Caught this On Demand today, and nearly had a heart attack laughing so hard.
Category Archives: Popular Culture
Big Al’s Full-Stop Aperture Priority Shop
This is Big Al: esteemed Seattle photographer by day, over-40′s league soccer player by night.
Alex Hayden
Don’t let his boyish good looks fool you, his lighting techniques are up there with God’s work on the fourth day. And that modern-day Farrah he’s rocking is not to be messed with. I was too close to him once, perhaps less than six inches from his left shoulder, as he executed his trademarked ‘flip’, and his locks nearly took my head off.
Big Al reflecting on his life and times
In reference to his wispy locks, Hayden notes, “I had to cut them back. I’m rocking a tamer ‘business in the front, party in the back’ aesthetic.” When pressed further, he suggests he’s more approachable now.
“I guess I didn’t want to just be known as ‘the-photographer-with-a-great-head-of-hair.’ I mean, its always been about the images and the play of light and shadow. . . this just helps us all focus on that now,’ he muses while tapping out the beat to a popular Clash song with his bubble level, a necessity on many of Hayden’s productions.
A Master at Rest
Keep your eyes peeled for his upcoming interview in Professional Photographer Magazine where he reveals a great number of his lighting secrets along with business tips and insider knowledge culled from his over 20 year commercial photography career.
The Oiled-up Hot Model Supporting Role of a Lifetime
A little over a month ago, I was in the process of locating a 2nd assist on an editorial project with Ty Allison, a shooter out of CA. I spoke with a few folks here in Seatown and found a great guy eager to help out with the project. I explained that this wasn’t the project where we’d be oiling up fantastically hot models or standing around shop-talking for an hour how a particular linen was going to fall ever-so non-intentionally across a bedspread.
This was going to be ‘work’ work, in fact humping gear to the top of a peak some 1,200 feet up the 2 mile trail. The goal was to have about 50 lbs. on each strapping lad’s back and mule it up there. Sherpa for a day.
That was the view, so it was well worth the time it took to get up there. The first one’s a gentleman I met named Gary, pilot for Alaska Airlines out enjoying the day with his lady. The second are my mates from across the Atlantic, forgotyourname one and forgotyourname deux. The physical reward was that I got a cardio workout equivalent to one-month’s time working out at the gym.
Would’ve been nice to have one of these:
. . . Or would it? . . . That was last week on a project out at the UW. Its amazing how much a magliner can do, especially when the wheels are well-inflated. This was a few weeks ago:
The unforeseen danger of artificial chocolate cakes in microwaves.
This was more than a few weeks ago:
Jenna watches TV, 2008
The other night, we were laying around. Jenna decides she’s going to watch the Tudors, a Showtime series now on Nexflix. I’d seen a little before but could never get into.
I think the pic looks as it was intended to look: quite banal and ordinary. Since hitting the hot springs and seeing my old art comrade Joe, I’ve been wanting to make and make some more: calamari the other night, the bed, myself tired by hiking up Cougar Mountain yesterday. . .
Here’s Mack perplexed by the events of the night previous.
For the larger production still, click here.
If these springs could talk. . .
In the hustle and bustle, the march from here to fro and back again, we often forget to take care of numero uno. That said, I recently got over to the Olympic Peninsula for some much needed hot spring therapy and to rest my weary bones in their mineral rich waters. Accompanied by my dear friend and hot spring connoisseur, Joe Hall, we hit the Sol Duc Resort and later hiked to the Elwa hot springs. I’ve put some photos below from our sojourn.
This was our vehicle, the Ford Escape. One uses it in order to escape.
This is Joe. He’s taken trips specifically to Iceland and Germany for their offering of hot springs. He’s an expert and from Iowa.
This is us, pre-spring.
The first night, we drove all the way into the park at Elwa there and decided it wasn’t wise to start our hike at 9pm. On the way back, we pulled over at a ridge/lookout and made some artwork. This was our tripod.
Rock at Night, 2008.
Majestic Peak, 2008.
This was home for the night, the Flagstone Hotel, only after driving around for an hour, making a very informed decision based on rate and whether we were going to disclose there were two people inhabiting the room. Dinner by Safeway.
We’d stopped on the way to Sol Duc the next morning at a lake. This lake had water as aquamarine as a child’s drawing. It was gorgeous. What struck us both as we took in this lake was on the opposite bank, you could hear the buzz of chainsaws. Then, if you watched the tree line closely, you could see the trees toppling over, one by one. This was a tree on the bank that’s seen many a relationship come and go.
Like an old, wise parent.
Stopped to take a shot of the beautiful Elwa River.
Us on the trail.
Joe spots gold. We’ve got the chunk out to our medallion maker and we’ll soon be sporting six pounds of bling ’round our necks.
Saw these little guys dotted throughout. Being there gives you the sense of how ancient these place are the timelessness of the wilderness. Joe said ‘if world war III broke out, this is where I’d want to be.’
I’d just gotten in as Joe approached. The springs at Elwa are really no deeper than two feet if that. One might think its icky at first, but after a few minutes of taking in the smell of sulphur and the natural Lithium seeping into the bloodstream, you’ll soon put it out of your mind.
In the spring.
Joe in Spring. Philosophizing, talking the future, the present, the past.
After soaking the springs up, we got out and wandered. Joe documented the various springs in the event he starts his website of hot springs tours.
Down near one of the lowest springs, came across this man made sauna place though I wasn’t brave enough to enter it. Figured it might open up to another world with gnomes and stuff and they’d crown me king.
More always,
Mike
2006 was more (whatever Harper's said) than 2007.
I’m a big fan of Harper’s. The articles are stimulating, and when you read sections like Index, Excerpts and/or Findings, it immediately raises your IQ in ten point incrementals. Read it two or three months in a row, and it’ll cause heavy brain drip from the nose what with all the knowledge you’re attempting to make room for.
You can say something like: anthropologists determined there was an early ancestor of primordial man that laughed. AND you’d be right.
So in my best Harper’s Magazine-type, deadpan delivery style of Index and Findings, here goes. Bare in mind that the images don’t truly exist in a Harper’s but think of the allusions and what one might see if the story could be in pictures:
I typed something out that had another day in the sun in a different context, in a different arena of readership, altogether. In the dark of Magnuson Park, folk in Seattle took photos. Moving pods were packed by Michael Clinard, Jacob Gerber and Gina Cholick–who is currently on her way to LA to tear it up down there (photos of moving pods are everywhere, I like this photo more). When Day/Nyquil bottles are left about the kitchen, smooshed paper towels work wonders to combat pet hair and dander from entering into the inherent technique of delivery. Gretag Macbeth color cards and ASUS eee PC’s are delicious. Jenna and Michael are swing dancing.
Democracy in Action: Introducing your PCC
When some of us in the NW see/hear “PCC” we think a natural food/co-op market with yummy deli selections that, when weighed out to the pound, are as valuable as some precious metals. When I say/write “PCC,” I mean, Precinct Caucus Chair.
I’m speaking ’bout revolution in the mindstate my hungry babies. . . I’m pandering for real change, my people!
Just this past Saturday, February 9th, yours truly had the great honor of participating in the Washington state caucus as my precinct’s appointed caucus chair in the 32-1209′s Democratic party candidacy shindig at Highland Terrace Elementary School.
When I arrived that afternoon, it was nothing like I remember of the Iowa Caucus. In my Iowa Caucus experience, I remember hundreds of folks crammed into spaces that only molecules occupy. By my estimation, the space that molecules occupy aren’t comprised of people in funny costumes. Spaces for molecules don’t speak loudly and/or make you feel bad for standing in a corner in support of a particular candidate, but that’s what I remember of Iowa.
However, in Washington state, there was little fan fair and caucus molecules were breathing quite well in the elementary school gymnasium. Things were casual and everyone was carrying around this kind of muted, only-in-the-NW-informed ‘excitement.’
That Saturday, I approached my elementary lunch table in the gym with the same kind of excitement for taking part, first-hand in the electoral process. I sat down at the 32-1209′s lunch table and people were talking. In the midst of all the lunch room table talk, I let it slip that I’d once participated in the Iowa Caucus.
See, “participate” is a loaded word for me. Standing in the corner of a room in Iowa, with an arm raised is much different than reading guidelines to a group of Washingtonians looking at you as a capable figurehead ensuring their voice/vote will be heard/counted. Some at the table felt that given my Iowa experience, I’d be a natural choice as the precinct’s chair. After taking the reigns and digesting the many number of forms and instructions contained within our precinct’s delegate envelope, I knew the next two or so hours were going to be quite interesting.
Long story short, attendance swelled and soon a great many number of us were shouting our viewpoints, or in my case, instructions and guidelines we were to follow as caucus attendees. In the 32-1209, all 48 in attendance were able to sit through the required paperwork and herky-jerky Democratic processes in order to rightfully distribute our precinct’s six alloted delegates. Mad props to my Tally Clerk, Mary (seen in the 3rd-from-the-top photo in the black turtleneck), our precinct caucus secretary and my right hand man on the cellphone calculator, both of which are unnamed and unidentified in the pics above.
O’ yeah! The let’s-take-it-back sentiment is contained in the envelope below, Mama:
Spittin' Fierceness
There’s speculation that Tom Petty was lip-syncing during the Super Bowl. That, I can forgive, seeing as how Tom Petty went to bat for scores of artists in the 80′s against Big Music’s contractual agreements dictating that they (big record companies) own the music. And, in effect, it was kosher to slide the musical performers some scratch here and there while Big Music took in the lion’s share of album sales.
Things have changed for the most part, and there are a number of different models out there now. You might say, ‘so, Mike, you like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers?’ And I’d be like, ‘heck, yeah. I love ‘em.’ I like them so much I dedicated an entire morning a couple weeks back to Peter Bogdanovich’s 4hr. documentary on the group.
The idea of a four hour documentary might incite some sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. At its mention, you might begin to recall some childhood trip when the family drove from Point A (home) to Point B (aunt’s house). You weren’t a big boy or girl and didn’t have front seat privileges or the opportunity to soak in all of the air-conditioning during the middle of summer with a humidity level hovering around 98%: an ‘are-we-there-yet’ kind of feeling cycling through your head.
As long as my pops was bumping the Heartbreakers, that’s a trip I could’ve endured (and in fact have from Nolensville, TN to Athens, GA).
While watching the film, I had a very personal reaction because out of the blue, I began singing aloud nearly every song they featured in the documentary. I knew them all by heart, but never really thought about it until then. My dad had in fact played a many great number of the records all of the time throughout my childhood: in the car, in the house, in the boat if fishing. . .
In reference to my title, thought I’d post these pics of me as I spit some rhymes during my parent’s anniversary party. I’m kidding, I wasn’t freestylin’, just doing a rendition of Johnny Cash’s ‘Boy Named Sue’ on some kind of karaoke thing you hook up to a television. Someone snapped a couple shots during the performance which subsequently brought the house down.
Now with More Kitchen Sink
Today is crappy movie day on Showtime. Out of Omaha a.k.a. California Dreaming just concluded and is some version of the original National Lampoon’s crossed with RV. Arizona Summer–a cross between Hey Dude from Nickelodeon and the acting in some instructional video you watched in middle school–has just started. Its one not to be missed so set your DVR. . . oh, and since writing this add Crash Landing to the list.
In even sadder news, the other day, I was passenger in a car enroute to a shoot. A bold squirrel decided that the day in question was the day he’d stand up to the noisy monsters that scream past his little bit of heaven on NE 125th in North Seattle. Running from the warmth of a little knob in his tree, he jumped in front of us and appeared to put up his little squirrel paws as if to box. As the Scion square car thing came at him, I said, ‘oh, watch out for that squirrel.’
The driver made an attempt to avoid the little guy, but as we moved to one side, Mr. Squirrel went the opposite way, then darted back the same way we’d gone and I was sure he’d been squashed. I looked back over the area we’d just passed, and through the rear view window I caught a glimpse of the little guy running away, and my heart smiled. But in a split second, a car came and instantly turned him into a tumbling pioneer hat, one like Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone would’ve worn.
Imagine a pioneer driving a convertible, and due to a gust of wind he just lost his cap as he sped down the street. Then he damned the modern day hustle and bustle as a Mitsubishi truck took it under wheel. It literally looked just like that. . . a rolling coonskin cap.
It was sad. In lighter news, here’s a scan to illustrate some recent events:
First, the yellow legal pad with the scrawl on it is one of my best inductive arguments in years. It was written as evidence for a mitigation hearing I had disputing a speed trap I’d been caught in back in November. The photo illustrates the steep grade of the hill I was traveling down. Next, got a replacement Jogr for the broken one I had, only this one is 8gb whereas the one before was only 2gb. Got the 8 gigger as it was the price I paid for the 2 gigger less than a year ago. That little rectangular gray box is my Trafficgauge. Got it free by following this link for a study UW is putting on about traffic congestion in Seattle. Last, the little blue envelope with the kitty cats on it is from my Grandmother on the occasion of my 29th birthday in early January.
Which leads me to why I started this post: My parents’ 30th anniversary that we celebrated while I was home in December. The animation below is a photo of them on that day. As a gift, I took the only photo they had from that special day and did some retouch work on it (bear in mind, the gif kind of eats up a lot of the work):
So, since this past Thanksgiving my brother, Benjamin, and I had been cooking up this surprise 30th Anniversary party for my parents. As their courting story goes, my dad was lodging at a hotel in Ohio, and due to a faulty shower head, he ran down the stairs cursing, the night porter, a young Ecuadorian lady on duty, later became my mother.
According to them, my mother was dating some guy that lived with his mom replete with outhouse on property. Seeing the other options available to her in the male persuasion, she opted to go set up camp with my dad and the rest is history. They were married in Tullahoma, Tennessee in 1977, and roughly a year later, yours truly was born.
My brother and I had worked tirelessly to convince them both to come out and pick me up at the airport. During their 6-7:30 absence from the house on Wednesday, Ben had previously instructed our 20 or so guests to arrive during that time frame and he’d park their cars ’round the corner at the neighbor’s so that when we rolled up, they’d assume nothing. To make the illusion even more complete, I drove like a mad man on the way back, replete with random braking and a smattering of road rage which is a usual stress for my Mom and it left my Dad to state “I’m tired from last night. . . I’m just going to take a little nap.”
Completely disarmed.
When we came into town, I noticed that Mom had failed to put gas in her car, so we had to stop and get petrol at the local Jiffy Mart, and in so doing, I was able to call my brother and deliver this coded message:
“Hey, we’re at Jiffy getting gas. When we come in through the garage door, I want a big plate of cajun turkey waiting for me. . .” That means roughly: ‘we’re three minutes away, when I open the garage door remotely, make sure no one is standing in plain view so that when we round the corner of the kitchen, Mom and Dad have no idea we’re about to surprise the hell out of them.’
We walk in ’round the corner of the kitchen and the table is full of food and Dad is like ‘what is all this about? . . .’ We walk a little further and I’m waiting for the surprise and my Mom says ‘what’s happening, Michael? . . .’ Then finally, ‘Surprise!’ they all say, flanking us on the back of the route we’d just taken. I’ve put some photos below, describing a bit of the happenings and those pictured:
First, this was back in Seattle, leaving the day of the party. It was right before Christmas, so this lady on the piano was rocking out. Babies were dancing at her feet, planes flying, etc.
Beefed up on this meal from the Chinese place in Seatac. Biscuits, Gravy and Eggs: a precursor of things to soon come.
The Actual Moment of Suprise
This is what it looked like. I know, not all that fantastic, but that is what surprise moments can look like.
The Other Side of Suprise
Now that’s surprise! Or at least they’re holding it extra long for me to shoot one off of them.
Unbeknown to me, Ricky Clem, my dad’s good friend and his best man at the wedding, showed up with a whole boatload of photos my parents had long thought disappeared. Its great, ‘cuz now I can start working on those for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
I should mention, my mom is 4’11″ so she’s super cute and buzzes around like a butterfly or bee or hummingbird: very fast like.
Here’s my dad. He’s very prone to get misty about sentimental things, so looking at these photos he starts recalling all the emotions he was having about the big day. Remembers his buddies saying ‘Fuzz (my dad’s nickname), there’s still time, man. . . I got a car running outside.’
My Dad with his Mom, my Grandmother, Nelle Pittman.
My Mom with her friends: (from left) Carolyn, Mom, Kay and Angie.
My Dad with Ricky Clem, his friend and essentially my Uncle and/or Godfather. I have NO IDEA why my dad has this crazy smile on his face. Looking at it now makes me think what a great set of chompers he’s got.
Dad in middle with my brother, Ben and I.
This is the damage I inflict on Cajun-fried Turkey Legs at Midnight, Central Standard Time.
This is the next morning. Dad doesn’t emerge until well after 10am. The dog, Lucy, is essentially ‘my sister’ and goes any and everywhere my Dad goes, unless they enforce strict ‘No Dogs Allowed’ rules. Though, in the South, a dog is a necessary accessory to every pickup truck.
Here’s Mom, the next morning. Notice the styling coffee mug with her name on it. Cordless phone in front her. . . that’s my Mom.
And this is Mom with my broheme, Ben.
And when I got back to Seattle, I gave Jenna this giant Golden Lollipop Tennis Racket. No, its really a splatter guard to protect her ceramic cooktop from my culinary genius I’m oft inclined to perform in the kitchen.
Okay, so I’m pooped. No mas. . . for now.
Heart,
Michael
Zombie Portraits from Revenant Film Festival 2008 @ MOHAI, Seattle
For the longest time, I’ve had this idea that has yet to be realized involving monsters and the undead (zombies and vampires). In early September, I got a hankering to explore at least the zombie side of it a little deeper and decided to look into the yearly Zombie Walk that takes place in Seattle.
Last year, I happened to be driving through during its stop in Fremont, and its completely unreal to witness. All these folks, shuffling along. Hard to explain, but simply put its unsettling. Decided to track down the organizer of this madness and found none other than Cleo Zombie:
Cleo Zombie Dragging Cherie, Victim into Frame
She is the raddest of undead chicks I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. I’d explained that I was looking to photograph some zombie-attired folks, and rather than trying to stage portraits outside during the Zombie Walk in West Seattle on October 26th, she put me in touch with Mr. Geoff Bough of Revenant Magazine and Revenant Film Fest. He and his business partners gave me the go ahead to establish a small photo area and during the night’s festivities, we did some portraits.
Cleo had this great idea to ‘bite’ some folks, they’d become infected (whereby she’d apply a bit of the ole’ zombie makeup treatment) and then infect another and so on, and so on.
I was game to see where it went, and we got as far this gent. This image is about two seconds before Rob (pictured above) witnessed first-hand the raw power of a zombie’s blood lust for fresh human brains.
This guy was great, as was everyone who allowed me to document their attire/makeup as well as their downright love for everything undead and zombie.
Little known fact, but captured here for the first time in recorded history: after 5 or 6 hours of zombie-film, even zombies need a pick me up that bloody brains just can’t satisfy.