Ciao darlings!

I have always kept my voter registration at my parents house in Tracy, which is inconvenient when it comes time to vote since I haven’t lived there in ages, but I’ve moved literally a dozen times in the last few years, and there’s no sense in re-registering every time I relocate. On my lunch break Alicia, who is a Tracy-ite, and I drove out to vote. I have always thought the polling place in my parents’ neighborhood is creepy.  The house smells like a nursing home full of cigarettes and the family running it aren’t all too bright or hurried. However, there were only a few people in line so we managed to get in and out in about fifteen minutes. I was really tempted to slip out my iPhone and snap a photo of the ballot but chickened out. My scrapbook will have to do with a tear-out from my sample ballot instead.

After work I met Lisa at her house and we headed to The Pyramid in downtown Walnut Creek for Contra Costa County’s Democratic election party. I was thrilled that she had invited me to watch the election results come in somewhere official. Her boss, currently a State Assemblyman but as of Tuesday a future State Congressman, and several other state officials were in attendance. The party wasn’t scheduled to begin until 8pm, and we thought we were doing good showing up at 6:30pm, but there was already a line out the door. Luckily there was a parking garage one block down that maxed at $3 a day (one of the perks of NOT living in San Francisco anymore). At the door, there were campaign volunteers selling Obama buttons and American flags, gathering emails, and handing out little sulifane bags of Obama and Democratic donkey shaped cookies closed by a red, white and blue striped ribbon.

Inside The Pyramid the bar and dining areas were packed, as well as the back patio where a live cover band was playing American classics. People were cheering beers, waving flags, and chattering excitedly as they kept close eyes on the CNN newscast playing on several flatscreens throughout the restaurant. Lisa and I decided to eat at a pizzeria next door rather than brave the crowds to secure a table. Thinking it would take quite a while for the poll results to come in, we took our time munching on pizza and gossiping about our men. Around 7:30 we headed back into The Pyramid and met up with Lisa’s coworkers, who had managed to find a patio table and were already at the bottom of their first pitcher of beer.

Polls closed at 8pm, so we settled in expecting a long wait. At 8:30 Lisa and I were both in the bathroom when we heard a loud burst of cheering and chanting in the bar. From my toilet hovering position I shouted at the women in line to find out what was going on. We rushed out of the bathroom as quickly as we could, finding ourselves surrounded by elated Obama supporters jumping and screaming and chanting “OBAMA! OBAMA!” I took a short recording on my pocket camera documenting the celebration, knowing my unborn children would learn about it in their US history classes, and I would want to show them what it was like to have been there. The crowd only intensified as television reporters continued to announce that Obama was the projected President Elect. A parade of chanters formed snaking themselves through the restaurant, flags and campaign posters waving wildly through the air.

Things settled down as McCain took the stage to deliver his speech. The crowd stood staring at the TV in silence, for the most part, except for the occasional snicker or “boo.” And later when Obama took the stage for his speech the crowd dropped silent again, only this time scattered shouts of “Yes!” and grunts of approval broke the hush instead. A gay couple stood at the patio door, one with his arms wrapped around the shoulders of the other, as tears fell from his cheeks.

After the speeches everyone went back to their beer and the band picked back up with another old rock cover. One of Lisa’s coworkers requested Obama’s theme song and they confessed they didn’t know it, which led to the awkward discovery that they were actually McCain supporters. Lisa, her friend Lia and I found a life-sized Obama cardboard cutout and took some photos with “him.” The next couple of hours were spent posted by a computer screen in the dining area where local election results were trickling in. Around 12:30am the restaurant staff kicked us out so they could close, much to the dismay of those watching the Proposition 8 “yes” result creeping up from 52% to 54% and so on. I found out the next morning that even after the delayed Los Angeles votes were tallied, it wasn’t enough to boost the “No” and California, as well as the two other states voting on Prop 8 (Arizona and Florida), all moved to support amending the constitution to ban gay marriage.

Since that night, San Francisco’s mayor Gavin Newsom has reportedly claimed that he will continue to approve gay marriage certificates at city hall until someone sues him not to. Sizeable protests have been seen at Mormon temples nationwide protesting the church’s heavy financial support of Prop 8. While the electing of a non-white president and the uproar against the passing of Prop 8 indicate a liberal shift in our country, I think the fact that Prop 8 was passed, as well as a proposition in Arkansas banning gay adoption, are indicative of just how far Americans are prepared to let the new presidency take its’ liberal agenda. Perhaps this is a sign that the nation is ready for change but wants to ease into it rather than leap from the high dive.

My friend Lisa and I met in Sunday school when we were four and five years old. Growing up in the same small town and having parents who remained close over the years, she and I have been consistently in one another’s lives for 21 years now. As unique as it is to have such long standing friends, we’ve also had the luck of both being photographers! Lisa hasn’t pursued it on a professional level until recently, but she’s got a good eye and a decent camera and I have no doubt that she can produce great shots as much as anyone who has had formal training.

Lisa and I, now known as DW Photography, had our first collaborative shoot last weekend. My dear friend Alicia got married last month and wanted us to do a “trash the dress” shoot for her. I’ve been photographing Alicia since photo 101 back in junior college when I had a 35 mm Canon Rebel and was still darkroom developing my own black and white prints, so of course I wouldn’t have let her use any other photographer! I feel like I’m her family’s official documentarian, having been there for both of her pregnancies and births, birthday parties, family portraits, engagement shots, and now the trashing of her wedding gown.

In hopes of recovering from the misfortune of hiring a terrible wedding photographer (see what happens when you make me a bridesmaid rather than photographer), I drove out to Tracy last Saturday morning and took some portraits of the extended family from both sides. I thought Alicia was being ridiculous for wanting to wear her wedding dress in them, but it actually worked out nicely.  When we were through, Alicia and Mikey and I all headed back to my house in the East Bay to pick up Lisa and my boyfriend (he’s an excellent bag boy). The five of us piled into one car and headed to Santa Cruz. Alicia wore her dress the entire way there!

As we neared the cost we realized it was terribly foggy. The location Alicia initially wanted to use, a surfer cove with moss covered rocks where I’d shot some engagement photos last year, simply wouldn’t work. Instead, we photographed them walking through the boardwalk, then down the beach and into the surf. Thanks to the heavy fog (and a bit of Photoshop magic) we were able to take photos of the couple on what appeared to be an enchanting and secluded beach engulfed by gray mist. I admit the weather presented some frustrating technical challenges on my part, but overall I was satisfied with my first attempt at “trash the dress.” I was equally pleased with how well Lisa and I photographed together.

Before Lisa and I had even finished editing Alicia’s photographs, we had already been presented with the opportunity to shoot another trash the dress, a small wedding, and some cards for an artist. Lisa kicked it in high gear and put together a blog for us to share, since we’re both far too attached to our own pages to ever part ways with them. I’m excited to see how this new business venture will proceed!

My friends seem to assume that I would be a definite “no” on Prop 8. I was born and raised in California, I was educated in San Francisco, I have gay friends. When I tell people I’m undecided they generally chastise me with remarks such as, “That’s just because you were raised Christian, I thought you’d have grown past such bigotry with all that you’ve done in your life.” But I mean, come on.. bigotry? I feel like my being vocally undecided about the issue is far more open minded than someone who assumes that I might lean toward a blindly “yes” vote because of my religious upbringing. I really believe that a lot of the “no” voters are just as conditioned toward that side by growing up in non-religious families, in public schools, or by youth-oriented media telling them this is an “equality” issue.

I’m sure that there are going to be plenty of people who will read this fuming with anger just waiting to reach the bottom of the page where they can comment about how I’m being so closed minded and how I’m a disgrace to liberals for pulling a “moral majority” card on this issue. But I challenge you, regardless of whether you’re a “yes” or a “no,” to really read up on this proposition, find out what the real impact of this prop passing or failing will be. Maybe you’re pro-gay marriage but decide that this proposition simply isn’t the best way to implement it. Maybe you’re against it but feel that this is one battle you should be willing to loose for the sake of some greater good.

I don’t know how I will vote on Prop 8. Maybe by election day I will still be undecided and choose not to vote on that particular proposition. I don’t know. But I do know that I’m tired of people having liberal views that are just as blind as many conservative views. We’re all conditioned in one way or another by our unique lived experience, and we have to be willing to look outside of what seems right or natural to us and make sure that we don’t have our blinders on. Liberals tell conservatives that all the time, but I think it goes both ways.

There are those who would argue for freedom of sexual preferences when it pertains to animals or children or polygamy, those who believe they should be able to walk around the streets of their town fully nude, that all drugs should be legalized, or that the US should implement a Marxist government. When is liberal too liberal? When is freedom too free? When does individual choice become detrimental? Maybe not here, maybe not on this issue, but then again.. maybe it is. We must ask ourselves how far we are willing to take “freedom,” and with each step toward a more liberal society whether or not that small step is progress or crossing a line.

I was recently barraded by one of the girls in the group who I had always considered to be one of the most neutral, and it was for her perceiving me to be dishonest. If she’d had any idea the depth and true nature of the circumstances she was upset over, she’d have entirely understood why I placed my alliances where I did. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself reading her email, “I don’t have room in my life for dishonest people. If there’s one thing I hate it’s liars because they’re not real friends.” I replied that each of us, even her, chooses to lie to protect or stay silent to avoid aggravating an already explosive situation.

I find myself looking at that group now a couple weeks later. One is lying to everyone about her substance abuse and promiscuity issues, and even though we all know the truth, none are bold enough to confront it. One pretends to be trying to repair her friendship with another, but lied about her weekend plans to get out of attending the other’s bachelorette party. In fact, none of them were willing to sacrifice their weekend of fun for that once in a lifetime event. There is one who allowed herself to fall into a position where she has lost everything and is lying to me about it in order to not pay me what is owed. There is one who tells fibs every single day about everything and nothing just whatever comes to her head comes out of her mouth, stories of all sorts, that matter very little, but seem to pour out endlessly as though I’m not perceptive enough to know the difference.

So lecture me about how I’m dishonest. About how I choose sides. About how I am a bad friend. I will show you how many bachelorette parties, bridal showers and birthday parties I have thrown and attended. I will show you how many times and ways I have made choices and changes in your favor. I will recount to you how I was the “only one” you could come to when you thought you were pregnant, or when your man was cheating, or when you needed to cry on a shoulder and you knew mine was the only one that would be there. I, just as much as you, choose in each situation where I will place my steps and how I will use my words. If only it were so black and white.

Friends and Family,

Over 1.1 billion people in the world today don’t have one of the most basic necessities in life: clean water to drink. Over 4,500 kids die each and every day from water-related disease.

I’m using my birthday this year to support Charity: Water’s September campaign to bring clean and safe drinking water to the people of Ethiopia. I’ve decided to give up birthday gifts and ask for donations instead. 100% of the money raised will go directly to building freshwater wells, which will be proved with GPS coordinates and photos on Google Earth.

I first heard about this cause when a photographer friend spent some time documenting the construction of a well and shared with me the tremendous impact she witnessed in that village.

Thank you!

Kimberly Warne

The first time I ever tasted “reality” in a negative sense I was ten years old and obsessed with Egyptology. I was determined that I would discover King Tut’s father, the last ancient royal thought to be buried in the Valley of the Kings. A church friend of my parents dropped by to see my dad and was surprised to find me curled up on the living room floor pouring over a book of hieroglyphics. Noticing his quizzical glances, I proudly proclaimed my calling in life. I was taken back when he gently giggled and replied, “I too wanted to be an archaeologist once. Then I realized there was no money in it.” Money? That was a new concept. What did I need money for when I had so much passion?

That encounter weighed heavily on my mind when I started archeology and anthropology classes at a local junior college many years later. Between that and my distaste for the blasphemous nature of physical anthropology courses, prerequisites for any anthro major, I decided to transition into photojournalism. Through a combination of my growing curiosity in documentary work and the nudging of my career mentor, I wound up transferring to San Francisco State two years later. I worked hard to excel in my writing and film courses as well as in my photography. I interned and networked. I pursued mentors and applied for jobs. At some point during my last year, that man’s statement crept back into my mind… There’s no money in it.

Most people can’t pay rent with their passion. Most people can’t put food on the table through their creative outlet. And somewhere in the frantic scramble of attempting to sort out a way to make the pieces fit together, the passion and creativity are lost. And that’s when the never-ending availability of cubicles appears. Sometimes I sit back in my cube and imagine that all the little boxes filled with well manicured, maturely dressed professionals are like the compartments in a Christmas tree ornament box. A beautifully and uniquely crafted person glowing and glittering, bringing joy and warmth, suddenly tucked away into a small manufactured place with all the other once purposeful people, where they sit and wait for another season in which to shine.

Perhaps some of us are passionate and full of life and just need to be more willing to allow God to lead our steps and not be discouraged when those steps do not lead us down the path we’d chosen for ourselves. Perhaps the visions of greatness we once saw for ourselves are not great for the world but great for one, or for a few, who have been overlooked by other passionate and lively people. The struggle is knowing where the line is between accepting the unexpected path as yours, and recognizing when we are merely using that as an excuse to not blossom into what we have been created for.

The last year or so I’ve begun to accept that in order to be a photojournalist I have to be willing to splurge on better technology. When the second edition of the IPhone was released last year, I swooped one up regardless of the fact that $400 was 400 times what I’d ever spend on a cell phone in years past. My graduation gift to myself was a Macbook Pro to replace the Gateway laptop I had been using all through college (thank you gramps!). I felt like I was on a roll with the Apple transition, doing it big unlike my digital transition. It wasn’t until I tried to set up my Macbook Pro that things went downhill.

When I bought my Macbook Pro the kid at the Apple store told me it was $99 to transfer the data from my old laptop to my new one. I decided I could do it myself. Then I started the transfer and realized I was wrong. Two weeks later I went back to Apple and handed over both of my laptops, surprised to find that the little bastard who sold me the laptop lied and there is a free data transfer that comes with the purchase of a new system. Four days later I picked up both laptops. It took me about a week to find time to sit down and organize my files. I found that very few of my files had actually made it over, so I attempted to turn on my old laptop to figure out what happened. It wouldn’t boot. I tried safe mode, I tried a non-destructive system restore, I tried praying to the techy gods. Nada. The next day I called the Apple store, being as charming as possible in hopes of eliciting some assistance. Not only did the store not have record of doing the data transfer, but they refused to assist me with the malfunctioning laptop saying they don’t handle PC systems. … Umm … You crashed my laptop while it contained files I had not yet backed up onto discs. You handle PCs. Obviously not well, but you handle them. My buddy Steve came to the rescue suggesting I get a hard drive enclosure at Best Buy that would convert my old hard drive into an external hard drive. As long as the hard drive isn’t what is causing the system failure, I should be able to extract my files by hooking it up to the new laptop and dragging them off. $50 down and I’m ready to try it. I just haven’t worked up the courage to begin disassembling my old laptop yet. To be continued.