Its from John Prine and Mac Wiseman. I’ve been listening to it non-stop for the past couple of days. Its the same feverish listening approach taken when his 1999 release of ‘In Spite of Ourselves’ came out.
That release–an album of duets with female voice accompaniments– just makes you feel down right good. . . much like this release. Found a short interview of them on YouTube a week ago, and much like Cowboy Jack and Alamo Jones, “I think I’d adopt both of ‘em and take ‘em everywhere I go.”
For as long as I can remember, I’ve overcompensated the instant before my photo is taken. It has led to a number of interesting looks. See below:
That is Nick Collison–Seattle Supersonic–at a function I shot recently. Seeing as how he’s a native Iowan–and I received my Master’s degree from UI–he and I were chatting about Hawkeye-dom. Upon completing the assignment, I asked someone near to take the photo above.
In the midst of my excitement, my thumb started to rise. While I felt it happening, my attempts to lock it at my side were met by an instinctual, primal urge within my soul that dictated it stay up. I smiled through it.
“Let it ride,” I thought “what the heck, so you’ll look crazed in this photo. Next time you’ll remember to just stand there and smile.”
So here is the result of my last, drop-of-a-hat portrait.
Other: “Here let me get one of you!”
Me: “Cool.”
Other: “Okay, 1, 2, 3. . .SNAP!”
Me: “I bet I. . .”
Other: “Is it okay?”
Me: “Yep, I did it again. . . No, it’s fine. I just have this automatic reflex where my thumb locks up and my triple cheeseburger chin emerges.”
**Note: In both those images, it seems I popped my collar in Kanye West fashion. Apparently, that, too is a response to having my photo taken. . .
The other day, I’m walking around the dog park with Jenna. We’re heading back, and I’m thinking of how–just moments previous–I made the wittiest of comments in the history of dog parks. We’re rounding a corner, and out through a gate in the fence comes this long-haired dog exuding the spirit of a high school cheerleader at a pep rally. He/she comes galloping toward me and time slows down kind of like the scene in “10″ where Dudley Moore sees Bo Derek running on the beach.
In a disconnect from brain to mouth, I just blurt: “You’re right out of a dog food commercial.” The couple behind his/her majesty smile warmly, perhaps thinking of the years of therapy their royal subject is going to need in order to erase the memory of that encounter.
We wind our way through a fragrant p-patch comprised of flowers and vegetables. Jenna leans down to smell echinacea. I follow suit only to be stabbed in the nose by it, right as Jenna says, “Be careful, it’ll stab. . . oh, Mike.” We smell lavender, Jenna looks to her right and comments on a cloud. “It looks like the face of God,” she states.
We come upon a group of four teenagers in a small version of a Roman amphitheater thing. Two of them are winded, two are standing behind a video camera. I’m like “Oh, it’s that thing where people jump off concrete,” I say to Jenna. Jenna is confused by my phrasing, but she already knows the proper name for this activity.
I walk up to the young ‘uns, and in my aged wisdom say “Hey, are you guys doing that sport where you jump off concrete?” They look at me like I’m dad. It’s the equivalent of me asking them if they want to hang out and listen to Godsmack in a moment of father/son bonding. “Yeah, parkour,” one says.
It sounded like he said “hardcore,” and I thought he was being sarcastic. “I know it’s called something, but not hardcore,” I think. Being half-deaf when I’m half paying attention, I say, “hardcore?!”
“No Parkour. . . it’s French.” Odd silence ensued for what seemed like a minute. They all kind of turn their heads down and in toward each other. They might have well just told me to get a hearing aid and a walker. Did you renew your AARP membership today, Pa?
Shunned. Totally uncool. The Plague Incarnate. Hi, I’m the Plague; nice to make your acquaintance.
We walk away. Jenna is not saying anything immediately. It’s obvious. The minute hand has just moved forward and stuck. The click it made is still resonating loudly in my ear. She kind of pats me on the shoulder and says, “It’s okay, Mike. . .”
If you know me, you’ll know I’m always hungry. Today, while heading downtown, I made it a point to take this pic from the car.
Mi Chalateca is a little restaurant that opened up about 6 months ago on Aurora Avenue in N. Seattle. Every time I was on Aurora (99) and passed it, I said ‘man, I want to eat there, I bet its good.’ Well, I ate there, and it was good.
They serve Salvadorian cuisine: pork and poultry dishes, soups and fried goodies. Given my Ecuadorian heritage, the flavors reminded me of eating my Mom’s empanadas.
Also wanted to test out this little plugin from Joe Tan called the “Flickr Post Bar” that can be obtained here. It rocks and makes uploading recent Flickr photos from WordPress super breezy.
This is it.
At least it was for me Sunday, July 15th, 2007.
That is the beacon light atop the column of the Old Tacoma Narrows Bridge on the Tacoma side of the span. The omniscient ‘they’ were not allowing anyone on the columns of the new bridge, so we photographers were given this as our location to get our shots–forever immortalizing the official coupling of the bridges.
I had the great honor to make the acquaintance of Paul Joseph Brown of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer and Steve Ringman of the Seattle Times, both amazing photographers. I have a boatload more images from the day’s festivities and will continue to upload them as time makes itself available.
When I finally came down and rejoined the foot traffic upon the new bridge, these guys seemed a popular attraction. Very entertaining for some; deathly scary to some little tikes.
A few weeks ago, I walked in and placed the Trader Joe’s paper sack containing the groceries on the counter. In a flash, it disappeared in one of those cartoon dust trails, only there were canned items and dolmas-in-a-jar strewn in a fractured path on the floor leading to the bedroom. It was there I came upon this disturbing scene.
Today was supercool. I’ll have some photos of the day’s festivities up at some point, along with some nice portraits done of me out at the new Tacoma Narrow’s Bridge on the occasion of this historic event. Tomorrow, the area surrounded by the big, yellow circle is where I’ll be stationed tomorrow as traffic–both pedestrian and auto–crosses into the future.
This weekend, I’m going to be kicking it several hundreds of feet or so above the waters of the Tacoma Narrows in the Puget Sound. I’ll be a part of history because the NEW!? Tacoma Narrows Bridge is opening this Sunday. Mildly ironic. . . let me explain.
See, this is not the first Tacoma Narrows Bridge, nor the second. Its the third, but really the second if you don’t count the first, short-lived bridge that succumbed to mechanical resonance.
Remember how some time in your lifetime you saw footage of a car that seemed far away on some bridge wobbling back and forth? You were amazed at gravity’s power to keep the car fixed to the pavement. Or, perhaps you saw the ramped, time-lapsed footage as some cut-away in a film supporting a notion of persistence of vision helping to push a feeling of anxiety or unease in you, the spectator?
Well, where all that went down–a strait separating Gig Harbor, Washington and Tacoma, Washington–is the general geographic locale I’ll be kicking it in this weekend. I’m psyched! . . . I found this more sterile interpretation of the whole thing here.
Poor Tubby the Dog was the only fatality in the structural disaster of Galloping Gertie. Long story short they rebuilt the bridge, more people came into being, cars became more of a mainstay, traffic over the second (or first) bridge increased, bottlenecking became an issue in this critical passing into/out of Tacoma, so they needed another bridge. Apparently, I’m riding some one-man elevator to the top of the second (first) bridge tomorrow, then perhaps doing the same thing again on the New (third or second?) one Sunday.
I intend to keep myself tethered to any structural support beam I see, as it gets fairly gusty ’round these parts. Perhaps, I’ll post some photos in due time. Keep Tubby and me in your thoughts.
“You are my baseball pants”
is what I said last Friday night before bed. In a moment of superstition, I slept in my baseball uniform to help me out of a batting slump. Perhaps, the most comfortable and breathable sleep I’ve had in quite a while.
I woke anew, legs fresh and ready to take part in the Saturday morning PSSBL Rocky match-up between the Missions and Saints. After ingesting 6 cups of coffee on game day, my brain was racing. Figured I should continue to follow my superstitious undertakings and set myself upon completing a regiment of tasks.
See, break out games from my little league and varsity baseball days required ingesting green M&M’s, ham and cheese melts and concession stand hamburgers smothered in nacho cheddar cheese sauce beforehand. A few prayers to Duke Snider, Roberto Clemente and Rod Carew, along with unwashed stirrup socks were all thrown into my baseball superstition cauldron.
Instead of all that, I took a jacuzzi bath to warm my 28 year old muscles. A McDonald’s Sausage, Egg and Cheese biscuit placated the rumbling stomach. I paid 15 dollars to hit a few dozen baseballs at Strike Zone to hone my ailing swing. . .
Long story short, I went 2 for 4, with 2 singles, an RBI and 3 stolen bases. In pitching news, I got the win while finishing work from the 6th inning on. Many props to my teammates who played a heck of a game.
My apologies for not heavily hitting the blog this week and last. Currently, I’m on location all week with the Seattle-based photographer, Alex Hayden and my good buddy Bill Rugen. I’ll catch up soon.