Ryan & Jocelyn

I was honored this weekend to be able to shoot my good friend Ryan's wedding in L.A. Unlike many of the other Ryans in my life (and like the Mikes and Joshes, there are many), this one and I go way back. Like way back to high school. Way back to watching Tarzan in the theater, what, three times? Way back to when people regularly used AIM as their sole form of communication because their parents wouldn't let them get a pager or a cell phone. Way back. We've kept in touch over the years because like me, Ryan attended Biola, which, incidentally, is where he met his now-wife Jocelyn (plus, we still totally use IM because we're old souls like that). 

I don't typically make my paper shooting a ton of weddings, but when Ryan and Jocelyn approached me to shoot theirs, I knew I couldn't pass up the opportunity for one of my oldest friends and his bride-to-be. Held at LA's Marvimon House, the day was as lovely as they come: Pitch-perfect weather, a throng of good-natured wedding guests, and a couple whose goofy irreverence and infectious chemistry made shooting the event a piece of (wedding) cake. (Okay, well don't get your knickers in a bunch; I paused for at least ten seconds there debating whether or not I should include that wedding cake pun, and despite the fact that it is as groan-inducing as wedding clichés are wont to be, I'm going to forge ahead bullheadedly. Besides, I didn't get to try the cake so I had to work it in there somehow.) 

(But the sliders were awesome, Joc. Well done on that little bit of wedding planning.)

I suppose most wedding bloggers would include a smattering of names and links indicating VIPs of the day, but lacking that crucial info (as well as the title of Wedding Blogger; they're not too keen on parenthetical asides, hence why I've been banned from the club), I'll just throw a few images your way. Let's all raise our proverbial glasses, friends, in an Internet Toast to the newlyweds:

To Ryan and Jocelyn! And AOL Instant Messenger! 

See? Her dress has POCKETS. She's just that kind of girl, the kind of girl who's like, "Oh, what? I'll just keep some lip balm 

and tissues in my POCKET. No sweat. I'm prepared for this, guys." Which, of course, makes me an instant fan.

The flower girls (there were three of them!) all wore hoop skirts, which, apart from being ahhh-dorable, made me think I'd probably like to work a hoop or two into my wardrobe until I considered that this idea probably only works if you're five years old. 

When You Love Somebody

So we've got a bunny. He's a roommate of sorts. His name is Pip. His amorous pastimes have been chronicled here. And, furthering this exposition to include any other tidbits you might need before going forward, I'm a freelance photographer. Because of this, on certain days ending in -Y, when the sun is out, I can take a break from work and lay in the yard with a book (Infinite Jest at the moment, and likely for many more moments, perhaps even many moons, or at least 300-or-so footnotes), and I can turn the music up reeeeal loud (Furnace Room Lullaby at the moment, and likely forever and always, such is the depth of my love for Neko Case).

Anyway, it's as idyllic as you'd imagine, made more so by the fact that I'm often joined by a cadre of fluffy creatures when I do this. First there's the squirrel who buries her peanuts in Ashley's garden, joined by the hipster-coiffed Scrub-Jay who also harbors an affinity for The Greatest of Nuts (a regular couple of barflies, these two). Occasionally neighbor bunny Bob will also accompany Pip and I for a romp in the weeds. Short of actually communicating with me in voices that sound suspiciously like Eddie Murphy's umpteenth turn in the recording studio, the whole thing is absurdly cute and Disney-ish.* 

Take today for example. I was sprawled sitting primly and--dare I say, ladylike-ly--in the grass slogging reluctantly through the bog of David Foster Wallace's sense of humor reading (and totally comprehending) my book, and Pip was galavanting with the kind of gusto he usually reserves for humping Bob in the face (his favorite position. I just call 'em like I see 'em, folks. Direct your complaints elsewhere). Here's the thing with Pip. I've been observing that little fluffball since he was a tot, and astute readers may recall that I myself used to have a lop-eared when I was younger. Because of that, I'm generally aware of his moods and what certain actions communicate. The obsessive-compulsive circling of an object fifty times? Joy.  The flying leap? Unadulterated joy. Rubbing his chin on people, blades of grass, piles of poo, sticks, or any of nature's peripheral flora? He's staking his claim, marking his territory. Grunting/grinding his teeth? It's like purring. He reserves licking for when he's especially inclined to communicate affection (not surprisingly, the polar opposite of his actions when he's ready to hump the innocent blush right out of something). Today represented the grand slam of unbridled happiness for Pip. He was leaping, circling, grunting, rubbing, and licking with abandon (and if you've just joined me mid-paragraph, I am talking about a bunny, folks. Clean those dirty minds).

I nearly forgave the two gigantic chunks he gnawed out of my book when I wasn't looking (puh-lease. Two pages, Pip? There's a thousand more where that came from, you scrappy glutton). But then I noticed a new behavior starting to solidify (PUN INTENDED, though you don't know why yet because I haven't gotten there).** Whenever Pip would circle me, or lick my hands, or rub his chin on my shoulder, or take a flying acrobatic leap off my back, he'd leave an itty-bitty pile of poo in his wake. Sometimes just a single. Other times a double. Once, after an especially affectionate moment we shared during which our noses were touching, he left a steaming heap of SIX behind. 

Apparently, when Pip's levels of happiness reach critical climax, he torpedoes fecal matter with the scattershot abandon usually reserved for guests tossing rice at a wedding. And if the moat of digested cabbage he left around my blanket was indication enough, that rabbit was nearly catatonic with bliss today. 

Just call me the Rabbit Whisperer. 

*They say that some men should take a stroll with a puppy in order to attract women. My front yarding with the bunny certainly hasn't gotten me any dates, but according to all the toddlers in my neighborhood, I'm quite the catch. 

**(My parenthetical asides have officially gotten out of control.)

Subtle

And in stark contrast to my previous post...here's a shot I took of the LA skyline for a project I was working on a couple of months ago. 

(meh)

The above is an excerpt from the book I Feel Relatively Neutral About New York by Avery Monsen & Jory John. Hi-larious. I will be buying this and foisting its contents upon the unwilling ears of everyone I know shortly. 

Fit To Be Tied

Found here.

Just picked up a similarly patterned silk one from a vintage shop in Topanga Canyon. Just need a pool or beach to wear it with (you know the water's just the accessory, right?). 

2011.8

You, yes, youuuuuu!

Zara SS11 Lookbook

Way to dial it in, Zara.

Fauxchella: The End

But don't fooorrrr-gehhhht what you felt!

(Thanks Loose Luggage)

Loathsome But Necessary

I am currently writing this blog post from the darkest corner of the remotest part of my house, where I happen to be contorted into something resembling a fetal shape, where I also happen to be depriving myself all of life's niceties save for moldy bread and tap water, from whence there is also wailing and gnashing of teeth. I give you this grotesquely self-indulgent vision to prepare you for what will follow:

I've started a Tumblr. 

I don't want to somehow sic the goons at Tumblr on me with this next statement either, but it bears utterance: I hate Tumblr. It's confusing and it's kids and their bad spelling and it's everything that's wrong with the world, and it's too easy to swipe other people's work and it's the reason anyone under a certain age is growing up to be sort of, well, stupid, and...Ok. It's not actually responsible for all of that, but the reputation obfuscates it like a cloud when the intentionally misspelled title is so much as mentioned in my presence. My skin is crawling. 

But as much as I bellyache about Tumblr and LOL'ing and bad grammar and the world going to hell in a handbaskt (see what I did there?), I'm also completely unwilling to teach myself the necessary back end skills to build my own blog or site, and did I mention stone cold broke as well? No? Well, let me bray pathetically from my dark corner yet again: Bwraaahhrrhhhhrrraahhhh! 

Anyway, the themes are hip to the jive, as they say, and I've been thinking over the past few months that I need a place for my photo work to go where it can live in relative peace and anonymity. See, here on this blog? Things are chaotic. This blog is like the 24-hour college party that just won't stop. We've got my photo work deigning to mix with inspiration images, smashed alongside mighty tidal waves of words, all of it bumping and grinding with all kinds of Internet detritus I might happen to dig up and force upon you, my loyal friends and readers. Variety is the spice of life, they say, and this blog is like a four-alarm ghost pepper party of content (at least that's how I imagine my photo work feels about it, anyway). 

So I needed a space for my photography-related work to go (that is what I do for a living, after all...in case you forgot) where it can sulk in agoraphobic peace like the misanthropic miser it really is. And that, friends, is what you call art imitating life. 

Anyway, as I mentioned on Twitter, I'm actively looking for photo work right now. So if you like what you see, then spread the word about Laurel Dailey Enterprises, LLC, All Rights Reserved. Or if you're just looking to stare at some pretty images during the middle of your lunch break, I've got you covered there too. 

http://laureldailey.tumblr.com

Now excuse me while I recommence bellowing self-loathsome bon mots into the ether like the simpering ninny I really am. 

2011.7

On A Sunday: La Vie En Rose

I shot this video this afternoon amidst a few hours of laziness and sunshine. My good friend Lacy from back home was in town this weekend visiting, and I think this provides a pretty accurate peek into what our weekend looked like. I'd considered giving her the exhaustive grand tour of LA but opted instead for a more laid back approach.

Thursday, I gave her a brief Long Beach rundown (including an obligatory stop at Schooner or Later). Friday, we broke a few laws and made a few friends in San Pedro (Gaffey St. Diner, Sunken City, Ft. MacArthur), capping the night with a bucket of king crab legs on the marina and Bridesmaids (hi-laaaarious. I laughed. Chortled, even). On Saturday, we explored the hippie-dippy bourgeois nouveau-riche of Topanga Canyon and hiked a gorgeous trail at the state park, where we spotted a variety of wildlife including deer, lizards, quail, squirrels, and bees. So many bees. Oh, and after one too many margaritas on Saturday night, I learned how to play chess. It was...stressful. But ultimately fun...? I might need to improve upon my woefully underused skills of strategy and forethought before I become a chessmaster, but none of that will stop me from integrating chess-related dictums into every day life.

CHECK! MATE!

(See? Already starting.)

Sunken

God bless you, California. You and your sunken shores. 

Heaven - MLE + Fauxchella

Adam just released another Fauxchella video. This time, mucho chills. The song just slays me every time I hear it, and as a bonus, if you're still wondering what Fauxchella is, this clip does some explaining.

Heaven - Emily Weiss - Fauxchella 2010 from Loose Luggage on Vimeo.

The Head And The Heart - Josh McBride

Two years ago, an affable fellow from Seattle made his way to Fauxchella II by the name of Josiah. He then went on to be a part of a band called The Head And The Heart. A few years before that, a somewhat curmudgeonly fellow with incredible hair by the name of Joshua James McBride was born. I imagine he emerged with lustrous locks much like the ones he grew so long in college that he used to joke that all his insults got caught in his hair, so when he cut it he seemed that much meaner. Luckily (for me especially), Josh eventually grew out of the curmudgeonly phase and now tends to cling more to delightfulness. His birthday was today (I say was, because it's now nearly May 9th), and for it, his girlfriend Jessica, herself a wholly delightful individual, asked The Head And The Heart to perform a song she provided the lyrics for entitled "Josh McBride."

So here's to you, Josh, on your birthday. What an immense pleasure it's been to be your friend. I love you, buddy.

**UPDATE** So Adam kindly emailed me with a further explanation for the Josh McBride song: "Just a clarification- the Head and the Heart's "Josh McBride" has a more cryptic explanation then what you wrote on your blog. It goes something like this (in brief): Josh and Jess meet a mutual friend from seattle who's visiting New York, Josh introduces himself as Josh McBride, she freaks out and is like, "THE Josh McBride, like, from the Head and the Heart song?" and proceeds to show them this song. The back story is that Jess wrote the song a while back and Josiah put music to it. None of us knew anything about it until this weekend and then I go online and find videos and covers of the song all of the interwebs. We (josh, jess and I) are kind of all freaking out about it. So bizarre."

So bizarre, indeed. Sort of like the man McBride himself. 

J.Holden + Unique LA

My good friend Jonathan Holden is the man behind the (mostly) eponymous line of jewelry, J.Holden Designs. He makes lovely pieces, and I've been a fan of his since he started hammering out bits of jewelry while still in undergrad. He graciously sent me with a few prized possessions to Fauxchella this year so that I could shoot some of my favorites in the desert. 

If you're going to Unique LA tomorrow, be sure to stop by Jonathan's booth and snag one of his amazing avocado necklaces!

Fauxchella 2011, part II: Hicksville Trailer Palace

Rather than lump this into yesterday's egregiously lengthy post (I say this in a self-depricating tone while simultaneously patting myself on the back, smugly. Which pretty much describes how I say everything. I don't know why I have friends.), I thought I'd highlight this in a separate masterpiece post. Past Fauxchellas have taken place in neighborhoods, in residential areas, at friends' houses. This year, we decided to hit the road for a place called Hicksville Trailer Palace. My good friend Jen iChatted me a link in January asking if I'd seen it. I clicked like one might click any link--with mildly piqued interest. But my Internetting mind was promptly annihilated by how completely bitchin' this place looked. Within a week, it was booked for Fauxchella IV. 

I'm may be known for a certain level of effusiveness when it comes to the things that I love (puppies! Whiskey! Los Angeles! Um...corn on the cob!), so I'll just preface with this: I was blown away by Hicksville. To emulate a certain SNL City Correspondent: Yucca Valley's hottest spot is Hicksville. Hotel owner Morgan Higby Night has thought of Everything: Carnies. Teepees. Glowing wig heads. Human dust devils...

But it's the truth: Higby Night has thought of everything, from the amenities all the way down to each trailer's unique decor, I couldn't find a single thing about Hicksville that hadn't been painstakingly thought out and humorously achieved. For us, it was the perfect location to disappear for two days and reemerge with a song or two under our belts. But a GQ writer I am not (please return my phone calls, GQ. SRSLY.), so I'll leave you with more photos of this mysterious trailer park oasis. 

A view of the main grounds

Obviously, I'm a fan.

Each of the eight trailers is themed. This one is called The Pioneer. 

This is called The Fifi (and my personal favorite)

There's archery!

...And BB guns!

This teepee ended up being an unexpected jam space. Pass the peace pipe, mama wolf.

If you rent out the entire place, you also get access to the bar cart

The view from the roof, itself replete with a hot tub and lounge chairs

The Sweet

The Sidecar - circus-themed on the inside and absolutely brilliant

You can see a tiny bit of The Pony, housed within its own corral. 

Did I mention the archery? 

The Integratrailor

My weekend stomping grounds: The New World