For all the years that mattered I grew up with Cory Brinkman. I recall watching absolute shit music videos on his satellite television, reading EGM, and staying up until all hours of the morning. His house is a very simple happy area. Big field. Generous and friendly parents. The most affectionate and well behaved pets I have ever met. Extraordinary in a quiet way.
One of the first things I ever did with my digital camera was light painting with Cory and some other friends in his big field. Drawing stick figures. Chasing each other with flashlights. Not much concept behind it, but looking at the images afterward together was magic. Now it's tradition. Hanging out at Cory's house anywhere near darkness requires a tripod and remote out.
The dog is new. I had forgotten its name, Pepper, and had the startling realization that I felt worse about forgetting Peppers name than I would have about forgetting a humans name. Pepper is a water dog. Exercise for Pepper entails full tilt sprints after a tennis ball, down the big hill, directly into the pond. The impact is tremendous, resulting in 8-10 feet high, 15 foot long explosions of water. I got caught in the splash zone without realizing that could be a possibility, as I was on the other side of the pond.
Also, bees. Beekeeping for Dummies. Tom Brinkman decided to raise bees for the honey, which just goes to prove what I said about the Brinkman household being a quiet center for simple happiness.
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