miles an hour. The truth is I have a serious case of acrophobia and I was pretty much scared to death until we got out of the mountains.