Muggy Summer

This summer has been very hot and muggy. Blame global warming I guess, but if I’m going that far I may as well blame the sun while I’m at it…..

I’m gearing up to accept a second sports photography gig for the school year. Here goes….

I’ve been shooting street, working full time hours at my day job, and launching a few other business ventures. I’ve also resumed investing in my potential retirement. Here goes….

Single again. Here goes…..

Summer means scooting around on my Harley. I’ve been doing that a lot. If I wasn’t so busy maybe I’d combine my rides with street shooting….

The next big purchase for me is the Canon 1dx II. Then after that I’ll try to get the 300mm 2.8 IS II…..

Besides that shit is real. Keep banging….

Exit.

The Reason…

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I don’t know if the “I have to scream to talk on the phone in a loud gymnasium” problem will ever be solved by science….

Winter is coming but it isn’t here quite yet. The leaves are turning and the morning school children waiting for busses blow steam though upside down peace signs, smoking imaginary cigarettes. The commando business women of summer are now wearing hose with thick black lines of thread down the back of the leg. The trash men on Reedbird Avenue are…….hold up, before I get all poetic and shit let me introduce myself.

I’m Ric Ray. I take street photos with a 5D Mark III, normally of attractive women, and I shoot sports photos with a 70D (though I’m transitioning to using the 5d Mark III for sports as well) for a growing national website that I find myself having to repeat the name of twice when I tell people about it. I don’t know for sure if the reason I have to repeat myself so often is because I mumble when I talk, or if the website name is too alliterative, but I digress. The sports photo site pays me on time each week, and because of them I am finally able to bring this hellish blog to you unwilling victims. Trust me, never have you clicked on a blog authored by such an individual as me. Subscribe whenever I figure out how to allow you to do so. Keep reading this blog because I can tell you better than I can tell you.

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Put a pair of Chucks on any human or primate and they immediately look cool badass…

Why the girl in the photo above? Why do I capture women in my photos primarily? More on that later. Way later, as in another post. Winter is coming, but I wont rip off corny lines from Game of Thrones any longer, at least until I’ve told you the reason why this blog exists in the first place.

What is my motivation when I call my blog “micro struggler”? Am I bitching about my life? Am I saying that I’m out in these streets grinding like a 1989 drug dealer in Harlem, you know, as if “micro” is slang for the tedious day to day process? Am I being purposefully cryptic and vague to create some silly aura of mystery about me? None of the above….besides maybe the grinding part.

We all struggle at times in our lives, and indeed many of us define ourselves by a general outline of struggle. We are “cancer survivors” or we “did 5 years in the bing” or “started from the bottom” or “stayed with her even though the kid wasn’t mine”….stuff like that. Some of our struggles are harder to grasp or relate to such as “I swear to God Starbucks is using a high gluten extract to flavor my latte” or “The street sweepers are coming through this afternoon and I have to move my car two blocks away from my house” or….. “I can’t find a condom that fits me”….that’s where most of us find our day to day self-definition. Most of us don’t have monster, life-altering, wickedly unfair struggles to define ourselves by on a weekly basis. Most of us have silly little micro struggles.

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Because the last thing pretty girls want is their photo taken…

That’s fine on the surface. Who cares if I feel honest rage about having to listen to a 30 second commercial on Pandora during the middle of my workout? It’s no big deal right? Even if it is a big deal to me at the moment, I know that’s it’s not a fatal STD diagnosis or getting pulled over by the police when you have a half-emptied bottle of Patron nestled between your knees and a smoldering blunt in your mouth. Compared to that my micro struggles are nothing. However, even though they are meaningless to the world, my micro struggles are mine. They are a part of my story. Taken in totality they are my inner badge and they constitute my life reference points. They are not comparable or related to YOUR micro struggles, that is unless your micro struggles are congruent with mine. If they are, then we have bonded, because to be human is to relate to others and bond through struggle, and together hope for that impossible moment when all struggles are absent. But in addition to co-micro-stugglers, there are people in our lives, on our social media timelines, in our local and national political offices and especially on our 24 hour news channels who will take the momentary gorilla rage one feels when having a “micro-struggle” and turn that into a national crusade. I don’t know how I feel about that in a historical sense but I suspect I disapprove. This blog will, over time address when that happens in our various medias, and will also be deeply intimate as I relate my micro struggles to you, and give you the forum to relates yours. I’ll also share my random photos, which are perfect of course. 😉

My name is Ric Ray. I’m a photographer and I guess now I’m a blogger. I’m NOT a father or a husband though I’d like to be those things I suppose. I suppose I’m a sex partner to lonely old ladies until that lady grows sick of my shit. I am a self-proclaimed lifelong or “career” bachelor of sorts, but I’m no keeper. I don’t know when I was sentenced to be forever single or by what authority, but here I am, doing my bid and hoping for parole.

Recently, while going about the business of offering my “forever single” micro-struggle for consumption I heard the phrase, “You ain’t missing much” from a lovely chatty patty. I hear this often. This particular lady was a career-minded married woman and was tired of being the one who took the kids school in the morning while her unemployed husband slept. Once upon a time he was a big time drug dealer, she said, but now he was a full time visionary. After hanging up with the married lady I logged onto Facebook and the first post I saw was from a busty beauty complaining that she is single because all men are crazy, as if beauty isn’t the root of all insanity.

I can’t cover all that I have to say in one blog post or even one billion blog posts, but I will try. At least I will if I don’t drink heavily and ride my Iron 883 at unlawful speeds across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge during a rainstorm.

I don’t know what is wrong with people these days as much as I can’t tell you whats wrong with myself. We are all humans and thus, it is impossible to be “objective” about our lives or even the lives of others. We are all trapped within the human experience, and the only way to truly gain an objective vantage point is to die. All Ricky Ray can do is bitch about my little micro-struggles, and heckle yours, and thank you for reading my blog, even though you don’t give a shit about me anyway. 🙂

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