After two weeks of cold rainy weather, today was warm and gloriously sunny.
Last weekend I took advantage of the not very nice weather and my curent break from travel and did most of a re-write on "Ephemeral Creation," my post-punk memoirs originally published a little over five years ago. I fixed a few errors, wrote some new bits and pieces, expanded a few discussions, added some additional photos, messed around with format. It's almost ready, I just need to re-scan half a dozen images that I'm not entirely happy with.
I'd been procrastinating this intending to update my desktop publishing software first, but decided to go ahead and do the re-write in Google docs, which I've been using a lot these past several months. It worked well enough that at least for now, I'm going to put it online that way, as a PDF e-book. Free software that's poised to bring the Microsoft Office monolith crashing down is somehow appropriate for self-publishing a second-edition punk memoirs; and it's fun to watch mega-corporations fight to the death.
Being on a roll and having a four-day weekend, I next went after the chaotic jumble of text files that represent the last five years of my alternative photography experience. Surprisingly, they fell right into place, almost 70 pages worth already. There are still a few more chapters to be written from scratch to fill gaps, to help the narrative flow, and there will still be editorial decisions to be made and photos to be scanned. But it's entirely possible that a beta version is only a couple of long hard days of effort away. I'm probably going to put that one out to limited peer review first on a small, private photography forum, and then edit a little more based on the feedback I get there. But it's possible that my next book isn't very far away.
Over the past few days I've been contacted by several fascinating models, smart people with unique looks. It's more at the networking and hinting stage than actual offers so far. Unfortunately they're in far-off places like Toronto and New York that I have no known reason to visit at present, and possibly not the time or motivation either. Hell, I'm already stalling on a couple of shoot offers that many other photographers would kill for. The passion is going into writing these past weeks, not into creating photos. Still, it's pleasant to think about.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
spam
Spam is a fact of life for anyone connected to technology. Filter and ignore, basically.
For the most part, California's do-not-call list has effectively eliminated the telephone version of spam. There's the occasional alleged non-profit raising money for some police or fire association who seem to think they're somehow above the law, but usually a simple "no thanks, I don't deal with phone solicitations, send it to me in writing" makes them go away, quickly. After all, there's no way to know that voice on the phone is who they say they are.
But last night I got a call from Wyndham Resorts, one of those annoying things "giving away" a trip to Las Vegas. One of those annoying guys who ignores the "no thanks" and keeps talking. Then ignores the second "not interested" and the third.
I had to get extremely aggressive with him, he simply was not going to stop talking otherwise. Once I finally got him to shut the fuck up and listen, and told him I was on the do-not-call list, he said "there's a loophole." But he finally went away.
Now that's such brilliant marketing. I've gone out of my way to sign up on a list which basically makes it illegal for these guys to call me. So they claim to find a loophole, and call anyway.
It apparently has never occurred to them that this might annoy people enough to make them never spend money in that place again? Duh.
These guys apparently own Ramada Inns and a lot of other things, and they got my info from some hotel stay in the past. Guess what... there are lots of hotels to choose from. I won't be staying at theirs anymore. I'm even going to do the research to see who else they own.
Wyndham is hereby added to my list of annoying corporations to not spend money on. I've boycotted Panera Bread since they responded to my complaint about an over-active e-mail filter which blocked art sites with a form letter and then put me on their e-mail spam list (about one a month from them still gets filtered into my junk folder, four or five years later). There are a few others.
I'm still debating whether to report Wyndham to the Attorney General's office, or simply write their CEO a letter.
For the most part, California's do-not-call list has effectively eliminated the telephone version of spam. There's the occasional alleged non-profit raising money for some police or fire association who seem to think they're somehow above the law, but usually a simple "no thanks, I don't deal with phone solicitations, send it to me in writing" makes them go away, quickly. After all, there's no way to know that voice on the phone is who they say they are.
But last night I got a call from Wyndham Resorts, one of those annoying things "giving away" a trip to Las Vegas. One of those annoying guys who ignores the "no thanks" and keeps talking. Then ignores the second "not interested" and the third.
I had to get extremely aggressive with him, he simply was not going to stop talking otherwise. Once I finally got him to shut the fuck up and listen, and told him I was on the do-not-call list, he said "there's a loophole." But he finally went away.
Now that's such brilliant marketing. I've gone out of my way to sign up on a list which basically makes it illegal for these guys to call me. So they claim to find a loophole, and call anyway.
It apparently has never occurred to them that this might annoy people enough to make them never spend money in that place again? Duh.
These guys apparently own Ramada Inns and a lot of other things, and they got my info from some hotel stay in the past. Guess what... there are lots of hotels to choose from. I won't be staying at theirs anymore. I'm even going to do the research to see who else they own.
Wyndham is hereby added to my list of annoying corporations to not spend money on. I've boycotted Panera Bread since they responded to my complaint about an over-active e-mail filter which blocked art sites with a form letter and then put me on their e-mail spam list (about one a month from them still gets filtered into my junk folder, four or five years later). There are a few others.
I'm still debating whether to report Wyndham to the Attorney General's office, or simply write their CEO a letter.
Monday, December 15, 2008
nasty
Usually, what passes for "winter" here is more like spring in the rest of the country. I guess that's even true today, even though temperatures are some 15 degrees below normal. It's 43 right now, windy and rainy and generally nasty. With occasional thunder, something that's pretty rare here. Cars coming down from the mountains are covered in snow.
I'm not complaining about the weather outside, considering that it's 14 in Chicago right now. It's suppossed to stay this way for most of the week, but we'll deal with it.
Except that today had to be the day that the heat gave out on the third floor of the office. There are only about half a dozen of us up there on the top floor, and we came in to find that it was 56 degrees inside this morning. Three power outages, probably triggered by everyone firing up space heaters at once, contributed to not a lot getting done before 11:00 am.
Someone is working on it. But he's still at it several hours later, so it's not an easy fix.
At the moment I'm in a nice warm coffee house, having a nice warm bowl of soup. After my 12:30 meeting is over, it might become a day to work from home.
I'm not complaining about the weather outside, considering that it's 14 in Chicago right now. It's suppossed to stay this way for most of the week, but we'll deal with it.
Except that today had to be the day that the heat gave out on the third floor of the office. There are only about half a dozen of us up there on the top floor, and we came in to find that it was 56 degrees inside this morning. Three power outages, probably triggered by everyone firing up space heaters at once, contributed to not a lot getting done before 11:00 am.
Someone is working on it. But he's still at it several hours later, so it's not an easy fix.
At the moment I'm in a nice warm coffee house, having a nice warm bowl of soup. After my 12:30 meeting is over, it might become a day to work from home.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
dummy
My reaction to the arrest this morning of Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich on corruption charges: No surprise. Except maybe that it was the feds who finally got him. The rumors I've been hearing thus far had been from state people.
What's really sad is that Illinois now has two back-to-back tainted Governors. I was in the room when George Ryan made his infamous "I am what I am" comment to the press. Now, he's a convicted felon (one of my buddies from the punk era, now a prosecutor, helped to convict him). Then, he was merely a business as usual politician, known for cutting back room deals.
I've never met Blagojevich, although I've heard some really interesting stories from people who knew him in his college days. They're hearsay unfortunately, and todays allegations remain exactly that so far, so I'll keep this to myself for now. All I'll say is that his administration has gutted IDNR, and that resource conservation has suffered as a result of political appointees replacing experienced and competent people there.
Oh for the days of the Jim Edgar administration, perhaps the only spotlessly clean one there in recent memory.
It's not my tax dollars going down the drain anymore, I've been gone for almost eight years. But the people of Illinois should be ashamed of themselves. It's time to clean house, throw the bastards out. It's time to stop assuming that corruption is inevitable, to take back the state.
As for Blagojevich, for such an allegedly smart guy, he's sure looking not very bright today.
What's really sad is that Illinois now has two back-to-back tainted Governors. I was in the room when George Ryan made his infamous "I am what I am" comment to the press. Now, he's a convicted felon (one of my buddies from the punk era, now a prosecutor, helped to convict him). Then, he was merely a business as usual politician, known for cutting back room deals.
I've never met Blagojevich, although I've heard some really interesting stories from people who knew him in his college days. They're hearsay unfortunately, and todays allegations remain exactly that so far, so I'll keep this to myself for now. All I'll say is that his administration has gutted IDNR, and that resource conservation has suffered as a result of political appointees replacing experienced and competent people there.
Oh for the days of the Jim Edgar administration, perhaps the only spotlessly clean one there in recent memory.
It's not my tax dollars going down the drain anymore, I've been gone for almost eight years. But the people of Illinois should be ashamed of themselves. It's time to clean house, throw the bastards out. It's time to stop assuming that corruption is inevitable, to take back the state.
As for Blagojevich, for such an allegedly smart guy, he's sure looking not very bright today.
Monday, December 8, 2008
choices
I've finally made some computer upgrade moves.
The decision had been postponed a while, partially just to be stubborn. Last spring when I started shooting digital again after a two-year break, this time with much larger files sizes, it pretty much forced some changes. But I preferred to do it at my own pace, not when dictated by decisions of manufacturers. My ancient laptop was rendered pretty much useless by the newer camera technology, it wouldn't hold enough RAM to run the current generation of image processing software, and the earlier versions of Photoshop won't read modern RAW files. But I managed to squeeze a RAW converter and up to date Photoshop into my desktop machine. Not with a lot of room to spare, but it ran. Slowly.
My laptop is an old Powerbook G4, the 867 mhz 12-inch machine dating all the way back to 2003. I still really like it, still works perfectly, and I have no intention of getting rid of it. Even today, it's a perfectly capable word processing and internet machine, and it's compact and light (4 pounds). It will continue to be my on-the-road machine, the one that goes in my bag for airplane trips, for the forseeable future.
The desktop machine isn't all that much newer. It's a G5 iMac dating from something like late 2004 or early 2005. I'm not nearly as attached to it as I am to the old laptop, the iMac is a reasonably good machine but it's basically another piece of plastic, and I'm beginning to need something faster, and it seems the hard drive is always almost full. It's the first generation of the newer design, but with an older chip, and there's some low-level fan noise that the next upgrade of the same machine didn't have. Not a major problem, just a minor annoyance, and a reminder to beware of first-generation technology.
I've been watching recent upgrades and had pretty much decided by this fall to make a move soon. I'd also decided to go with a laptop and external monitor setup to simplify future upgrades. The new monitor, a 23-inch version, is already here, a refurbished and fully warrantied bargain picked up relatively inexpensively.... one big advantage of not being in a hurry. It took about three months of patiently waiting and watching to snap it up.
The computer decision was harder. The Macbook Air was tempting because of the light weight, only 3 pounds. But the first generation model was crippled, with a slower processor and much smaller hard drive than my three year old desktop machine, among other things. The just-out 2nd generation version is better, almost there, but not quite. The new aluminum Macbook is also tempting, and powerful enough for what I need, but the high-gloss screen and the lack of a firewire port turned me away. Reflections are the norm in most wi-fi cafes or pretty much anywhere on the road. What are the folks in Cupertino thinking? How to work effectively when they make it hard to see? And the Macbook screen is now taking a rap as cheaper and not as bright as the other current Mac laptops. And firewire, losing that might not by itself have been a deal killer, although it would have meant finding the long-hidden USB cable for my scanner; but added to the screen issue, no thanks.
I'd intended to wait another month or so. But what I finally did was take advantage of the aftermath of the black friday sales, prolonged at some venues way beyond what was probably the original intent. Enough markdowns, and a rebate offer, combined with the fact that there are some just discontinued models out there... it all added up to an opportunity to pick up a Macbook Pro, the version just superceded last month, for $550 under retail, plus a $150 rebate on top of that. That's probably less than the average year-old used equivalent on the open market.
It isn't actually here yet, probably won't be for several days yet. But it's got the old matte screen, and way more power than I need, about a 30% jump in processor speed, four times the RAM, and 25% more hard drive space than my old desktop.... which will be retired as soon as I'm sure I've got everything I need off of it. The new machine will live on the desk except on the rare occasions when I need that level of power to be portable, which isn't often; the smaller ancient laptop will fill the mobility role in most cases. It's easier to carry a few extra 2GB CF cards when I need to shoot digital (especially with memory prices falling) than it is to lug around a 5.4 pound hunk of aluminum.
Especially considering how big and heavy and overcomplicated my DSLR is. But that's another story.
The decision had been postponed a while, partially just to be stubborn. Last spring when I started shooting digital again after a two-year break, this time with much larger files sizes, it pretty much forced some changes. But I preferred to do it at my own pace, not when dictated by decisions of manufacturers. My ancient laptop was rendered pretty much useless by the newer camera technology, it wouldn't hold enough RAM to run the current generation of image processing software, and the earlier versions of Photoshop won't read modern RAW files. But I managed to squeeze a RAW converter and up to date Photoshop into my desktop machine. Not with a lot of room to spare, but it ran. Slowly.
My laptop is an old Powerbook G4, the 867 mhz 12-inch machine dating all the way back to 2003. I still really like it, still works perfectly, and I have no intention of getting rid of it. Even today, it's a perfectly capable word processing and internet machine, and it's compact and light (4 pounds). It will continue to be my on-the-road machine, the one that goes in my bag for airplane trips, for the forseeable future.
The desktop machine isn't all that much newer. It's a G5 iMac dating from something like late 2004 or early 2005. I'm not nearly as attached to it as I am to the old laptop, the iMac is a reasonably good machine but it's basically another piece of plastic, and I'm beginning to need something faster, and it seems the hard drive is always almost full. It's the first generation of the newer design, but with an older chip, and there's some low-level fan noise that the next upgrade of the same machine didn't have. Not a major problem, just a minor annoyance, and a reminder to beware of first-generation technology.
I've been watching recent upgrades and had pretty much decided by this fall to make a move soon. I'd also decided to go with a laptop and external monitor setup to simplify future upgrades. The new monitor, a 23-inch version, is already here, a refurbished and fully warrantied bargain picked up relatively inexpensively.... one big advantage of not being in a hurry. It took about three months of patiently waiting and watching to snap it up.
The computer decision was harder. The Macbook Air was tempting because of the light weight, only 3 pounds. But the first generation model was crippled, with a slower processor and much smaller hard drive than my three year old desktop machine, among other things. The just-out 2nd generation version is better, almost there, but not quite. The new aluminum Macbook is also tempting, and powerful enough for what I need, but the high-gloss screen and the lack of a firewire port turned me away. Reflections are the norm in most wi-fi cafes or pretty much anywhere on the road. What are the folks in Cupertino thinking? How to work effectively when they make it hard to see? And the Macbook screen is now taking a rap as cheaper and not as bright as the other current Mac laptops. And firewire, losing that might not by itself have been a deal killer, although it would have meant finding the long-hidden USB cable for my scanner; but added to the screen issue, no thanks.
I'd intended to wait another month or so. But what I finally did was take advantage of the aftermath of the black friday sales, prolonged at some venues way beyond what was probably the original intent. Enough markdowns, and a rebate offer, combined with the fact that there are some just discontinued models out there... it all added up to an opportunity to pick up a Macbook Pro, the version just superceded last month, for $550 under retail, plus a $150 rebate on top of that. That's probably less than the average year-old used equivalent on the open market.
It isn't actually here yet, probably won't be for several days yet. But it's got the old matte screen, and way more power than I need, about a 30% jump in processor speed, four times the RAM, and 25% more hard drive space than my old desktop.... which will be retired as soon as I'm sure I've got everything I need off of it. The new machine will live on the desk except on the rare occasions when I need that level of power to be portable, which isn't often; the smaller ancient laptop will fill the mobility role in most cases. It's easier to carry a few extra 2GB CF cards when I need to shoot digital (especially with memory prices falling) than it is to lug around a 5.4 pound hunk of aluminum.
Especially considering how big and heavy and overcomplicated my DSLR is. But that's another story.
things
So on Friday night at the office christmas party I won the "living out of suitcase" award.
Maybe the fact that I recently spent six weeks "commuting" between California and Chicago contributed to that... on top of plenty of more routine travel earlier in the year.
In fact, they're right. My bags are only half unpacked. They hardly ever get completely unpacked.
In other news, it was a fun Arts Alive night in Eureka, on Saturday night. A mild, foggy night, a good crowd, some good art. I met a couple of new people, including a really good photographer who I hadn't encountered before.
I probably would have forgotten to go, if one of the guys from the office hadn't brought it up the night before. He asked if I was going, then said something about often seeing me with "attractive women" on arts nights.
Well, yeah. Models, usually. Typically not for very long, but apparently long enough to make an impression.
He should have been there this time, he missed out. As usual, a 20 minute interaction, a couple of five minute interactions. Just saying hi and catching up on small talk, random encounters in a gallery or on the sidewalk.
That's OK. It's fun to routinely be in proximity to beauty.
Maybe the fact that I recently spent six weeks "commuting" between California and Chicago contributed to that... on top of plenty of more routine travel earlier in the year.
In fact, they're right. My bags are only half unpacked. They hardly ever get completely unpacked.
In other news, it was a fun Arts Alive night in Eureka, on Saturday night. A mild, foggy night, a good crowd, some good art. I met a couple of new people, including a really good photographer who I hadn't encountered before.
I probably would have forgotten to go, if one of the guys from the office hadn't brought it up the night before. He asked if I was going, then said something about often seeing me with "attractive women" on arts nights.
Well, yeah. Models, usually. Typically not for very long, but apparently long enough to make an impression.
He should have been there this time, he missed out. As usual, a 20 minute interaction, a couple of five minute interactions. Just saying hi and catching up on small talk, random encounters in a gallery or on the sidewalk.
That's OK. It's fun to routinely be in proximity to beauty.
Monday, December 1, 2008
dark noise
I've been corresponding these past few days, by e-mail, with two people who were once in a band you've heard of, unless you've been aestivating these past 20 years. One of them I've come to know quite well in person, the other I've met only once, very briefly, a lot of years ago. I've recently pulled out and scanned some old photos of these folks, which apparently has gotten me thinking about music.
When I took those photos, they hadn't played publicly yet, that didn't happen til two weeks later. We were on different ends of the business; I was at the peak of my music journalist "career" and they ranged from locally well known musicians to complete unknowns. We were peers, all part of the inner circle of what was essentially a major market but cult-level alternative music scene. People look back at that band today, kids who weren't even born yet when it all began, and they must think it's all so unreachable, so mysterious and remote. Yet at the time, they were just another band, getting ready to open for a then-better known band now lost in obscurity for all but those of us who were there. Most bands didn't make it, of course, so no one in the scene ever took anything for granted. This one turned out to be one of two from that time and place who did break out nationally, a little later.
But I got so jaded in those times, when rubbing elbows with local and touring British bands was so routine, and so many of them are so well known now. It's strange, hearing songs on the radio these days, and remembering hearing that same song in a small club, with perhaps 100 people in the room, then attending the afterparty with the band, drinking with them til dawn. No names needed, it's all out there if you really want to know, it's all written down and documented elsewhere.
Tonight after responding to one of those e-mails, one of those random connections happened, someone I met briefly a few years ago popped into my head. She was born probably around the time I took those early post-punk photos, she's in her late 20s now. She has a band, one of regional and cult-level notoriety, not unlike some of the people and bands I knew so long ago; well known within a small and specialized niche market, completely unknown to anyone outside of that group. Not my taste in music, really; hard to describe, but the same issue I had with so many bands back in the old days. Too fast, too loud, taking themselves much too seriously; burying (an appropriate word, in a way) so much potential, so much talent, under layers of barely harnessed youthful rage.
I don't know this young woman well at all, don't even know her real name. We had an interesting conversation once, and she played her latest CD for me, and we learned that we have at least one common influence... a now well-known band that I played pool with once and photographed another time, in fact wrote a scathing review of their show for the 'zine; yet a band that to her is something remote, something possibly heroic. She has their bumper sticker on the back of her car (a black car, of course). I think of seeing them as 20-somethings, drunk at 5:00 am, and I smile.
Where was I... in that conversation, in that couple of hours, I learned a lot about some aspects of her. She's very open about some things. She guards other things very closely. I know that she had a very difficult childhood. I know that she considers that "not necessarily a bad thing." I know that her dreams, her nightmares, are dark, that what is in her music comes from inside, from her darkness. I know that she's hardened in a way that most could never comprehend. I know that she's afraid. I'm not sure if she knows that or not.
Tonight I went looking for her online, even though that conversation was quite some time ago, and our most recent e-mail exchange was perhaps a years ago. Of course, I found videos of her and the band, mostly live footage from one show.
I watch her, in a torn white dress and garish makeup and black boots, spin across the stage, throw her soul into her music. I listen to lyrics so dark, so primal, intended to frighten and repulse the ordinary person. I know that it's real, I know that there really is controlled hatred of... something... in her. I know that she's more real, more dangerous, than any of the scary-looking people I spent so many big city nights with so long ago. I know that she contains the rage, measures it out slowly, controls it.
And I look at her, and I see a girl fighting against her fear. For me, her edge is an artifact. She's let me see behind the shadow, just for a few seconds at a time.
She's a strong one, she'll make it. Even as she endures the flames of her own personal hell. In 25 years, I wonder who she will be, what will come of it.
When I took those photos, they hadn't played publicly yet, that didn't happen til two weeks later. We were on different ends of the business; I was at the peak of my music journalist "career" and they ranged from locally well known musicians to complete unknowns. We were peers, all part of the inner circle of what was essentially a major market but cult-level alternative music scene. People look back at that band today, kids who weren't even born yet when it all began, and they must think it's all so unreachable, so mysterious and remote. Yet at the time, they were just another band, getting ready to open for a then-better known band now lost in obscurity for all but those of us who were there. Most bands didn't make it, of course, so no one in the scene ever took anything for granted. This one turned out to be one of two from that time and place who did break out nationally, a little later.
But I got so jaded in those times, when rubbing elbows with local and touring British bands was so routine, and so many of them are so well known now. It's strange, hearing songs on the radio these days, and remembering hearing that same song in a small club, with perhaps 100 people in the room, then attending the afterparty with the band, drinking with them til dawn. No names needed, it's all out there if you really want to know, it's all written down and documented elsewhere.
Tonight after responding to one of those e-mails, one of those random connections happened, someone I met briefly a few years ago popped into my head. She was born probably around the time I took those early post-punk photos, she's in her late 20s now. She has a band, one of regional and cult-level notoriety, not unlike some of the people and bands I knew so long ago; well known within a small and specialized niche market, completely unknown to anyone outside of that group. Not my taste in music, really; hard to describe, but the same issue I had with so many bands back in the old days. Too fast, too loud, taking themselves much too seriously; burying (an appropriate word, in a way) so much potential, so much talent, under layers of barely harnessed youthful rage.
I don't know this young woman well at all, don't even know her real name. We had an interesting conversation once, and she played her latest CD for me, and we learned that we have at least one common influence... a now well-known band that I played pool with once and photographed another time, in fact wrote a scathing review of their show for the 'zine; yet a band that to her is something remote, something possibly heroic. She has their bumper sticker on the back of her car (a black car, of course). I think of seeing them as 20-somethings, drunk at 5:00 am, and I smile.
Where was I... in that conversation, in that couple of hours, I learned a lot about some aspects of her. She's very open about some things. She guards other things very closely. I know that she had a very difficult childhood. I know that she considers that "not necessarily a bad thing." I know that her dreams, her nightmares, are dark, that what is in her music comes from inside, from her darkness. I know that she's hardened in a way that most could never comprehend. I know that she's afraid. I'm not sure if she knows that or not.
Tonight I went looking for her online, even though that conversation was quite some time ago, and our most recent e-mail exchange was perhaps a years ago. Of course, I found videos of her and the band, mostly live footage from one show.
I watch her, in a torn white dress and garish makeup and black boots, spin across the stage, throw her soul into her music. I listen to lyrics so dark, so primal, intended to frighten and repulse the ordinary person. I know that it's real, I know that there really is controlled hatred of... something... in her. I know that she's more real, more dangerous, than any of the scary-looking people I spent so many big city nights with so long ago. I know that she contains the rage, measures it out slowly, controls it.
And I look at her, and I see a girl fighting against her fear. For me, her edge is an artifact. She's let me see behind the shadow, just for a few seconds at a time.
She's a strong one, she'll make it. Even as she endures the flames of her own personal hell. In 25 years, I wonder who she will be, what will come of it.
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