Friday, September 28, 2007

We Wish You All a Very Happy Pleasant Flight

Air Travel.

Not pleasant, since, I don't know, my Ohio cum North Carolina homeboys Wilbur and Orville, but even and ever so more unpleasant now.

The "terrorists" DID win. At least based on my trip to Nashville this week. Or my trip to anywhere in the last six years.

I have several friends, mostly photographers oddly enough, that make their living in that industry, albeit for the private or unclassified sector and god bless them. That’s the real deal.

But this privatized shit, man. Lose it.

I said to my girl on the flight from JFK to Nashville in order to witness the burial of her Uncle, "Do you think we will live long enough to see privately owned air travel extinguished?"

I can imagine it. Trains, subways and automobiles.

An aside based on the fact that "they" can't even get us to Nashville: Gimme a show of hands - how many of you ACTUALLY believe that we went to the moon? C'mon, all 80 of you vote...

Think about it, Seriously - not just the myth, but the actual mechanics of get there, land there, walk or whatever the fuck they did there, and take off from there and get back here part.


How come it worked so FLAWLESSLY then? Hunh, Buzz?

Bear with me, but in 1974, I built Revel models of the lunar lander that wouldn't glue together properly.

I've driven brand new cars for 30 miles that fell apart.

I've used cameras that failed failed failed.

And none of them had Lego life support.

Breathe deeply. Oxygen is

I've saved a person's life, but they were just drowning on earth in a stupid little pond, not on another planet.

Why is Buzz Aldrin so angry?

And then there is that one great argument that I have no response to. Because it pretty much sums up everything about the human race that disgusts me:

We must have gone to the moon - how else would all those stupid gossiping motherfuckers keep their mouths shut if we didn't?

Money. Fame. The history books. Their 15 minutes (seconds).

I have no answer for that. And until I do, I am signing off...

The title is a Jarvis Cocker penned line from Charlotte Gainsbourg's "AF607105."

The photo is of Meagan - weightless. Really.

Monday, September 24, 2007

A Long Time Ago

Just finished the checking out the recently well reviewed and received indie documentary "American Hardcore" which chronicles the rise of hardcore punk from 1980-1986, based on the book by Steven Blush.

It's not that impressive a film from a filmic standpoint, as I felt the narrative was unfocused and it borrowed in places a little too much from films like "The Unheard Music."

The interviews with members of the "scene" looks as though they were captured whenever they could get the subject - Jesse Malin outside in the sunlight in a park; Ian MacKaye in some "swinging bachelor pad" - to reminisce a little. There were also just too many backgrounds filled with punk rock records, etc...but they subject are impressive deliver an insightful "we made this" narrative.

Among some of the standouts are Ian, Henry Rollins, Keith Morris, H.R., Greg Ginn, Matthew Barney (?) and my C.O.C. Raleigh boys, Mike Dean and Reed Mullen, who is filmed outside The Brewery.

For information’s sake, the film is an informative scattershot look at a phenomenon that happened and affected and involved me and a bunch of my friends in various and sundry ways. For students of music and sociology, I highly recommend it. For technique, look elsewhere… perhaps Errol Morris’ next film will tackle the same subject.

Was I really there? God, that seems like yesterday, and yet -

I'll resist another post about feeling old.

My best friend Toby and I, circa 1980. We were working on a slide-show narrative for his photography class while vacationing at his Grandparent's ranch in Texas, so we were in "character." Photo by "Auto Timer and Tripod."

Out of costume, we had just discovered "Discipline" by King Crimson.

Hüsker Dü was just around the corner.

I'm off to Nashville.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

She Got Me Out Of My Slump

For now...

Michele From Hawaii.

We had a great time, and this is just a Polaroid that precedes the many images that will follow.

And for that, Michele kicks ass.

Monday, September 17, 2007

White Shadow

I've been in a downright rotten mood lately. Despondent, unmotivated, sad and generally not giving much of a fuck. (You have no home, you have no warmth.)

I think I've figured it out. (It'll be those who gave their island to survive.)

The 6th anniversary of September 11th, 6 days belated. Denying by ignoring, that I stood there watching, smelling, 17 blocks away, gets me through the day. (The actor's gone, there's only you and me.)

Sometimes the everything of that experience takes hold of me and shakes me like a grizzly bear would if she had hold of me. Not often, but when it does, it's like nothing else except that. (They'll use up what we used to be.)

We went up on the roof this year on the 11th and took a look at the blue beacons of light that they plugged in just for the festivities. (Signals grow on radios.)

It was beautiful. I told my girl that they should just leave it on and plant grass in the footprints of the WTC and be fucking done with it. (Still waiting for the swollen Eastern tide.)

Fucking. Done. With. It. (There's no point in direction.)

Memorial. Beacon. Thing. (We cannot even choose a side.)

Way more reverent then those horrid insect-like things full of Starbucks and Office Depots that the Beaurocrats and Scumbags are trying to "design." (On the tall cliffs they were getting older.)

But they won't do that. Nope, never. (The nail sunk in the cloud.)

It'll be horrible, just like everything else. (If again the seas are silent.)

And that makes me sad. (In the thunder crash.)

This song, an "oldie," triggered this rant tonight. It played randomly, and the grizzlies took hold. (We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood.)

Peace. (Drink up.)


(Peter Gabriel)

"When the night shows.
The signals grow on radios.
All the strange things.
They come and go, as early warnings.
Stranded starfish have no place to hide.
Still waiting for the swollen Easter tide.
There’s no point in direction, we cannot even choose a side.

I took the old track.
The hollow shoulder, across the waters.
On the tall cliffs.
They were getting older, sons and daughters.
The jaded underworld was riding high.
Waves of steel hurled metal at the sky.
And as the nail sunk in the cloud, the rain was warm and soaked the crowd.

Lord, here comes the flood.
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood.
If again the seas are silent.
In any still alive.
It'll be those who gave their island to survive.
Drink up, dreamers, you're running dry.

When the flood calls.
You have no home, you have no walls.
In the thunder crash.
You're a thousand minds, within a flash.
Don’t be afraid to cry at what you see.
The actors gone, there's only you and me.
And if we break before the dawn, they'll use up what we used to be.

Lord, here comes the flood.
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood.
If again, the seas are silent.
In any still alive.
It'll be those who gave their island to survive.
Drink up, dreamers, they're running dry.

Drink up, dream up your alibi."

Friday, September 14, 2007

Sedan Delivery is a Job I Know I'll Keep

Life got in the way today.

Sometimes things don't work out like you'd like them to.

Sometimes after a 15 hour day where things don't work out like you'd like them to, the Q train NEVER comes.

A talk with Mr. Willis helped, and he understood what the deal was, as alwys.

But you know...I'd rather be bowling.

With Neil Young and Juliet.

Been thinking about it all day long....

Thursday, September 13, 2007


...except Natsuko.

Don't EVER believe anything you read here. Unless you know me. And even then, you should ask me. And then, only if you know what I tell you is true.

And we can start from there.

Pictures lie.

Blogs are worse.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Down Payment on a Farm

Here's a little parable:

This guy I know started an interactive production company in 1996 in NYC. Offices on Lafayette, then Bond, then Broadway between Grand and Howard. He did about $7M between then and 2000, when the Internet crash happened, and even though his wasn't a "web company" it got hit by the aftershocks. He went under in December of 2000 HARD owing about $25k in payroll taxes to UNCLE SAM, i.e. the $7M was long gone and he didn't get much of it at all. Since he was the only principal at that time, the business debt flowed straight through to him personally.

He's been fighting the IRS for seven years as the debt rose to almost $70k due to interest tax and his apparent blatent refusal to pay income tax until the whole thing was solved, for instance the year and a half after September 11, 2001 when he didn't work at all.

Last week, after FINALLY coming to his senses and employing a tax attourney for $5,500.00 he settled with UNCLE SAM for just under $12k. He told me that even though he settled for about 1/5 of the total, it took about seven years off of his life, his credit rating and his ability to buy dinner on a date.

If you can, pay your taxes folks. Even though it's probably illegal. Fuckers.

That could have been a downpayment on a farm in upstate NY, like the ones I heard about at FARM AID yesterday.

My girl gave me the birthday gift of taking a water taxi (!) to Randall's Island in the East River where we stood in the dirt on Randall's Island yesterday to see the first NYC appearance of FARM AID in it's 22 year history. Really it was just to see Neil Young (and some Willie) but we were down with the cause, yo!

Neil Young's set was badass, just him acoustic, Peggy on backing vocals and acoustic and Ben Keith on Dobro. Willie played on "Homegrown" - go figure.

Neil looked noticably older than I've seen him in a while, but the energy was right there.

Just like the first time I saw him in 1983, way too late, but what could I do?

After "Nobody Knows..." my girl said, "That's a really sad song..."
God, I love me some Neil Young.

The setlist (with album reference, follows):

Neil Young, Farm Aid 2007, Randall's Island, New York, NY, 9/9/07

Human Highway (Comes A Time)
Silver and Gold (Silver and Gold)
Beautiful Bluebird (Chrome Dreams II)
Too Far Gone (Freedom)
Everybody Knows This is Nowhere (Everybody Knows This is Nowhere)
Heart of Gold (Harvest)
Homegrown (American Stars 'n Bars)
Four Strong Winds (Comes A Time)

Saturday, September 08, 2007


...except for a photo of Angela Grant, looking fantastic, from the other night, laughing.

The black and whites are back from the lab and being scanned now.

More to follow when I am, uhhh, more motivated.

Note: Dead zebra "should" look great in b&w - but this is just a theory for now...

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

We Are Standing on the Edge...

"The Head of State has called for me - by name, and I don't have time for him."

It's gonna be a glorious day.
"Cause Thom Yorke said so...

Andrea Grant, Ladies and Gentlemen, while the world goes to utter and complete hell.

You better read her poetry now by accessing the link to the right, before it all comes to a sudden and firey end.

An aside:
I was once in a pretty bad taxi accident.
Taxi strike today.
The image of Andrea reminds me of the accident coupled with the strike...

...and then there's that button.

Saturday, September 01, 2007


I've been cleaning out my office.

This is a Herculean task (as Bill Hicks might say) that involves pulling the mountain of shit packed in there out into the hallway and the living room and having my girl deal with it as I go through all of it - piece by piece.

I live in Brooklyn, folks! Space is at a premium!

And you know, when you go through old shit, you tend to reminisce. Which can multiply the minutes, hours and days:

"Oh, look, I was so young."
"Oh, I remember that kitty."
"Wow, he's dead."

It also involves compiling and archiving EVERY negative I've ever shot - we're talking sometime in the '80s here, which has also been a nostalgia ride.

I'll post some craziness as soon as I can scan it.

And I don't have time to get rid of my shit on eBay, so if you happen by my stoop tomorrow in Brooklyn, there's gonna be a huge "this shit is free - please take it away" sale.

In the meantime, Shien, from 1920, shot last night on Polaroid in the Bronx.

The Yankees were playing Tampa Bay, which just fucked me up getting home via a Bronx car service whilst attemping to get to dinner in Park Slope.