Bill's Blog

Tonight is a night of catharsis.

Tonight is the night when I proclaim my dark secrets to the world.  Actually, tonight is only the first of many nights . . . it seems that I have an extensive list of wrong-doings that I need to clear.

If you’re just now checking in, I’m mr. bill from Beyond Photography.  I’ve lived several years as a professional Photographer, and have enjoyed many of those years photographing children with Santa Claus.  Every year has gone better than the last, including the sessions of my own wonderful kids with the Claus.  This year, however, is sadly different.  I learned this summer that I have been placed on Santa’s infamous Naughty List!  You thought it was a myth?  A scare tactic?  Yeah–I used to be a fool, too.  Believe me–it’s real.  And it stinks being here.  If you’d like to learn more about my awful discovery, and my boys’ disturbing reaction to the news, click here.  Then come back to this blog.

Anyway, back to the present.  After learning that I landed on the Naughty List, Santa then gave me a glimmer of hope.  He reminded me that confession is good for the soul . . . and informed me that I should air my dirty laundry.  I only hope that I will somehow find redemption in this awful journey . . . .

***********

I don’t want to brag or anything, but I am really, exceptionally gifted.  Seriously.  Sure–I can make an amazing salad.  I can make flatulence noises with my palm and eye socket.  I won my 5th grade spelling bee by remembering to capitalize “Asia.”  I know how to slice a banana in half, without cutting or tearing the peel.  I can tell you all day long how cool I am.

What most people don’t know–other than my extremely fortunate family–is that I have been given the gift of MUSIC!!!!!  It’s true! I love listening to music.  If I’m at my computer [which is often], or in my truck, I am listening to music.  Truth be told–there are very few people who can play the radio as well as I can.  Again:  I’m not bragging, that’s just how it is.

Can I play an instrument?  No.  But can I sing?  HECK YEAH!!!

Some folks have the gift of perfect pitch [whatever]. Others have a keen knack for harmony [whatever that means].  A few folks, I’m told, have a tremendous range [like that's important].

“What is YOUR gift, mr. bill?” you ask.  That’s insightful of you to inquire.  Thank you.

God has given me the gift of VOLUME!  For whatever I might lack in training or skill, I can compensate in volume.  Ask my hot wife, Sheree.  She knows.

Like all brilliant artists, I need a muse . . . an inspiration, if you will. When I tap into my inspiration . . . it moves me.  Deeply.

Apparently, that’s where Santa has a problem.  He seems to think that my musical influences are sub-standard.  [That hurts.]

Apparently Santa really does “see you when you’re sleeping, sees you when you’re awake.” In fact, here’s a photo of me.  I’m working on the computer, listening to music.  If you look carefully, you can see the tears on my face, and the tear-stains on my shirt.  My muse speaks to me, inspiring me to greater volume, demanding that I share my gift of loud-singing with the world.

moved to tears

I’m sorry you had to see me in such a weakened state.  I can’t control the emotion that music releases.

You’re most likely wondering–“Does Santa hate music?” No.  Not at all.  In fact, he loves the [crappy], British-inspired,  Christmas carols we sing.  [Admit it--they really are lousy.  When is the last time you hung "boughs of holly," or demanded "figgy pudding?"  How many folks who live near the birthplace of Jesus sing about the beautiful white Christmases?!  But I digress.]

Apparently Santa has a problem with the music that I love.  He scrolled through my iPod and found something unsettling.  He demanded that I confess to the world . . . my musical muse is . . .

my musical muse

Sigh.

When other Jr. High kids were playing sports, hanging with other kids, I was alone at my house, teaching myself calligraphy–listening to Barry Manilow.  “Ultimate Manilow.”  I dare you to listen to Mandy and not cry.  Try it.  You’ll weep.  Then you’ll sing it with unbridled volume!

When Santa confronted me, I tried to weasel my way out of the accusation.  Not smart.  He really does see everything!  He pulled 2 cassette tapes from his pocket . . . tapes that he’d snagged from my truck.

2 other musical influences stared me in the face.  As if Manilow wasn’t bad enough!  Forgive me, kind reader.  Before I show the photo, please let me remind you:

We’re soon photographing kids, all over Arkansas, with Santa.  If you need full information, click here to read the blog about pricing, location, etc.

You’re wondering what might offend Santa more than my man Manilow?

worse than manilow

I’m sorry.  If you can bear to learn any more, subscribe to this blog.  More awful details about me soon.

Mournfully Yours,

mr. bill