I’ve been making time to practice photography. There’s times I’m super gung-ho about it, and other times I think it’s just a waste of time. These days everyone’s a photographer; yet, making pictures is a great creative outlet, cause I’ve got a very short attention span, and the time it takes me to toss a mask on a Porno Princess, have her do something silly, snap it, fix it in post then print it out, takes almost all the energy I’ve got left after a day of making smut.

I’ve tried to smoke three different times in my life, the first during the 8th grade. We discovered an empty pool in the backyard of a neighborhood house that was up for sale, and after hopping the fence and attempting to skate it, someone pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. Who’s the coolest in the pool? Not Billy Watson. A few years later, I returned to Chicago (where I grew up) to visit two of my very earliest childhood friends, Peter and Pino (say Pee-no). A reunion of sorts. Peter became my best friend in kindergarten, and we remained pals til my family picked up and moved to Arizona five years later. Peter and Pino were brothers, and their dad had figured out a way to escape the Iron Curtain to come to America and put himself through med school. He was an anesthesiologist. By now we were sophomores in high school, and since I’d seen them last, Peter and Pino got rich. Super rich. And both smoked like they were on fire. Minutes into our happy reunion, Pino was shoving a cig in my face and lighting it. Who’s the coolest at the reunion? Not Billy Watson. Then, a few years later, I drove out to Los Angeles to watch the Summer Games. Me and Biff, my very best pal in high school. Oh, the summer of 1984! Zen Arcade, The Los Angeles Olympics, Double Nickels on the Dime, no one would even imagine Michael Jackson was a gay pedophile, Meat Puppets II, and Djarum cloves. Who’s the coolest in the summer of ’84? Not me.

I’ve never really paid attention to Nada Surf, but their new record — The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy — is kinda fun. Matthew Sweet-y (when he was good) with lots of catchy hooks and smart lyrics. You may wanna take some time out of your busy day and check it. Same with M83’s Hurry Up We’re Dreaming, Matt Pryor’s May Day, and anything on Portland, Oregon’s Mississippi Records label. Anything.

Porn Girls, by nature, are narcissists. Which isn’t to say all Porn Girls are egomaniacal, but almost every one I’ve ever met is. They love their own image, and will capture it at all costs, whenever they can. No matter how (un)flattering the image will be. And when they’re not taking pictures of themselves, they’re spewing (mostly inane) information about themselves (or what they’re thinking) on Twitter…with the sole purpose of gaining more attention (and self-worth) via the number of people following them.

The thing that drives me nuts the most as a pornographer? The Wait. Waiting for Porno Princess to show. Waiting for her to get out of the bathroom. Waiting for make-up. Waiting for the end of the cigarette. Waiting for Stunt Cock to show. Waiting til they’re done with their blunt. Waiting for Stunt Cock to get wood. Waiting for Stunt Cock to pop.

The Wait.