Hi. My name is Rich and I'm a tortured artist.

The Confession

Well, really, I'm more tortured, than artistic. And it may be argued that the artistic is more artifice than artful. But I try, nonetheless.

Folks who don't know me well (meaning just about everybody) don't realize I have this creative half that doesn't wield its powers in the company of friends and coworkers until long after we meet. In fact, not knowing myself as well as I ought, even I remained largely unaware of this need to create until the beast was unleashed during my final year of high school. My more "public" facing personna tends to be bookish, I suppose — and there's a good reason for that: I'm rarely without a book. Even in good company.

Not quite a misanthrope…

As long as I'm in the

I thought I’d just post something fun, today. For me, anyhow. Photos!

Jennifer and I visited Seattle, Washington, to enjoy our honeymoon eight years ago. We fell in love with the Pacific Northwest. I think we’d move there in a heartbeat if there was a job offer. At least, that’s what we used to say before we had kids. Now, however, moving away from Gramma and Grampa would be a tough decision.

As is required on all seaside vacations, I took the requisite scenic postcard shots. There was your sunset over water picture, your commonplace urban objects like drinking fountains and lamp posts, a few varieties of graying beachwood, and a “would-you-take-this-picture-of-us” tourist shot.