Downtown PHX Pics

2012-01-15T18:10:00.016-07:00

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

2011-12-04T21:14:00.004-07:00

Faint Damnation

2011-11-20T17:23:00.011-07:00

After flailing around last week for over an hour trying to synch Netflix with my antiquated Mac, I finally caved and downloaded a movie from iTunes.

Screw all the interesting choices that could've been, I thought, let's just go Hollywood and cocoon myself in mind-numbingly mainstream cinema.

I then downloaded "Constantine" with Keanu Reeves.

(pause)

What's that you say? Pay money to watch Keanu act? I know, I know. But in truth...

I liked it.

Yeah, yeah, I know what my father's going to say, and no, Dad, there aren't any pods in my basement, the moonies haven't gotten me and I haven't drunk any kool-aid. Okay?

True, Keanu's style is generally stilted - with flat, affected line delivery and physical movement better suited to a cardboard cutout (I don't think his head turns, for instance, independent of his shoulders) however... in the case of a comic book adaptation?

Flame On!*

Or should I say, "ex-cellent!"?

Left handed compliment? Maybe so.

But as my very own father has been known to say "less is more;" and while Keanu's skill set may be lacking... there are times when it simply plays.

Uh, "Point Break" for instance. And maybe you've heard of a little move called... "The Matrix"?

'Course he doesn't get many lines in the latter, but he sure can bend a spoon! Meanwhile...

And yeah, it's true I purchased this movie and have now watched it 32 times in a row - can quote it in my sleep - and have attained enlightenment in regards to all things Keanu... Keanu... Keanu...

What? Hunh!?

It's as if I've awakened from some horrible nightmare only to remember that...

Oh, yeah.

"Constantine" with Keanu Reeves.

See it.

(pause)

Unless you're my dad.

Then not.

*And no, this is not a gay reference**, it's from the Fantastic Four. "Flame On!" is the command Johnny Storm would use to transform into the Human Torch. Duh.
**On the other hand they did all wear powder-blue spandex and were consistently "fantastic!" Hmmm.

Untended

2011-11-14T05:42:00.016-07:00

Thoughts like fallen leaves,

dried up and skittering
over concrete and slumbering brown earth,

crackling
with chitinous distinction
under foot,

amassing
into great whooshing piles,
stirred by winds and ardent striding

(deeper meanings
hinted at within
insistent susurrus),

accumulate
round tree trunks
and then,

untended,
trodden,
and rained upon,
become

a glistening wet chrysalis?

-Or-

wet brown sludge
to be scraped off the lawn
like excrement from the bottom of shoe.

You decide.

Satori Memo

2011-11-13T08:35:00.019-07:00

Listening to Fat Boy's Gangsta Trippin'* as I write - a classic groove that puts some pep into this old man's step on a rain sodden day such as this.

Did I say old man? Well...

Chronologically speaking, I'm 44, which has it's own connotations, depending on who you are and where you've been.

But the underlying truth is:

I am neither old nor young, but, like everything else under the sun and stars, my little bits swept apart and continually re-shaped by the ethereal and howling winds, am timeless.**

My knees, on the other hand? Did not get the memo.

And a crackily crunch to you Mr. Knees! Is that a good morning I hear?

*Have also been dipping into the blues again lately, including Mr. Mississippi Fred MacDowell, "I do not play no rock and roll" and John Lee Hooker's "Boom Boom" and "One Bourbon, One Scotch, etc." And if you haven't heard the last, done as an ode to recovery, you really should. Highly entertaining.
**All disclaimers by my curmudgeonly progenitor aside!

2011-11-05T16:08:00.004-07:00

2011-11-05T11:27:00.003-07:00

2011-11-05T06:55:00.004-07:00

On the Fade

2011-11-05T06:14:00.005-07:00

I feel as if I'm running out of second chances.

As if all my choices have led up to this moment and there’s no going back.

Remember that scene in “No Country for Old Men” when Javier Bardem flips a coin to decide the fate of his victim?

He says something like that, how the coin is only the instrument of - not chance - but fate, of inevitability. How previous choices have led to that moment, as surely as a mathematical equation produces its answer.

This may sound cryptic or even cynical, but there is an upside.

If I am running out of time, out of choices, what moment could be more important than

this?

2011-10-14T04:23:00.002-07:00

2011-10-10T05:51:00.006-07:00

2011-10-10T05:37:00.009-07:00

2011-10-10T05:25:00.006-07:00

2011-10-02T15:24:00.001-07:00

2011-09-28T05:41:00.007-07:00

2011-09-21T05:50:00.009-07:00

2011-09-21T05:47:00.004-07:00

2011-09-14T06:39:00.009-07:00

2011-09-13T04:26:00.000-07:00

2011-09-13T04:21:00.000-07:00

2011-09-13T04:07:00.005-07:00

2011-09-12T20:04:00.008-07:00

2011-09-12T05:49:00.010-07:00

Brunch

2011-08-20T07:16:00.011-07:00

Went to L.A. last weekend to hang with my buddy, TLR.
He took this of himself, and though it is somewhat bizarre and ripe for comment, for now I think I'll just let the old adage speak for itself...

A picture is truly worth a thousand words.

2011-08-09T04:52:00.043-07:00

2011-08-01T06:02:00.003-07:00

A more polished version of my aforementioned friend.

Must be the hat.

2011-08-01T05:55:00.002-07:00

Blackberry Phone Pic

2011-07-26T06:07:00.000-07:00

2011-07-23T17:26:00.010-07:00

Taken with my little Fuji Z7, using $5 sunglasses as filter, this was shot in Puerto Penasco not far from the beach.

This is a friend, and I initially shied away from posting this pic with it's somewhat bleary, brutish qualities; however there's a certain painterly feel (Francis Bacon , perhaps?) that while disturbing, draws the eye.

It's one of those I keep re-visiting, wanting to re-touch and crop, drawing out certain elements, but in the end, like most of my pics, seems best to present unedited.

Witness

2011-07-22T05:20:00.034-07:00

through
dirt-speckled panes
a robin's egg
pale blue
sky

- criss-crossed by clouds,
diagonal
and Dali-esque -

while street lights
flicker
luminescent,

and
wink out
one by one,

acquiescing
to the growing light.

It's morning
-and-
I am awake once again.

As the light fades

2011-07-20T04:39:00.015-07:00

I went back in time this a.m., pouring through this blog to find an old poem.

Didn't find it at first, then got distracted looking at old pictures, and snippets of articles past.

Made my heart swell a bit, to see who I was, who we were, and I write this out of... what exactly, I don't know.

Longing, perhaps? For a different place and time.

(beat)

I wrestle each day, with acceptance of who I am, while at the same time, trying to be a better person.

I fail and I succeed, advance and recede, like the tide.

And my heart swells.

I am reminded of a line from Shawshank Redemption, which sounds trite, but there are some gems there.

The one I'm thinking of now is spoken by Morgan Freeman after Tim Robbins escapes. He talks about the grayness of life, after his friend has left.

Am I so different from then?

Yes and no.

The thrill of sharpened knives - thrown into the air and falling like rain, only to be caught and hurled up again - no longer hold the appeal they once did.

(beat)

And yet.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

The glint and glitter of knives dancing on air, my eyes a-gleam, lips curled up, and blood surging forward;

I will not forget,

Even as the light fades...

(exhalation)

2011-07-18T13:27:00.004-07:00

2011-07-18T12:57:00.014-07:00

2011-07-12T06:49:00.028-07:00

2011-07-04T10:39:00.000-07:00

2011-07-04T09:10:00.014-07:00

2011-06-07T05:38:00.005-07:00

2011-06-07T05:33:00.003-07:00

Rocky Point

2011-06-07T04:45:00.002-07:00

Bridge over Trouble Waters

2011-06-07T04:23:00.005-07:00

Yep. You guessed it. Bridge again.

Rio Salado.

The Bridges of Maricopa County

2011-06-07T04:15:00.006-07:00

In apparent continuation of the "bridges" series.
McClintock & the 202.

Under the Bridge

2011-05-29T14:31:00.008-07:00

16th Street & Buck Eye
Not brilliant but...

2011-05-10T05:34:00.006-07:00

Film Bar

2011-05-09T05:37:00.009-07:00

This is my friend, Punker Rob, and we are hanging at Film Bar in Downtown Phoenix.

You can't tell from this picture so much,* but he's got this goofy, rambling charm that reminds me most of Mike Meyers in "The Spy Who Shagged Me," with a big, toothy grin and seemingly random segues that eventually weave back into the topic at hand.

Rob doesn't know about the "punker" tag, incidentally, but them's his roots and I had to add something to discern between he and Australian Rob*, when talking to others.

But this isn't about him.

It's about Film Bar and "Dirty Minds," which I most recently saw there.

On the other hand, it's now 6 a.m. and I have to trot off to work quite soon, so maybe it's about Punker Rob after all.

Time will tell.

*Rob's going thru a tough time with his soon-to-be ex, and well, you know how that is...
**The dread-locked Aussie head-bartender at Carly's, known for his working man's, seemingly indifferent manner - brusque and friendly at the same time.

2011-05-05T04:59:00.001-07:00

Man vs. Cactus

2011-04-28T04:52:00.020-07:00

We went riding into the desert as dusk fell, myself and three others.

It was to be a perfect evening for mountain biking - low 80's and breezy - with well maintained trails, and an experienced veteran, Tim, along to point out things like gearing ratios, weight distribution, following your line and such.

I'd borrowed his wife's extra bike, and after a couple of spins around the parking lot to get my bearings, we hit the trails.

I should mention, I own a bike and ride fairly often, but what I own is essentially a stripped down ten-speed - thin tires, heavy tubular frame, and handle bars like ram's horns pointing down - and its primary use is to navigate between coffee houses, bars, theaters, and galleries throughout the downtown area.

Typically, the most perilous obstacles to such meanderings are the occasional drunk, patch of rough-hewn asphalt, or vacuous vehicular operator - all fairly easily avoided.

Traffic lights abound, after all, and I hardly ever run into any of those.

(pause)

Enter... the Cactus.

The thing about mountain bike riding in Arizona - there's a fair amount of cactus. There's the iconic, some would say, majestic Saguaro. There's the almost equally well known prickly pear, indigenous to more northern climes. And then there's the Staghorn Cholla.

Myself, I've never found Cholla all that visually appealing, or even noticeable, really - just a part of the landscape, something that receded into the background.

They're sort of thorny and dirty, and tend to attract a fair amount of debris, looking most like a mound of something you'd rake up from hell's own backyard (spines, thistles, brambles and thorns being primary components, with maybe a little dirt and leafy bits thrown in for good measure).

Did I mention my rash?

Well okay, it's not really a rash. Just looks like one. A little raised red bump for each point of introduction with my new friend:

So... about 5 minutes away from returning to the car, I was riding point when Tim called out to take the right line on the drop into an upcoming wash. Which sounded sufficiently daunting that I turned my head away from the path and called back to him to come around.

Then I turned back.

Say hello to my little friend.
(more later...)

Music

2011-04-27T04:41:00.012-07:00

It's 4:40 in the a.m. and I've gotten up early to work out.*

The alarm went off at 4:15 and though I turned it off and dozed for a few minutes, I managed to swim up from the depths a few minutes later when a deep, thumping rhythm woke me up.

But what had filtered through my subconscious as the rumblings of a bass-thumping low rider, sliding slow and sinister by, was actually the click and clack of a distant train.

So yeah, I've been sleeping with the windows open , which can get noisy in the evenings, with the ebb and flow of baseball fans parking on the street below or the meanderings of the Job Corp peeps from next door, but the mornings, most recently:

A cool breeze creeps in with the morning light (blue-gray at first, then growing luminescent) as the birds rise, lyrically chirping. They are accompanied briefly by a drunk, warbling in the distance (think Eddy Murphy singing "Roxanne" in 24 hours) but I'm awake and it only adds to the ambiance, so what the hell.

This morning -apparently- it's all about the music.

*And now I've missed my opportunity to work out while waxing poetic. Eh. I'm doing a bike ride tonight and frankly, Gold's Gym, though conveniently close, is starting to wear a little thin. More on this later...

Day 1

2011-04-26T06:20:00.006-07:00

I recently started a book called "Vows and Observances", a collection of writings from Mahatma Gandhi.

The body of work is about what you'd expect - do unto others, etc. - but the foreword, written by his grandson, Arun, caught my attention.

It speaks of the importance of vows in Hindu culture and recalls two examples from the Gandhi family, one humorous, the other, less so:

1. Arun, as a child, had boasted to his fasting sister he could live on nothing but bananas and milk, which, when overheard by his parents, became his vow.

2. Mohatma's mother, on the other hand, had vowed to eat only when the moon shone. This was during the Monsoons, when clouds dominated, and the whole family grew more and more concerned, keeping urgent watch on the night sky to allow her to eat.

Why that particular vow?

Really, I have no absolutely no idea, and what's more, I don't think it matters.

The keeping of the vow - the promise made to one's self - that's the crux of it and that's what sparked my imagination.

And so, in keeping with that sacred tradition, I've decided to make a vow of my own.

(pause)

I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.*

*So yeah, it's not Ahimsa! : )**
**Ahimsa - The practice of non-injury in thought, word and deed to other living beings.

2011-04-23T17:08:00.001-07:00

2011-04-22T14:03:00.002-07:00

2011-04-21T06:13:00.016-07:00

2011-04-18T20:10:00.013-07:00

Puffer Fish

2011-04-18T18:28:00.015-07:00

Each day I grow larger,

acquiring lost little bits

of glittering accretion

and breathing life into the husk of my former self.

Yes,

to be devoured

from a small white plate

- the clink and scrape

of cuttlery,

my requiem;

but crammed into that fleshy-lipped

and gaping maw,

a delicate/toxic morsel

to be savored.

Against Type

2011-04-17T10:24:00.011-07:00

Went to Cottonwood yesterday to help Mom with yard work.

In spite of a defunct lawnmower, and the weed whacker from hell, was able to carve order from Chaos and reclaim her back yard.

And the front yard? Well... I had to leave by noon (both for a social engagement and to retain my own sanity*) so the front yard remains amiss.

There's always next weekend, I suppose.

Sigh.

Driving back to Phoenix, I passed a Prius with a stereo-typical, thin-lipped, waspy, 40-something woman behind the wheel and thought, is there some law I'm unaware of?

Just once, I'd like to see a giant, hairy, lumberjack-looking guy with a toothy grin, bushy beard and sweat-stained armpits shoe-horned in there.

Hell, at this point I'd call it even to see the lady in a grimy trucker's hat.

Can I get a witness?

Oowa, oowa?**

*Though having arrived at my 4th decade, the regression from man to child is never more quickly accomplished than in the presence of my own mother!

**"Can I get a witness?" followed by oowa-oowa is the remnant of a rap song trapped in my head. Translated, it means something like "I am speaking truth and ask your confirmation - do you affirm?" Followed by a resounding "yes!"

2011-04-14T04:30:00.005-07:00

2011-04-12T04:43:00.005-07:00

2011-04-07T18:11:00.012-07:00

2011-04-05T05:54:00.004-07:00

2011-04-04T17:28:00.022-07:00

SRPMIC

2011-04-02T08:25:00.028-07:00

Snapshot

2011-03-27T19:26:00.021-07:00

Stopped in at Sens for an olo and coke.

Saw Johnny Chu from across the room, cloaked in shadows and hovering,
gargoyle-like over a table of innocent diners.

"What were you thinking?" asks the woman next to me.

I wasn't, really.  Just basking in the last light of day, the setting sun at my back.
But of course, she wasn't talking to me.

I step outside to smoke a cigarette and M, the X, walks by.

"It's nice to see you," she says, and I believe her.
Strange.

Perhaps the world has moved on after all.

I trot off to Film Bar.

A warm breeze blows.

2011-03-21T19:52:00.003-07:00

2011-03-21T05:59:00.002-07:00

2011-03-20T08:08:00.012-07:00

2011-03-07T14:23:00.013-07:00

2011-03-07T14:02:00.005-07:00

2011-03-07T12:17:00.001-07:00

2011-03-07T12:03:00.002-07:00

2011-03-04T06:31:00.002-07:00

2011-03-03T04:39:00.002-07:00

2011-03-01T05:46:00.003-07:00

2011-02-27T20:05:00.006-07:00

2011-02-27T18:32:00.005-07:00

My life in a nutshell

2011-02-24T06:39:00.016-07:00

A 2
Dimensional
representation
of 3 dimensions;

2011-02-13T08:58:00.007-07:00

Got to hang with Pops in Dekalb over the x-mas holiday, thanks to his purchase of a last minute airline ticket for yours truly.

And yes, I’ve become another of the working class poor, robbing Peter to pay Paul, but that’s a story for another time. Meanwhile…

As per usual, we sat around “Chateau Le Buzzy,” smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee - or later, beer - and staring out the window at the park.

Ah, the park; Dad’s lived across from it for so long – in so many different locales – it has become a truly intricate part of the myth of Buzz.

In my mind’s eye, he will eternally be ensconced in his leather loveseat, plaid robe awry, perched and peering out over a cup of coffee, through a haze of cigarette smoke, and into… the Park.

Holga 135

2011-02-08T05:13:00.014-07:00

I don't know why, exactly, but I keep hearing the words from that old commercial roll around in my head:

This is your brain.

This is your brain on crack.*

Which has something to do with my purchase of a Holga, and the first few photos taken with it.

Enhancement? Invigoration? None of these words are quite right, but I feel as if I've regained a certain hunger - a desire to savor/taste/devour things with my eyes.

Yay!

Seriously, dudes.

*A catchy enough slogan, I guess, to have embedded a little seedling in my brain, now come to fruition. Both frightening and fascinating.

Being from TV Land, (and therefore lurking in the murky depths of the american collective psyche) I could see this little nugget lifted and re-inserted into a song - a little hook, or recurring rap phrase.

And while Rap is sometimes frowned upon for borrowing or "sampling" pre-existing musical phrases, it occurs to me the Impressionists did the same thing.

Gifted

2011-02-05T13:47:00.007-07:00

She said it was due to my lack of intelligence.

That's why I'd never met her parents.

And while I'd suspected as much, it was both comforting and... stinging to hear the truth.

Oh, and she didn't respect me.

(pause)

The old me might've recoiled - recoiled and crawled away into the deepest darkest hole to lick my wounds.

Or maybe lashed out in an ape-like display - torn apart the room in a desperate, face-saving attempt to deny my shame.

The new me? Well...

M is a genius - a fact I can't deny - and I could never parallel many of her abilities.

And there was a time I delighted in those abilities like a child, seeing fireflies for the first time, their lights rising over a darkening field.

As a Naturopath, she is unsurpassed, and the result is that I am a happier, healthier person - for which I owe her a great deal.

Most of all, however, I owe her for her words.
Those final words.
And the truth.

***

Soon after her pronouncement, M asked me - quite sincerely - why I am such an angry person.

Humor seems the appropriate response.

"No reason. Why do you ask?" I wish I'd said, which brings a chuckle to my lips even now.

But I would be lying if I said there was no anger.

There is, to be sure, but rather than the mindless sort, it feels like a fortification, a reinforcement of myself.

It feels like... determination.

Maybe even self-determination.

What happens next - I have no idea.

But for now, I am truly grateful.

*Oh, and while I'm no Einstein, I was tested for language ability in 5th grade and found to be... advanced. The word genius was tossed around, but who knows. I mentioned this to M who said:

"Genius! What is that? 140 something?" as she flapped her hands. "I'm in the 200's!"

2011-01-16T07:11:00.011-07:00

The problem with writing isn’t what to say but the reverse.

Every topic is a Pandora’s Box with seemingly endless parenthetical statements, or footnotes, waiting to be attached.*

It might be easier to write in 3 dimensions, with tangential points affixed in a more direct and less tedious manner.**

Of course there’s always editing.

But then the twisted-form-that-is-the-beauty-of-the-bonsai-tree is lost.

The form of a thing, its constraints, helps define its beauty - note the Sonnet or Haiku.

As my father would say, “it’s like life itself.”***

And in this case, he may be right.****

*Miles Davis is said to have mentored a young and talented but overly prolific George Benson:

“Ever feel like you could play anything at any time?”

“Yes.”

“Now don’t.”

**Come to think of it, a 3-D story sounds kinda cool – each line or individual thought, typed, cut and shellacked onto a dowel, with adjoining thoughts attached at varying angles, like the branches of a tree - they could be handwritten, or expressed with images, or notes of music! Hmm…

***Yet another of my father’s seemingly throw-away but perhaps deeply ironic lines -Could be an inane and nasally intoned, “plastics, my boy, plastics!” or it could be more like Voltaire’s Candide with “it is the best of possible worlds!”

****Not that D.O.D. aka "Dear Old Dad" is oft wrong, but, the finite span of one’s own life - book-ended by oblivion – what could be more beautiful, terrible and poignant? : )

Text

2011-01-15T09:26:00.003-07:00

life is easier to digest in bite size pieces

whenever I try to cram the whole thing in my mouth

well

obviously it doesn't fit

2010-12-31T12:40:00.014-07:00

2010-12-31T11:37:00.001-07:00

2010-12-31T07:48:00.002-07:00

2010-12-30T07:56:00.002-07:00

2010-12-28T17:55:00.004-07:00

2010-12-27T18:30:00.000-07:00

2010-12-25T13:13:00.000-07:00

2010-12-14T19:13:00.002-07:00

2010-12-12T08:10:00.005-07:00

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

2010-11-25T06:41:00.024-07:00

I saw a play the other night for the first time in a while, "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom," by August Wilson.

I'd never seen anything written by the man, but his reputation for demanding excellence preceded the viewing of this work. However...

It wasn't quite what I'd hoped. True, there were some strong individual performances - notably by James T. Alfred and Lerea Carter, who played an emotionally volatile Levee and languidly sensous Dussie Mae, respectively - and there were shining moments by others as well, but over all, the continuity was somewhat threadbare.

Cue pickup and tempo were sluggish, gestures and movement were, at times, disconnected* and the limited stage combat was a tad bit amateurish. But really, these are all just technical points, ways of explaining why I wasn't transported.

It occurs to me the Cast, all of color save one unconvincing irish cop**, may have been less than inspired by a blue hair crowd of somber sixty-somethings, but regardless of why, I never left the building, wasn't taken on a journey.

I remember seeing Hamlet once at the Jeun Lune in Minneapolis. The titular character was played by a man I thought too old for the role*** but 5 minutes in, I forgot all that and in fact, forgot I was a mere audience member.

For the first time ever in my viewing of Hamlet, I became personally involved and experienced each moment emotionally and as if for the first time:

When a wildly bereaved Hamlet stumbled upon a discarded dagger, peered into the glint of it's blade and contemplated his own life's worth - a feeling of impending, gut churning violence hung in the air - and I remember actually thinking, "what's he going to do next?!"

It was frightening and riveting and... delicious.

Ma Rainey? Not so much.

At least not this time.****

*I get that a director may dole out seemingly meaningless blocking, but it's up to the actor to anchor these in character driven action.

**While a subtle dialect is appreciated, one that fades in and out of existence is somewhat less believable

***He was in his forties, and while I still consider this a tad bit old for Hamlet, now that I've reached that same threshold, I find my judgement of his age a little ironic. Young or old, those same powerful emotions, like blood, flow through our veins.

****Not unlike a weekend warrior, I should mention my own failed attempts at professional acting career may've skewed my views unfairly. In the word of the immortal Al Bundy, "I scored 4 touchdowns in one game for Polk High!" Yeah. Maybe I just need to get a life.

Etymology

2010-11-24T07:35:00.014-07:00

Lately, I've been hearing a resurgence of the word "douche-bag" thrown around in more casual conversation.

I'm not sure exactly when d-bag made it's debut, but I'm guessing somewhere in the late 90's. At the time it seemed to have a little more teeth to it, and was fairly specific:

Douche-bag - A young man who mis-represents himself in order to solicit the sexual favors of a young lady, most often in conjunction with the bar scene*. A local example would be the "scottsdale millionaire" - or someone who makes $30K a year, but implies a much grander scale of living to bedazzle his intended victim.

I should mention both deception and malice were key ingredients. It wasn't enough to get laid - one had to count coup over, or demean one of the fairer sex. I should also mention this wasn't my personal m.o.,** but it's not as if I weren't - as my father puts it - out "tap dancing for the young ladies" myself.

Later, it seems the word was expanded to include more general forms of deceptive practise; it was still primarily masculine, but could be expanded to include the feminine, so long as malice and deception were used for the purposes of self gain - a sort of low level grifting. Maybe a lie was told to a friend or acquaintance in order to extract money? Something like that.

Today, however, the word seems to have gained a much wider, nearly universal useage, not unlike the f-bomb.

True, you can't "go douche yourself, you mother douchin' douche-bag, cause I don't douchin' care!" -but- when your very own sister says you look like a douche-bag for wearing your Blackberry on your hip... ***

"Dork," I think, would've been more appropriate.
Adam, you look like a dork.

Now there's a word I can identify with.

Just not douche-bag.

*Okay, s0 maybe,maybe I need to chill on the Tom Wolfe for a bit.
**Modus Operandi or Mode of Operation. My own tactic was the undersell - infinitely more honest, but a tactic none-the-less.
***For the record - I wear my phone in a belt-holster, not because it looks cool - quite the opposite - but because the phone seems to get beat up (and lost) far less often!

2010-11-24T07:12:00.005-07:00

2010-11-22T08:31:00.001-07:00

Change in Seasons

2010-11-18T04:38:00.019-07:00

It's that time of the year when the days grow short and the light fades:

Darkness seeps
from each crevice,
oozing and pooling
in the
depressions
of smooth surfaces
(stainless steel, formica, polished
concrete),
coagulates and coats
all
in sticky soft secretion.

With the darkness comes anxiety.
Another year passed and what have I done with my life?

Thanksgiving used to be a neutral sum game - positive, even. My annual hike with mom before the big meal - a calming, subtly reassuring ritual.

And that's still fine and good, but this year, this Thanksgiving, things have shifted.

M and I met 5 years ago, October.

We spent our first Thanksgiving together at mom's soon after, no expectations, no worries, just letting that day, like any other, unfold.

Relationship-wise, I didn't see it, long term. Just thought we'd have some interesting conversations for a while.

Well...

I guess we did, didn't we?

2010-11-14T09:00:00.021-07:00

One of the great things about waking up at 4 a.m. - every day without fail - you've got a little time on your hands.

Know that stuff you always want to do but never have enough time?

Now you do.

Recently, on my morning commute, I kept noticing the early morning light reflected off this particular canal and thinking to myself, I should take a photo.

However, I'm typically within a hair's breadth of being late and surrounded by a swarm of angrily buzzing commuters going 70, so this doesn't happen.

Today, having arisen with the dead in the pre-dawn of night, I caffeinated up and headed out. It was still a tad bit tricky, but with the lighter Sunday traffic, not quite as death defying.

And it's not my favorite pic but I done did it.*

Next, a giant chicken wire Buddha.
Or something.

*Makes me wonder if I've really something better at other times (weather, light and maybe smog, depending) -or- if it's like that zen parable, where the guy clings to a vine on the side of cliff, with a tiger above. Sensing his imminent demise, he sees a wild strawberry growing there and pops into his mouth, savoring the sweetness.

In the Kid's Kitchen

2010-10-23T08:21:00.002-07:00

2010-10-08T08:17:00.006-07:00

2010-10-08T08:14:00.000-07:00

Pick Up Game

2010-10-07T09:17:00.021-07:00

Work's been a bitch lately, with things picking up and our staff still down.

Then Jeff, our inside sales guy, takes the week off, so yours truly has to open the warehouse at 6 a.m. each morning.

On the third day in a row, with the alarm going off at 4:30 a.m., yet again, it felt like swimming from the bottom of a sludge filled well. I hit snooze twice in quick succession and then, somehow, shut it off.

I dreamed:

Dee-Wayne Brammage,* and I were playing basketball. But we didn't have a ball.

Instead, we started with a ring of keys and then halfway through, switched to a block of what looked like white cheddar cheese, wrapped in cellophane. Coulda been Havarti.

Despite the cheese, it was like old times, and we moved with the grace and joy of youthful exuberance, flowing like water over the cracked concrete, laughing and trash-talking the while.

"You can't play ball with a block of cheese, " I thought, and woke up. Then scrambled my ass off to work.

But the dream lingers on.

***

Dee-Wayne Brammage, I challenge you to a game of one-on-one, old man. Think you got anything left?

You just tell me where and when.

I'll bring the cheese.

*My oldest friend, whom I met in 2nd Grade at Columbia Grade School, where he was the shortest and I was the tallest. The rest is history.

Apple Tree

2010-10-03T18:41:00.003-07:00

For every attribute I've ever mocked my father for, there's been a reckoning.

Hairy ears, baggy eyes, thinning hair - all these and more I've acquired.

As Buzz once put it, "you're looking at your future."

Strong words, indeed.

Intimacy

2010-10-03T06:50:00.008-07:00

While not a great composition, this pic does convey a certain tone that seems appropriate, currently.

Frankly, I'm getting tired of rooftops and asphalt for subject matter. And I think it shows.

I want to photograph people - individuals - captured in some intimate way, probably nude, but there are 2 impediments:

1. I'm looking for a certain texture and feel which may require a switch to analog. This means I gotta learn a helluva lot more about this medium and I'm not sure I have the patience.*

2. (probably more significant) This may be a substitute for true intimacy.

Since before M and I broke it off I've had this impulse - and this may be about that.

However, art is a process of self-discovery (and time's a wastin'!) so the question remains...

*On the other hand, a wise dude once said, time passes of its own accord, whether we accomplish something or not. So why not?
**M recently told me I'll probably be dead of Mad Cow disease in ten years. Hard to tell if this is macabre humor or accurate prediction -but- either way, I figure I'm halfway to the finish line as it is!