Funky...

When it comes to food, I've found that funkier is better. Forget linen napkins and Reidel wine glasses... give me a layer of grease and I'm happy.

Don't get me wrong, I love fine dining... but where's the challenge in that? I mean, if you're in a restaurant where the chef is Cordon Bleu trained and making high six figures... and the $100 steak you ordered was once a cow that received daily massages... and there's a guy whose only job is to sweep up the crumbs you dropped while eating your bread... the meal better be good!

I'd rather find a restaurant where my parents wouldn't eat on a bet. I like it when I can't read the menu through the filth on the window. I like when the specials are written in marker on paper plates and scotch taped to the walls. I like it when I'm the only person in the place speaking English. In places like these, I let the server tell me what I should have... and they're usually right on.

Frankly, I think this philosophy applies to a lot of things... photography included. So many photographers are hung up on appearances... the whole "dog and pony show". There's too many shooters out there that are all "linen napkin" and no "fresh noodle made on the spot".

Meanwhile... can you please pass the chili sauce... and an Alka Seltzer?

Rumpelstiltskin, or the Birth of "Bö"

That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.

For my entire life, I've always answered to Steve, Stephen, Stevie (thanks Grandma), Steve-O... and as a kid, Beau. I've even answered to "hey you", "shithead" and "you f-ing kid"... (that last one made popular by my elderly, childhood neighbors). Frankly, you can call me what you want.

However, it has become increasingly clear that marketing myself using my given name, Stephen Beaudet, may not be the best plan. In order for people to remember me, or find my website, they need to remember my name... and know how to spell it. Phonetically, my name's a bitch. In my first name, the "ph" sounds like "v". On what planet does this happen? OK, so we'll go with "Steve". Then comes that whole "eau" string in my last name... too many vowels in a row and together they're supposed make the long "o" sound. Why not just use an "o" then? And if someone with two years of high school French under their belt, gets the whole "eau" thing, sure as shit they're going to try and spell my last name "Beaudette"... 'cuz that's how my parents pronounced it all my life. However, if I had taken high school French, I could have told my parents the correct pronunciation based on their spelling would be "Bö-day". No wonder it's impossible to find me with a Google search.

Meanwhile, when trying to give someone my website address over the phone... the spelling problems become more obvious. Out of the twelve letters in my URL, www.stevebeaudet.com, nine of them ryhme!... T, E, V, E, B, E, D, E & T! I sound like a military communications officer when spelling it out for someone... Tango, Victor, Bravo. I even registered www.reallyfuckingcoolphotography.com, out of frustration (Not kidding... go ahead and try it.) Face it, I might as well be named Siobhan Farfegnugen.

So, to remedy this situation, I spoke with my old friend Steve Snyder (www.flying-anvils.com) about a possible solution. Now you can find me by going to www.boshoots.com... Problem solved!

World Poker Tour/ Nikelodeon Addition

I grew up on a lake in New Hampshire... I didn't realize how lucky I was until I got older. In the interest of giving my kids the same wonderful experiences I had as a kid, we spend the summers on Cobbetts Pond (a small lake in Windham NH).

Below is a shot of my kids and their summer friends on the Fourth of July... enjoying the lake (?). As a kid, I remember doing a lot more fishing, swimming and boating. I guess I should be happy they didn't all have their faces buried in their PSPs... at least they're sitting in the sun.

Summer Holga Hybrid...

Check this out. For those of you unfamiliar with a Holga, it's a cheap, $16.00, medium format film camera. It has a shitty plastic lens, leaks light like a sieve and the results are totally random. Frankly, this is the reason it's so beloved.

However, to use it, you still need to load it with 120 film (what?), shoot the entire roll (all 12 frames) and mail said film to a professional lab for processing and printing (Walmart can't process 120 film). And if you like any of the shots, you then need to have a custom print made, or have the negative scanned. Either way, the process is time consuming and expensive. However, in this day of digital photography and instant satisfaction, one has to wonder... "what if you yanked a lens off a Holga, glued it to a Nikon bodycap, mounted this plastic Frankenstein onto the front of a professional digital camera and took some photos?"

Well, the answer to the above is as follows... in the form of a few vacation snaps taken on Cobbetts Pond. (OK, for the purists, I admit the filed negative carrier edges were done in Photoshop)

My summer transportation and recreational vehicle. This boat is an eyesore... but it floats and has survived far more summers than I have. Even the 5hp Johnson that putts me around is older than me.


My daughter, Brianna, piloting the Boat-det. She has the arm strength to pull start the motor, but lacks the arm length... I have to start it for her.

Two shots of the pond on a stormy day. I love that we have the pond to ourselves on days like these.

One more... this is my favorite house on Cobbetts Pond. Unfortunately, it goes unused and neglected. The owners still won't sell it. It's a shame... it's a classic, 1920's lake house... all original inside and out. I would so take care of this charmer. It deserves fresh paint, children playing on it's lawn and summer BBQs. If nothing else, I think it appreciates my visits.

Stating The Obvious...

Everyone knows men and women are different in countless ways.  Thousands of books have been written about the subject... and frankly, I'm not sure why.  Why is it necessary for us to completely understand the opposite gender?  Why is it necessary for it to be explained why I think Monty Python is funny and my wife doesn't crack a smile?  Why do I need to understand why my wife loves a pedicure and, when given the opportunity to get one, I found it odd to have someone messing with my feet for 40 minutes?  Do we care why a Cosmo is a girlie drink and why men, for the most part, drink beer?

I think people trying so damn hard to explain and understand our differences is more about selling books than fixing problems.  We're different and we need to deal with it... I'm never going to find it important to check the thread count on sheets and my wife will never go ice fishing with me.  If these are deal breakers, we have a problem.  

Below is an outtake from a shoot I recently did for a resort in the Bahamas.  It illustrates my point better than words ever could.  I picked up a couple great Cuban cigars for this shot... look at the male and female reactions to the same experience.  

In short, I say embrace the differences.  I, for one, am very happy my wife doesn't drop the "F" bomb as much as I do... or wear ripped t-shirts... or have to shave her back.  And if I had to guess, my wife is pretty happy I don't cry at movies or watch Oprah.  She has girlfriends for those things. 

The Absence Of Cute & Fuzzy...

I've lived here in South Florida for almost 20 years.  And while I have seen my share of the scaly, wrinkled, shuffling creatures living here... they're usually standing in front of me at Publix (plucking the exact change out of a coin purse).  However, on a recent tech scout, I realized how much Florida seems to be lacking in the "cute and fuzzy" department.

As I walked around, everywhere I looked something green crawled or slithered.  Hooded lizards ran past me on their hind legs, looking like half-sized extras from Jurassic Park.  Countless small geccos (we've all seen them) were underfoot everywhere.  Day-glo green Cuban lizards peeked from under their camouflage of foliage.  The ever-present alligators...only their eyes and nostrils visible above the surface of the lake.  I even took a photo of the most bad-ass iguana I've ever seen... 

I grew up in New Hampshire.  We had cute and fuzzy to spare... chipmunks, cheeks full of acorns... grey squirrels hanging upside-down to better raid the bird feeder... red squirrels, peeking from the eye-hole of your Halloween Jack-O-Lantern, gorging itself on the pumpkin from the inside-out.  Even the Gund-like fisher cat is so cute you almost forget it wants to eat your face off.

I know someone is going to mention that Florida has raccoons... stating undeniable cuteness and fuzziness.  I beg to differ.  In Florida, a raccoon will hit you over the head with a two-by-four as you take your trash to the curb, then run away laughing... trash bags flung over it's cute and fuzzy shoulder.  As you lay there, rubbing your head... you will see it flip you the middle finger of it's human-like, cute and fuzzy hand.  It will then dig through your bags, eat what it can find... then bring the rest of the trash back to throw all over your front yard.  Nothing is cute about a Florida raccoon.  And they have rabies.

I think we all need a little "cute and fuzzy" every now and then... it puts a smile on our face.  When's the last time you smiled when you saw an armadillo or a turkey buzzard?  In the meantime, I just found my new screensaver.

Effin Obnoxious...

You know what I find insufferable?... photographers' blogs.  Does anyone really care about a shooter's "big shoot in Hong Kong", for a "world renown, international client?"... or the time he/she was "surrounded by poisonous snakes in Bangladesh... thank God we were rescued by Richard Branson in his private jet! (and I got to sit next to Angelina Jolie)"

I just threw-up in my mouth a little.

Who is impressed with this drivel?  These anecdotes don't make you a better photographer... the "glamorous" back-story to the image doesn't make a shitty shot any prettier.  Maybe I'm an asshole (OK, I'm definitely an asshole), but does anyone give a shit about a photographer's breakfast meeting with the Pope, private helicopter lessons or his 4,000 square foot vacation home on Lake Cuomo?  It's bragging... and for me, it goes down as smooth as the AIG bonus package.

Look... virtually every photographer on the planet is a working stiff (or, maybe misery really does enjoy company and I'm projecting).  I, for one, spend more time looking for work... and worrying about not having any work, than I do actually working.  This is not by choice, it's just working out that way.  I have a wife and kids (who hemorrhage money), a mortgage, insurance, car payments, dental bills, college tuition... etc.  I'm GI Joe Average... complete with detachable ego and check-book grip.

For those of you impressed with the perception of photographers as "rock stars"... here's a shot of me flying home on the private corporate jet of one of my clients.  The truth being that it would have flown whether or not I was on it... my XL ass occupying a seat saved the client the expense of a return coach ticket (and a $3.00 SmartCart rental at MIA).

My reality is more "pedestrian".  Below you will see photos of my transportation to a remote shoot I did last summer... as well as my accommodations.  The "aircraft", while appearing slick and burnished on the exterior, was held together with faux-wood paneling, sheetrock screws and duct tape on the inside.  Our septuagenarian pilot, coverall clad and smelling of goats, informed us he'd just completed an engine swap and was anxious to "try her out".  His hands were still covered in grease.  Obviously, as I am currently writing this, we landed safely on a lake near the location and were transported via the client's 1982 Jeep Cherokee to our accommodations... effectively, The Bates Motel.  

Is anyone jealous yet?