Thursday, January 13, 2011
Lumberjack Storytime
Lumberjack Storytime from Neal Corl on Vimeo.
We shot this almost five years ago, but just got around to finishing it. The bulk of it is meant to go into a larger film that's also in progress, but I thought it could exist on its own as a short. At first I posted it on Facebook only, it quickly got a few likes and then nothing. I was frustrated because I see people pass around stuff that isn't all that good all the time. And people always ask to see some of my stuff.
The whole experience led me to redefine how I use Facebook. I've decided to use primarily it as an address book for old friends and colleagues. I continue to keep tabs on those who post status updates and I've even commented here and there, but I am rethinking sharing what's going on with me. I'm sure there's a better interface in the pipeline than Facebook or Twitter for personal news sharing. I think they can coexist in ways that earlier social networks didn't. For instance, I love having people that I worked with on photo jobs in NY in the 90s amongst my friends, but I don't think they want to hear about how much I love the Blazers or what my middle child said after school today.
Anyway, here's the film. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Finding My Way
I'm not sure that I associate with too many people that aren't involved in some sort of self-searching, some of us more successfully than others. I know a number of people that are extremely self-actualized. As I know quite a few that are putting much more effort into getting more lost. I spent a number of years seeking obliteration myself. I suppose the toughest things to sort out are those periods when our ambitions are in conflict with our conditioning. That is to say when we really want to find our way, but find ourselves unable to effectively navigate the pathways we're seeking. Sometimes in spite of our fervent efforts we undermine ourselves both consciously and otherwise. I find that the two key things to making progress are courageous perseverance and seeking guidance from others. The Greeks had a name for thinking you can go it alone - hubris. A trait I'm all too familiar with.
There was a time that Finding Fellini meant finding greatness and recognition equal to Federico's. I was also interested in learning about Fellini in order to become a better filmmaker. In time, I became less prideful and self-interested and more open to Fellini's humanism. Eventually I gained the humility necessary to recognize pursuing a career in film was no longer in my best interest. I recently read that careers in the arts and, or glamor professions, are subject less to job markets but more to a high-stakes tournament. Few people win, most lose, some take jobs in ancillary roles, some enter tournaments with lower stakes, with and without hope for reentering the grand sweepstakes, and many others withdraw. My withdrawal from the Tournament of Aspiring Directors caused me to experience some crises of identity and a sense of failure.
I tried to refocus my energy on a career in Public Health, but ultimately decided that a complete career transformation, including five plus years of schooling was not in my best interest either no matter how passionate I felt about it. In the interest of capitalizing on the skills and contacts I already possessed from my years working in film, I began producing photo shoots - an ancillary role in a parallel industry. It has been sometimes fun and fruitful, but I don't see the likelihood of it capturing my attention in the long term for various reasons. I have not shut the door on photo production opportunities and will continue to leave it ajar for the foreseeable future.
I've been researching and contemplating my next career for most of the past year. I've looked into many things. Some of them involved entering more tournaments albeit on a less grandiose scale. I explored a career in fashion for several months. I hesitated to tell too many people about it for fear of setting myself up to appear fickle should I decide, like my public health aspiration, that it wasn't to be. I took a few sewing classes and did some drawing. I paid a lot of attention to inspirations and possibilities of success. It intrigued me, but there were many things that didn't feel right.
On the advice of a trusted friend, I decided to stop looking for an ideal career and to take a good look at what skills seem to be common in my long and varied work experience. I bristled at that initially. "What? Do you mean something like, What Color Is My Parachute?" I asked cynically. Ever earnest, my friend said, "Exactly that."
So I got that damn book and every time I started reading it I got a headache and felt tired and hungry and wanted desperately to go back to bed. Part of me feels as if I am aiming at some sort of consolation prize of a career that capitalizes on my organization or leadership skills. As such, the questions regarding what I really want out of life are like salt in my wounds. At best.
I spent most of my twenties trying to lose myself. I wanted nothing to do with convention. My heroes were denizens of the underbelly. I never wanted to buy a house or own much of anything, but I wasn't keen on being entirely destitute so I worked mainly in nightclubs and restaurants among other short-lived dalliances in various fields. In spite of my apathy and disdain for convention, I demonstrated a vigorous and dedicated work ethic and the ability to anticipate what kind of experiences and environments would attract the affluent, hip and beautiful by the hundreds. I was a leader and an organizer, responsible for large staffs, budgets, logistics, musicians' careers and investors' money. These skills seemed like common sense to me. In my mind, any idiot could run a business. I took it for granted that I was able to step into these businesses without any formal training or guidance and not only assume operational control, but increase revenues as well as raise their prominence.
I never really wanted to be there. I thought of myself as a writer or a furniture designer. Anything but a businessman. Nightclubs are all about make believe. Nothing seemed very real. Besides I never went looking for any of these jobs. They always came to me and when I was desperate for some income, I often took what was offered even if I would have preferred a less demanding job as a bartender. Because of these factors, it's been difficult for me to see that the skill set I used as a club manager and promoter has value. That the things that came easy to me are transferable and marketable competencies.
I regarded my film producing skills in a similar manner. I worked with producers along the way that often seemed to need my guidance or simply just get in the way. I never thought I wanted to be producing in the first place, but when I was subject to someone incapable of meeting my expectations I saw it that I had to put that hat on as well. Now I see that while that make sense, it has often been inconsiderate and insensitive. Being a good team player means helping one another out, not shaming those that are less capable. The takeaway, though, is that while I was doing okay at the creative aspects of filmmaking, my logistical talents were in abundant evidence. I was often distracted from my storytelling ambitions by my attraction to making sure things were happening efficiently. Clearly my mind is compelled by such challenges.
When I started producing photography, I thought that with my storytelling ambitions behind me, that I would be able to focus strictly on coordinating production. However, I found that while I didn't need to be the main creative force on shoots, I couldn't fathom not offering input into casting, locations, wardrobe, art direction, prop styling and, in some cases, composition. I don't feel as if it's an ego-driven desire. More of a DNA thing, really. I never stepped on any toes with my input and I'm told that for the most part it was not only welcome but appreciated. One of the photographers I worked with asked me to help him communicate with the models. He had heard me talking to the background talent and admired my director's voice. I appreciated his taking notice. There was no resentment on my part that I was better at an aspect of his job than he. Though I see that I have skills that benefit the creative process. And I really need some sort of creative stake - not primary authorship - but some sense of involvement beyond coming in under budget and making sure there's lunch for everyone. Again, those are skills to be sure and I need to make sure I account for them. While ensuring that I don't sell myself short.
I've been trying to explore what lies between the two extremes of my career pendulum. There must be jobs that are both creative and administrative; right? It's taken some digging and I haven't quite sorted it all out, but I'm definitely making progress toward discovering them. The jobs worth having are going to take more work to get than some of the jobs I've had in the past, but probably less work than it was taking to become a working film director. I've just go to keep striving to balance not making it either too easy or too hard on myself. I'm starting to feel some hope of finding a career that is neither booby prize nor beneath me, but that will not only make good use of my aptitudes and skills but encourage me to discover ever greater talents.
There was a time that Finding Fellini meant finding greatness and recognition equal to Federico's. I was also interested in learning about Fellini in order to become a better filmmaker. In time, I became less prideful and self-interested and more open to Fellini's humanism. Eventually I gained the humility necessary to recognize pursuing a career in film was no longer in my best interest. I recently read that careers in the arts and, or glamor professions, are subject less to job markets but more to a high-stakes tournament. Few people win, most lose, some take jobs in ancillary roles, some enter tournaments with lower stakes, with and without hope for reentering the grand sweepstakes, and many others withdraw. My withdrawal from the Tournament of Aspiring Directors caused me to experience some crises of identity and a sense of failure.
I tried to refocus my energy on a career in Public Health, but ultimately decided that a complete career transformation, including five plus years of schooling was not in my best interest either no matter how passionate I felt about it. In the interest of capitalizing on the skills and contacts I already possessed from my years working in film, I began producing photo shoots - an ancillary role in a parallel industry. It has been sometimes fun and fruitful, but I don't see the likelihood of it capturing my attention in the long term for various reasons. I have not shut the door on photo production opportunities and will continue to leave it ajar for the foreseeable future.
I've been researching and contemplating my next career for most of the past year. I've looked into many things. Some of them involved entering more tournaments albeit on a less grandiose scale. I explored a career in fashion for several months. I hesitated to tell too many people about it for fear of setting myself up to appear fickle should I decide, like my public health aspiration, that it wasn't to be. I took a few sewing classes and did some drawing. I paid a lot of attention to inspirations and possibilities of success. It intrigued me, but there were many things that didn't feel right.
On the advice of a trusted friend, I decided to stop looking for an ideal career and to take a good look at what skills seem to be common in my long and varied work experience. I bristled at that initially. "What? Do you mean something like, What Color Is My Parachute?" I asked cynically. Ever earnest, my friend said, "Exactly that."
So I got that damn book and every time I started reading it I got a headache and felt tired and hungry and wanted desperately to go back to bed. Part of me feels as if I am aiming at some sort of consolation prize of a career that capitalizes on my organization or leadership skills. As such, the questions regarding what I really want out of life are like salt in my wounds. At best.
I spent most of my twenties trying to lose myself. I wanted nothing to do with convention. My heroes were denizens of the underbelly. I never wanted to buy a house or own much of anything, but I wasn't keen on being entirely destitute so I worked mainly in nightclubs and restaurants among other short-lived dalliances in various fields. In spite of my apathy and disdain for convention, I demonstrated a vigorous and dedicated work ethic and the ability to anticipate what kind of experiences and environments would attract the affluent, hip and beautiful by the hundreds. I was a leader and an organizer, responsible for large staffs, budgets, logistics, musicians' careers and investors' money. These skills seemed like common sense to me. In my mind, any idiot could run a business. I took it for granted that I was able to step into these businesses without any formal training or guidance and not only assume operational control, but increase revenues as well as raise their prominence.
I never really wanted to be there. I thought of myself as a writer or a furniture designer. Anything but a businessman. Nightclubs are all about make believe. Nothing seemed very real. Besides I never went looking for any of these jobs. They always came to me and when I was desperate for some income, I often took what was offered even if I would have preferred a less demanding job as a bartender. Because of these factors, it's been difficult for me to see that the skill set I used as a club manager and promoter has value. That the things that came easy to me are transferable and marketable competencies.
I regarded my film producing skills in a similar manner. I worked with producers along the way that often seemed to need my guidance or simply just get in the way. I never thought I wanted to be producing in the first place, but when I was subject to someone incapable of meeting my expectations I saw it that I had to put that hat on as well. Now I see that while that make sense, it has often been inconsiderate and insensitive. Being a good team player means helping one another out, not shaming those that are less capable. The takeaway, though, is that while I was doing okay at the creative aspects of filmmaking, my logistical talents were in abundant evidence. I was often distracted from my storytelling ambitions by my attraction to making sure things were happening efficiently. Clearly my mind is compelled by such challenges.
When I started producing photography, I thought that with my storytelling ambitions behind me, that I would be able to focus strictly on coordinating production. However, I found that while I didn't need to be the main creative force on shoots, I couldn't fathom not offering input into casting, locations, wardrobe, art direction, prop styling and, in some cases, composition. I don't feel as if it's an ego-driven desire. More of a DNA thing, really. I never stepped on any toes with my input and I'm told that for the most part it was not only welcome but appreciated. One of the photographers I worked with asked me to help him communicate with the models. He had heard me talking to the background talent and admired my director's voice. I appreciated his taking notice. There was no resentment on my part that I was better at an aspect of his job than he. Though I see that I have skills that benefit the creative process. And I really need some sort of creative stake - not primary authorship - but some sense of involvement beyond coming in under budget and making sure there's lunch for everyone. Again, those are skills to be sure and I need to make sure I account for them. While ensuring that I don't sell myself short.
I've been trying to explore what lies between the two extremes of my career pendulum. There must be jobs that are both creative and administrative; right? It's taken some digging and I haven't quite sorted it all out, but I'm definitely making progress toward discovering them. The jobs worth having are going to take more work to get than some of the jobs I've had in the past, but probably less work than it was taking to become a working film director. I've just go to keep striving to balance not making it either too easy or too hard on myself. I'm starting to feel some hope of finding a career that is neither booby prize nor beneath me, but that will not only make good use of my aptitudes and skills but encourage me to discover ever greater talents.
Political Spoof from 2008
Political Spoof from Almanac Pictures LLC on Vimeo.
I improvised the voiceover for this video by Jordan Karr-Morse and Travis Huntington. It was supposed to be a temp track, but it ended up they couldn't find anyone to do it better for the final edit.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Jolly Old Saint Prick
Christmas Eve. I grew up with no Jews around so I never thought to call the holidays anything but Christmas even though I didn't think about Christ on the day after I was six. Merry Christmas. Sounds nice. Comforting. All this Festivus shite is exactly that. Shite. More made up shit. I'm not bagging on Kwaanza. I went to a celebration a couple of years ago and it was touching. I try to say nothing but Happy Holidays these days. In my mind that means Christmas and New Year's rolled into one, but I'm coming to an understanding that the world is wide open and there are many iterations of the winter holidays occurring near the Solstice.
I've spent many a Christmas Eve in bars around the world. And in a Midnight Mass or two. I've shacked up with Jewish girls that had Christmas trees in their New York apartments. And once when I was stranded on a layover there was another old girlfriend that was a non-Christmas observing member of the tribe that picked me up from the airport. We drove around San Francisco taking pictures of empty laundromats and walking around the streets of the Mission that were quiet for once.
I have kids now, so there's a tree in the living room and some stockings hanging above the hearth. There's a big stack of presents in the garage that I wrapped a week ago from Santa. Tonight we'll put out some cookies and milk for the fat man. We'll read The Night Before Christmas. We'll eat bagels and lox tomorrow morning and open presents one at a time, going around the room until every gift has been received. It will take a long time. We won't talk about Jesus. We will say thank you several times and express our gratitude for more than the gifts we open. We'll eat roast duck as has become our family tradition. I'll assemble some toys in between skimming some of the books I'm likely to receive. Later I'll watch some basketball. The Blazers are playing.
Christmas hasn't always been a holiday that I've cherished or celebrated with joy and reverence. I had some disappointing ones as a kid. Jokey cards from convenience stores containing IOUs. Drunkenness. Violence. Stark reminders that all was far from well.
I've experienced a few odd ones. Like the time I was stranded in an apartment in Germany with a drunk Klansman from Missouri. It was my German girlfriend's place. Petra was a student at the local art college. She was away with her family, but let me stay there to get out of the barracks over the holiday. The redneck came with some friends that stopped by earlier and stayed behind when they left for some reason. The other guys were supposed to come back but there was a snow storm or something. In between telling me maudlin bigoted stories, he suggested that we put on Petra's underwear and just lounge about in them. It would be funny, he said. Finally, to shut him up about it, I let him call his family on her phone and listened to him blubber about missing them so. When the beer was gone I drank a bottle of Jagermeister that she had under the sink. It was the old style, regular shaped clear bottle with a hunter on the label. This was long before it became a craze in the U.S. and as far I'm concerned it should have stayed under the sink.
I'm never lonely on Christmas anymore. I don't talk to any of my friends. Or even think about them much. Some of it is having a family of my own that demands my attention. And the other is having four hundred of them just a few taps of my iPhone screen away. Facebook has taken a lot of the mystery and the romance out of old friendships. Reading holiday greetings in the form of status updates prompted some frustrated feelings in me earlier today. The festivus shite. But also the attempt at warmth through such a cold medium. Doesn't feel right somehow. Every time I hear the text alert on my phone I dread one of those mass holiday greeting texts. They make me feel lonely.
We went to the Nutcracker last night. Thankfully most people still dress up for it. My son was relieved he didn't wear a tie for nothing. He told me he thought it was going to be like when we went to the White House, that we would be the only family dressed formally, as he calls it. I tried to explain that we were dressed almost casually in comparison to dress a hundred years ago. I was thinking while watching the dancers that such a spectacle is less profound when we carry portals to almost every imaginable visual stimulation in our pockets. It isn't the same as a living breathing company of ballerinas twirling and leaping to a live orchestra on a beautiful designed stage, but it does diminish it a bit. I don't want it to, but it does somehow.
My children are excited to get a bunch of gifts and spend a couple of days with both mommy and daddy home. It's a special time for them and I'm glad to be a part of it. It's how I feel about most things religious; why do you have to make such a big deal out of things? The Natural World is amazing; do we really need to attribute it to God whipping it all up in a week? Talk about diminishment. Did we really need to invent this whole babe in a manger hoohaw just to get people to stop all the regular life stuff and have a feast and share some gifts? We do need tradition and ritual in our lives and I do suppose I've oversimplified things.
Anyway, I just needed to ramble a bit. Happy Holidays.
I've spent many a Christmas Eve in bars around the world. And in a Midnight Mass or two. I've shacked up with Jewish girls that had Christmas trees in their New York apartments. And once when I was stranded on a layover there was another old girlfriend that was a non-Christmas observing member of the tribe that picked me up from the airport. We drove around San Francisco taking pictures of empty laundromats and walking around the streets of the Mission that were quiet for once.
I have kids now, so there's a tree in the living room and some stockings hanging above the hearth. There's a big stack of presents in the garage that I wrapped a week ago from Santa. Tonight we'll put out some cookies and milk for the fat man. We'll read The Night Before Christmas. We'll eat bagels and lox tomorrow morning and open presents one at a time, going around the room until every gift has been received. It will take a long time. We won't talk about Jesus. We will say thank you several times and express our gratitude for more than the gifts we open. We'll eat roast duck as has become our family tradition. I'll assemble some toys in between skimming some of the books I'm likely to receive. Later I'll watch some basketball. The Blazers are playing.
Christmas hasn't always been a holiday that I've cherished or celebrated with joy and reverence. I had some disappointing ones as a kid. Jokey cards from convenience stores containing IOUs. Drunkenness. Violence. Stark reminders that all was far from well.
I've experienced a few odd ones. Like the time I was stranded in an apartment in Germany with a drunk Klansman from Missouri. It was my German girlfriend's place. Petra was a student at the local art college. She was away with her family, but let me stay there to get out of the barracks over the holiday. The redneck came with some friends that stopped by earlier and stayed behind when they left for some reason. The other guys were supposed to come back but there was a snow storm or something. In between telling me maudlin bigoted stories, he suggested that we put on Petra's underwear and just lounge about in them. It would be funny, he said. Finally, to shut him up about it, I let him call his family on her phone and listened to him blubber about missing them so. When the beer was gone I drank a bottle of Jagermeister that she had under the sink. It was the old style, regular shaped clear bottle with a hunter on the label. This was long before it became a craze in the U.S. and as far I'm concerned it should have stayed under the sink.
I'm never lonely on Christmas anymore. I don't talk to any of my friends. Or even think about them much. Some of it is having a family of my own that demands my attention. And the other is having four hundred of them just a few taps of my iPhone screen away. Facebook has taken a lot of the mystery and the romance out of old friendships. Reading holiday greetings in the form of status updates prompted some frustrated feelings in me earlier today. The festivus shite. But also the attempt at warmth through such a cold medium. Doesn't feel right somehow. Every time I hear the text alert on my phone I dread one of those mass holiday greeting texts. They make me feel lonely.
We went to the Nutcracker last night. Thankfully most people still dress up for it. My son was relieved he didn't wear a tie for nothing. He told me he thought it was going to be like when we went to the White House, that we would be the only family dressed formally, as he calls it. I tried to explain that we were dressed almost casually in comparison to dress a hundred years ago. I was thinking while watching the dancers that such a spectacle is less profound when we carry portals to almost every imaginable visual stimulation in our pockets. It isn't the same as a living breathing company of ballerinas twirling and leaping to a live orchestra on a beautiful designed stage, but it does diminish it a bit. I don't want it to, but it does somehow.
My children are excited to get a bunch of gifts and spend a couple of days with both mommy and daddy home. It's a special time for them and I'm glad to be a part of it. It's how I feel about most things religious; why do you have to make such a big deal out of things? The Natural World is amazing; do we really need to attribute it to God whipping it all up in a week? Talk about diminishment. Did we really need to invent this whole babe in a manger hoohaw just to get people to stop all the regular life stuff and have a feast and share some gifts? We do need tradition and ritual in our lives and I do suppose I've oversimplified things.
Anyway, I just needed to ramble a bit. Happy Holidays.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Les Dragsters
I couldn't imbed this awesome video that Ray Gordon shared with me for whatever reason. Tous jaillissent, le link ést icí. Appreciéz si´l vous plaît.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Art Therapy
This guy in Upstate NY was brain damaged in a bar fight a few years back. He built a miniature fictitious WWII era town called Marwencol in his backyard populated by figures representing people from his life and his imagination. He took pictures of his scenes like the one above. His photographs were discovered by a NYC gallery which led to a documentary film. Marwencol the film is supposed to be damn good. Sounds it.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Time Marches On
The projects I've yet to finish were filmed longer and longer ago. Honestly the only progress I've made of late is to not fret about it too much. I don't like that they're unfinished. Most involved have moved on. As have I in many respects. It feels pretty crappy to have such big projects that so many invested so much time, energy and good feelings into go neglected.
I've picked up the ball and tried to move toward the goal line only to fumble it so many times over the past few years. I'm lacking the heart to pick it up again. I try once in a while, but something invariably comes up. I'm weary of bugging people. Unanswered phone calls. Canceled meetings. I'm not really blaming anybody. I understand it's the nature of such a project. I enjoyed some of the process and learned some things along the way. One of which is that I don't want to go through something like that again.
Time may well be marching on, but the nagging feeling I have about Dangerous Writing in particular is not likely to go away until I manage to see it through. Even though it seems there's no joy left in it for me, I am committed which is why I'm putting it out there again.
But why is it that I would rather go the dentist than do the remaining work on this worthy little film? Can it be that when it's finished it can be judged? Or that it may be a final reminder that I failed as a filmmaker? I'm both terrified and bored by such questions. Moving on is what I would like to continue to do. Unfortunately, there's only two ways to do it - finish the films or don't finish the films. I don't seem to truly want to do the work to accomplish the former and I can't bring myself to accept the latter.
I've picked up the ball and tried to move toward the goal line only to fumble it so many times over the past few years. I'm lacking the heart to pick it up again. I try once in a while, but something invariably comes up. I'm weary of bugging people. Unanswered phone calls. Canceled meetings. I'm not really blaming anybody. I understand it's the nature of such a project. I enjoyed some of the process and learned some things along the way. One of which is that I don't want to go through something like that again.
Time may well be marching on, but the nagging feeling I have about Dangerous Writing in particular is not likely to go away until I manage to see it through. Even though it seems there's no joy left in it for me, I am committed which is why I'm putting it out there again.
But why is it that I would rather go the dentist than do the remaining work on this worthy little film? Can it be that when it's finished it can be judged? Or that it may be a final reminder that I failed as a filmmaker? I'm both terrified and bored by such questions. Moving on is what I would like to continue to do. Unfortunately, there's only two ways to do it - finish the films or don't finish the films. I don't seem to truly want to do the work to accomplish the former and I can't bring myself to accept the latter.
Monday, December 06, 2010
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Shoe Dog
I love the Brannock Device. So simple yet I've always approached the Brannock as if not just anybody is qualified to operate it. I worked as a shoe dog for a bit back in the 80s when I was 20 and 21. Started at JC Penney and then moved up to Nordstrom. Though we had a few Brannock's around, we generally took the customer's word on their size. I was never able to look at a person's feet and know their shoe size, thankfully I didn't sell shoes long enough to acquire that power. There was a man at JC Penney called Mike that had been selling shoes for over twenty-five years. Mike could do such things. I remembered him from when my parents took me to get shoes when I was a kid. He liked that I remembered him until I started outselling him and then moved on to Nordstrom.
Actually, initially I worked in Men's Sportswear at Nordstrom and that was much easier than selling shoes. Stand around the sales floor folding a few lambswool v-necks until someone needs your help. After a few months I took a job as the assistant manager of the Annual Shoe Sale. That wasn't really selling as much as organizing. After the sale, I was fed up with retail and worked as a bike messenger for a while. Then I moved to San Francisco and after a lousy couple of weeks as a messenger there, I got a job doing window displays at Macy's. For a short while I went back to Nordstrom's at San Francisco Center. My girlfriend at the time worked there and Macy's had laid me off while the Holiday decorations were up. Nordstrom offered me a full-time job after the holidays and the half-yearly sale, but I told them I had to go back to Macy's. Though I never did go back to Macy's for more than a couple of days here and there. The next few months I was poorer than poor. Man. It was bleak. My girlfriend moved out and took the bed with her. My friend moved in but he didn't have any furniture nor any money. We slept on wadded up clothes. We walked all over the city or sat around our empty apartment reading books and listening to punk records, smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. We found a case of MJB coffee packets in a dumpster and took a break from tea. We didn't eat much. Top Ramen. We got really skinny. But we always paid our rent and our bills on time. I started working in nightclubs around that time and eventually started living right again.
I never worked in retail again. I probably wouldn't mind it. I was always good at selling, earning top commissions in my department. Never pushy, just attentive, suggesting things that I honestly thought would be something the person might like. I doubt I would want to sell shoes again, though I notice that, in general, shoe salesmen don't provide the service they once did. It's rare that they'll slip the shoe on your foot anymore. That's how we did it. Up and down, back to the store room, up and down some more. Stacking the boxes and restocking them. It was serious work being a shoe dog, an appellation in which we took pride.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Flat Track Saturday Night
I'm producing a photography show for Ray Gordon called Throttle that's going up at W+K in February. We went down to the State Fairgrounds in Salem last night to see the indoor flat track races and get some images. Mine is the camera behind the camera. You'll have to wait until next year to see what Ray grabbed.
It was cold and loud. I was impressed by the speed and bravado of some of the top riders. I liked many of the vintage and custom bikes. I was charmed by the little kids and the women, even though admittedly most of them could out ride me. Even the abundant and garish Moto-X Fox apparel had its appeal. The crowd was very mixed and visually interesting. Big Saturday night. That's three big Saturdays in a row for me. The Fairmont Kea Lani in Maui two weeks ago. Last weekend it was poker with some of Portland's political elite and this week it was dirt bikes with a bunch of gearheads and rednecks.
The Tedious Genius
The only Orson Welles film that I like is Touch of Evil. I love the Third Man, but Carol Reed directed it. Citizen Kane – oh, I see its profound merits, but I could take it or leave it to be honest. Orson Welles doesn't really have my admiration. I find him mostly sad and his relentless commitment to his own ideas is mind-numbing and leaves me cold. But this photo is a beauty. I find Welles the most charismatic when he's frozen in singular moments.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Oh Yeah, Happy Veteran's Day ...
... to me! I'm a veteran of the Cold War. The longest war in American history, spanning seven US Presidents. Ronnie Reagan was my commander-in-chief. While you were sitting around back here in the homeland listening to Dire Straits and Steve Winwood, I was one of the soldiers waiting to defend the Fulda Gap from an invasion of Soviet tanks. And now the only thanks I get is a consistently incredulous, "You were in the Army?" Yes, I was and I served with pride.
I did, actually, and though I was being a bit cheeky above, the threat from the Soviets felt very real at times. Seems long ago and almost totally irrelevant now, but it was a wonderful time in my life. One of the best things I have done for myself. While half of my friends were at the The University of Oregon, a slightly more enhanced version of high school, and the other half were safely cocooned in elite institutions of higher learning around the country, I was learning a technical job in addition to being a soldier alongside young guys from all over the country and its possessions serving under men that had fought in Vietnam. I spent my weekends in Paris, Berlin, Munich, Venice and many other cities. I skied the Alps. I drove my Mercedes on the Autobahn daily. I dated women from all over Europe aged 16-30. And for just two years of my life, that was hardly a prison sentence as I've outlined, I received almost $30,000 for college. In the early 90s, that paid for two years at a private school or four plus living expenses at a public university.
Since 9/11 and the mockery of all that we've been doing in the Middle East, I'm a lot less patriotic than I once was. But there was a time that I put a mean spit shine on my boots and a starched crease in my BDUs. As I stood at attention holding a salute at reveille each morning, I did so with intense pride.
I did, actually, and though I was being a bit cheeky above, the threat from the Soviets felt very real at times. Seems long ago and almost totally irrelevant now, but it was a wonderful time in my life. One of the best things I have done for myself. While half of my friends were at the The University of Oregon, a slightly more enhanced version of high school, and the other half were safely cocooned in elite institutions of higher learning around the country, I was learning a technical job in addition to being a soldier alongside young guys from all over the country and its possessions serving under men that had fought in Vietnam. I spent my weekends in Paris, Berlin, Munich, Venice and many other cities. I skied the Alps. I drove my Mercedes on the Autobahn daily. I dated women from all over Europe aged 16-30. And for just two years of my life, that was hardly a prison sentence as I've outlined, I received almost $30,000 for college. In the early 90s, that paid for two years at a private school or four plus living expenses at a public university.
Since 9/11 and the mockery of all that we've been doing in the Middle East, I'm a lot less patriotic than I once was. But there was a time that I put a mean spit shine on my boots and a starched crease in my BDUs. As I stood at attention holding a salute at reveille each morning, I did so with intense pride.
Tasseled Loafers and a Flashback to 1993
In '93, I was in college wearing black suede Pumas or a pair of Red Wing work boots that I still have and wear. I'm sure I had at least a few more pairs of shoes than that, but it certainly was a time that I traveled much lighter.
I didn't wear these things in '93 nor any at other time in my life. The closest I had was a cordovan kiltie loafer that I bought at a thrift store in the 80s. Though I don't recall wearing them much. Anyway, like many men's shoes, the tasseled loafer exists in a sort of no man's land for me. They're traditional, but not classic. Truth be told, I don't really like any men's dress shoe without a heavier brogue sole. A running board they used to call it. Otherwise they look too dainty, especially on anything over a size 11. Slightly effeminate without taking too much risk. Middle of the road and ho-hum.
They really do look like the perfect shoe for legions of lawyers in off the rack suits that have too much break in the trouser legs. Now, if I had nothing but time and money on my hands, I might consider this shoe with a bold plaid cuffed trouser worn just a little short with no break. Maybe a fine pair of bright yellow socks, like the pair I bought at Harrod's over ten years ago that still look brand new. I could see sitting at an outside table in the summer, crossing my leg over my knee and letting one of these slightly ridiculous shoes just hang there for all to see, giving them pause to wonder if I'm serious or not. Were I to wear a short sleeve shirt, they might get the wink and the nod. Or they might turn and run.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Please Refrain
These phrases make me cringe: "Get 'er done", "Just sayin'", "Beyotch" and "Really?" Not cute. Unoriginal. Very overused.
I also realize why soccer will never ever appeal to the lowest common denominator of sports fans in the U.S. – American fans are truly disappointed when every pass isn't a touchdown, every swing of the bat isn't a homerun and every shot doesn't go in the basket with an and-one. Last night at a Blazer game I could hear a collective groan after the visiting team scored in spite of rabid chants of "De-fense". This apparent disappointment less than ten games into a long season in a game that the Blazers led by ten or more points for much of the game. I can understand having a visceral response to the other team scoring when the game is on the line, but to be disappointed whenever the opponent scores is troubling. The lowest a team has scored in a single NBA game in the past fifty years is 49, the lowest season long average is about 82.
Really, sports fans? Do you really think an NBA team isn't going to score? Really!?! They're the best players in the world. They go out every night and get 'er done, beyotch. Just sayin'.
Unfortunately, writing that has just caused me to shiver in shame is all to common in the snarky cool cultural garbage bins of social media and the blogosphere.
I need to go take a shower now.
I also realize why soccer will never ever appeal to the lowest common denominator of sports fans in the U.S. – American fans are truly disappointed when every pass isn't a touchdown, every swing of the bat isn't a homerun and every shot doesn't go in the basket with an and-one. Last night at a Blazer game I could hear a collective groan after the visiting team scored in spite of rabid chants of "De-fense". This apparent disappointment less than ten games into a long season in a game that the Blazers led by ten or more points for much of the game. I can understand having a visceral response to the other team scoring when the game is on the line, but to be disappointed whenever the opponent scores is troubling. The lowest a team has scored in a single NBA game in the past fifty years is 49, the lowest season long average is about 82.
Unfortunately, writing that has just caused me to shiver in shame is all to common in the snarky cool cultural garbage bins of social media and the blogosphere.
I need to go take a shower now.
Friday, November 05, 2010
Rising Sun
Oh so 80s ... oh so 40s ... oh so Meiji Restoration ... oh so Karate Kid ...
The military flag of the Imperial Navy was banned at the end of WWII only to become le graphique de rigueur of New Wave fashion.
I love that I see it on tee shirts from the 80s and in the Pacific Theater war movies with which I've lately been obsessed. I'm not so keen on its use in the Karate Kid promos.
What an amazing graphic. Flags are awesome.
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