RebelData Photography

Folly of Leaders

2010-09-07T11:48:00.003-05:00

In case anyone's following this blog, here's a great article about the Washington D.C. public school system's current struggle to improve its station. More to the point, the article deals directly with personality driven reform - a topic I have been wrestling with since I started the H3P.
To sum up, no reform or movement of any value (regardless of arena - politics, education, business, etc.) can survive as a result of an individual's Vision alone. Successful movements are sustained through the careful (read slow) implementation of systems engineered to uphold the original vision. To succeed, any human effort must be taken from the realm of personality, charisma and heroics and placed squarely and securely in the realm of systems. Systems of course make for boring copy and rarely elicit the passion and ardor of the lone heroic reformer.
To wit - the struggle of Michelle Rhee and the Washington DC Public Schools. As Ms. Rhee struggles to improve her school district, she is perceived as being the lone driver, ultimately responsible for the success or failure of the schools. This is of course a gross oversimplification but, so long as Ms. Rhee is perceived to be the heart and soul of education reform in DC, anyone opposed to the reforms will operate with a clarified objective: remove Michelle Rhee. An objective which once reached will signal the collapse of the movement and an immediate re-trenching of the status quo.
I'm not trying to argue for or against the reforms as presented in DC. Rather, I am utilizing the situation in DC to try and understand the follies of leadership in America. These situations seem to play out quite often in the USA - a strong idea surfaces, one person or group champions the idea and struggles internally with issues of ownership and authority over the idea, the battle becomes political and personal rather than practical and objective, positions are taken, enemies are made and reputations are made and destroyed regardless of the actual idea in play.
I've begun to see it in my experience: hospitals fight for dollars to the detriment of real work, non-profits spend big money on marketing, people jockey for hierarchy...
The situation in DC is unfortunate in that a groundswell of support for reform is becoming apparent, but the inertia of the current system is equally present. Sending up a juggernaut like Rhee in the hope that her velocity will pull us all to the next level is foolish.
An old Turkish saying I learned from an employer who was trying to convince me to work overtime for no pay applies here - "If you make something good throw it into the ocean. If the fish don't understand it, god will."

http://dropoutnation.net/2010/08/24/voices-dropout-nation-steve-peha-michelle-rhee-heroes/

B-Days

2010-08-16T14:39:00.000-05:00

Mentor Headlands - Beach

2010-08-08T18:37:00.002-05:00

It was windy at the beach that day.

The Mentor Headlands Triathlon went off this AM.
I think this marked the water entry.

Danielle and I are back to normal life after having pretty much been gone for wed for much of the past 6 months it seems like. We had a fantastic time at the wedding - see the pics below - but are happy to be back out exploring our state.
One thing we really miss about the East Coast are the beaches. Singing Beach, Wingaersheek, Plum Island, the Cape, Martha's Vineyard, and on and on.
While we've found some places to jump in the Lake like B&L's Vermilion home and up at the Snake, we hadn't been able to find a good long beach with loads of people and places to explore.

Standing on the jetty defining Fairport Harbor (to our left.)

So, this morning we packed up and took off for Mentor Headlands - about 35 minutes Northeast of our place in Cleveland Heights. Having been to the beach at Edgewater and Huntington in Avon, I expected more of the same, trucked in dirt, 30 yards of beach and a huge parking lot.
But lo and behold we found a real beach! The beach is more than a mile long, the water is perfect temp (around 72 F) and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
Will be returning many times with more pics.

BIG BEACH

In the dunes

D in the waves. The water goes from green to deep blue to grey. Very pretty.

Zoar, Ohio

2010-08-08T18:20:00.002-05:00

The hibiscus in Zoar was enormous.

This is Doug Fouts, Revolutionary War re-enactor. We met him in Zoar, a beautiful little town about 1.5 hours south of Cleveland. Zoar survived as a communist village for 100 years. Now it's full of B&B's, antique shops and guys like Doug.

Lincoln Boulevard

2010-08-08T18:14:00.000-05:00

This is a view into our neighbors' backyard. That tree (a sour cherry) is one of my favorite things about their backyard - besides the blue kiddie pool and the pink stroller - those are Fiona's things and she is also one of my favorite things about the backyard. The light in the early evenings shines through this tree in the most beautiful way. This view sort of describes my life right now.

Wedding Pics

2010-08-08T18:08:00.000-05:00

Lincoln Blvd. Collage

2010-08-03T11:02:00.000-05:00

Our neighbors, Lyman, Shannon & their daughter Fiona made a great graffiti montage on the walkway up to our house. I had to capture it and present it before the rain hit today. I just made it.

Tremont, Cleveland, ohio

2009-10-11T13:10:00.000-05:00

Cuyahoga County Fair

2009-10-08T19:17:00.002-05:00

Huntington, WV - HillBilly Hot Dog

2009-10-08T19:13:00.005-05:00

Harvey Pekar, Little Italy

2009-10-04T15:25:00.003-05:00

Opening a the Pennello Gallery, Mayfield Road, Cleveland, Ohio

Barlow Road - Hudson, Ohio

2009-10-04T15:24:00.000-05:00

Drink Responsibly - St. Clair & W. 3rd

2009-09-27T11:24:00.000-05:00

East Flats - Looking West

2009-09-27T11:22:00.001-05:00

I took this using my new Fuji Instax 200, on Friday, Sept. 25, 2009 at 8 AM from the roof of my office building on the corner of W. 10th and St. Clair, Dowtown, Cleveland, Ohio.

I'm using a Fuji Instax for the time being, which is a fun little instant camera Fuji is selling to pick up the Polaroid market segment floating out there with nothing to do since Polaroid folded.
Downside is that film costs @ $1.10 per pic.
I'm waiting on a new Panasonic GF1 so I can get back to taking hundreds of pictures. Literally hundreds.
Film's expensive.

Cleveland - Downtown

2009-09-27T09:00:00.004-05:00

This is the Shoe Doctor. He performs both minor and major surgeries (his words) in the lobby of the Arcade on Euclid Avenue (right across from E. 4th.) He changed my mind about the value of a good shoe shine. Here's why.
I haven't participated in third party shoe shines too often in my life - twice now, actually. Normally I'm pretty stoic about shoe health.
Those days are over.
Thanks to a few dreadful months in close contact with Neil McCabe at the Somerville News, I knew a quality shine, up to DInfoS standards was not only elusive and difficult to judge but the shine itself was subject to governing arcana, bandied about by army nerds and ditto-heads. Like a waxed up White Whale, army issue shoes, shined up for hours, inspired metric lunacy, entire theories and methods and debates and side-taking and all sorts of wasted time.
Neil being Neil, he completely alienated anyone within earshot of such a story. His passions turned quickly into hysteria and a respectable shoe shine took on the sheen of a symptom of a much greater madness.
As a result, and I do blame Neil for my shoe-shine anorexia, my shoes have remained untouched by anything other than a quick silicon grease-up before weddings or important meetings.
But I had an important event this past weekend. My fiance, Danielle Santiago, had her first performance with the Cleveland Orchestra as a member of its chorus this past Saturday evening at Severance Hall. It was glorious. The orchestra performed Beethoven's 9th. Afterwards, the crowd gave them a standing ovation for a full seven minutes. Five curtain calls. Amazing. So I needed my shoes in fair-to-middlin' shape.
Enter the Shoe Doctor.
I wandered over to the Arcade, where I knew a couple of shoe shiners rented a chair and was immediately greeted by said doctor.
"Shine 'em up!" he said.
"Let's do this," I said.
He applied conditioner, gently admonishing me for not having the sense to have applied it immediately after purchase.
He worked the leather with his fingers, applying layer after layer of polish.
He wrapped his fore and middle finger up tight in a cloth to massage the polish into the leather and bring out the shine.
He buffed with a damp cloth, giving the buffer a quick snap as it bounced off the toe of the shoe.
And slowly, steadily, the shoes transformed from dried out, beat up, painful reminders that I needed a new pair of shoes, into shining examples of my intelligence and personal good taste.
I was stunned.
All the while this was happening, the Shoe Doctor was busily defending his territory, protecting his personal customers from poachers and interlopers hoping to rent a chair in his district.
The Shoe Doctor changed my relationship with my shoes. He revived my sense of art. I think he may save the space program.
He comes highly recommended.

Fuji Instax 200

2009-09-24T19:10:00.002-05:00

New Instant Camera (aka Polaroid)

Cuyahoga River @ Night

2009-08-04T20:03:00.000-05:00

Holmden Ave - Tremont, Ohio

2009-07-01T19:48:00.003-05:00

This road spills straight down from the ridge into the Cuyahoga Valley. It dead ends into Quigley, just across from Arcelor-Mittal

Chagrin Falls - Wiley Creek

2009-06-23T19:06:00.002-05:00

Collinwood

2009-04-30T13:21:00.003-05:00

I met these two guys over in Collinwood. Mike, the guy with the keys, was cleaning up a house he had just purchased. He pointed out all of the empty houses on the block and said things were in pretty bad shape. Eric was walking down the block to tend to another property. The city has been citing people for letting their lawns go. Mike and Eric were responding to citations.

53rd & Walworth

2009-04-28T07:38:00.002-05:00

Fixing the Fuel Filter - Ronald & Jimmy, Tremont, Ohio

2009-04-28T07:34:00.002-05:00

Little Italy - Shop Window

2009-04-28T07:31:00.002-05:00

Mike The Hatter's, 645 Prospect Ave., Cleveland, Ohio - Sam Garrett

2009-04-28T07:29:00.003-05:00

West Side, Cleveland, Ohio

2009-04-28T07:08:00.002-05:00

E. 55th Hotel - Abandoned

2009-04-27T08:46:00.002-05:00

Laptop Robbery, 6400 Bridge Avenue

2009-04-23T07:25:00.019-05:00

Tanisha, our next door neighbor, had her townhouse broken into yesterday.
I was sitting in my living room, surfing the web and eating plantain chips and Goya salsa for lunch, still in my pajamas when it happened.
Looking up from my laptop I glanced out the rear window of my townhouse onto a normally vacant alley and saw two young black men fussing with a laptop.
My first thought was: "Are those guys working on the cable service?" No. No uniforms.
My second thought was: "Are those guys hijacking my internet?" No, not the type to chalk up my neighborhood.
My third thought came to me as I watched one of them stuff the laptop into his coat: "They're stealing that laptop."
I did a little jump, ran around the room and my brain clicked off a few more quick thoughts: "Where's the camera?" "Where're my jeans?" "That's not my laptop, is it?"
Full disclosure - I was still a bit hungover at 12:15 Wednesday April 22, 2009 so, naturally, I was sitting in my living room in my pajamas eating plantain chips and salsa at 12:15, surfing the web and watching a documentary about Rocky Erickson rather than being outside on a rare sunny spring day in Cleveland, Ohio. The cops catching a laptop thief being the only phenomenon more rare than a sunny spring day in Cleveland - something not to be missed, unless you're hung over and eating plantains, watching a laptop crime in progress.
I knew I didn't have a good ID on the guys: even though they weren't more than five feet away from me through the glass of my townhouse window, I knew I wouldn't be able to truly describe their faces in my mind or to anybody else.
So I went for a camera. I threw open the door and met Cedric who was standing on the sidewalk in front of our house. He was on his phone talking with a 911 dispatcher.
He covered the phone and said "Hey man, your neighbor just got robbed."
"I know," I said. "I'm trying to get a picture of them."
"They're around back," he said.
"Thanks," I said and took off around the corner. Half the way down the block another guy was walking his pit bull. He had also seen the robbery. He was trying to give me some directions, pointing down the alleyway heading east, his pit bull at his side.
I came upon the thieves in my pajamas and slippers. They were about fifty feet away from me, through some trees and fences. I pulled up my camera and snapped this picture. Full manual mode, overexposed and all sorts of stuff other than helpful. But it does capture the rush of the moment. The thieves saw me with the camera and took off at full sprint towards Ellen Street, which is to the left in the picture.
I trailed them for a bit down Ellen, but thought better of what might actually happen if I came upon them in close quarters. So I called off the search and circled back to the townhouse.
Cedric was still on the phone with dispatch when I returned and he handed the phone over to me.
I spoke with the operator and gave her the details of address, etc., hung up with her and gave the phone back to Cedric.
I was grateful that Cedric had been responsive enough to realize what was happening and quickly call 911. But as I found myself stuck there with him waiting for the police, it dawned on me that maybe people in Cleveland really are a little bit crazy.
"They're from the East Side," he said. "Ain't no way this shit happens on the West Side. In broad daylight? It ain't even HOT yet," he said.
"You don't think they're local," I asked him.
"Fuck no! I'm an AIDS Counselor so I seen this shit all my life. They're from the East Side. Probably in one of those houses down there," he said pointing to West 58th. "These fucking kids," he said. He started to get pretty close, a close talker.
"I live over on Clark. There's nothing over there so I don't get much attention, but I got a gun and if one of these motherfuckers breaks in my house I'll shoot him right in the butt," he said and then asked me if I smoked.
"No," I said.
"Oh that's good. Sign of the times. Used to be everybody smoked," he said.
Cedric became more and more animated and I became more and more desperate for somebody else to show up so I could stop listening to him.
In the interim between Cedric's call to 911 and the arrival of the police he managed to tell me his story: sixteen years as an Aids Counselor, his own children and the difficulty of keeping them straight, his having diabetes, his mother's advice against letting the doctors start cutting on him because "Once they start cutting at you, they don't stop." He made some slicing gestures on my forearm.
"I walk everywhere, everyday. I lost 160 pounds. I can't let them cut off my legs. I said no way. I need these. Got to check it everyday. You got a dollar? I need to take public transportation all the way back across town." Cedric the hero was quickly becoming Cedric the zero. I gave him a dollar anyway.
One by one some of the neighbors showed up; Sean, Paul and Leslie.
Tanisha phoned Sean, whom she calls "Booger," and told him she was on her way back from work and to please wait with the police until she arrived. The police had another robbery to check on, but said they would be back to speak with the victim in a few minutes. So we sat around and I told everybody what had happened.
Then, to kill the time Paul and I checked out the scene of the crime for ourselves. We were wondering how these kids could've gained entry into a bolted door. We looked at the point of entry: no signs that we could see of forced entry - no scrapes on the door, the jamb was intact, no sign of being kicked in or jimmied. We thereby determined that Tanisha, or her mother must have failed to close the deadbolt.
Tanisha of course had assured us over the phone that her mother, who was "OCD about everything and she locks and double checks everything every time she does anything," had locked the house down, no doubt, before leaving.
A few moments later Tanisha came roaring down the street in her Mini-Cooper and pulled up to the curb.
"Mother fucking kids! I can't take this shit anymore. What the fuck do they need a laptop for? I am supposed to be seeing a client right now," she said.
We watched her stomp up her steps and put her key in the door handle and push right into the house.
Paul and I looked at each other. "No deadbolt."
Everybody had stuff to do after that. Paul and Leslie were off to PA for a visit (that's them at the top.) Sean was heading back to work. And Cedric had to keep on moving.
I stuck around with my camera, sort of the unofficial chronicler of this event.
Eventually the police returned and took our names and vitals. They got the story from me pretty quick and I described the thieves as best I could. I showed them my camera as evidence that I hadn't trusted my memory before and it still wasn't much good to any of us.
Tanisha then haded over her license and started peppering them with all sorts of information:
"I have a gun! I am so sick of this. I hate this neighborhood," she said to the officer who was still sitting in his cruiser taking down her information.
"Can I have your ID?" he asked.
"Sure. I'm not from around here. I am a clinician. My mother is OCD about everything. She locked the doors. How do these kids get in the house? I will fucking kill them."
"Yes," the officer said.
"I don't have to ask, you know?" she said.
"No, that's true," the officer said.
"I can shoot them if they come in here again. I have a gun in the house," she said rather matter of fact.
"I am trying to make this a better community. I am trying to contribute. Somebody ought to go talk to those kids or their parents. I don't know if they don't have a father but somebody needs to beat the crap out of those kids. Why do they do this? I have a car note to pay. I have a mortgage. Don't they know they're making it worse on everybody doing this? I will kill them. I have a gun in the house."
At this point I felt it necessary to let the officers know where I stood.
"I don't have a gun in the house so if I call, that pretty much means I need help real quick," I said.
"I recommend you get some weapons," the driving officer said to me. Not the response I was expecting.
They asked us to wait on SIU to show up and dust for prints. We said we would no problem. Tanisha took me indoors and started showing me all of the other things around her laptop that the thieves had overlooked: a blackberry, lockbox, keys, various electronics.
"Why didn't those kids grab any of this? Stupid fuckers. That laptop doesn't mean anything to me. It syncs every night with my MAC upstairs. They can't get anything off of it," she said.
"I think they probably want to sell it," I said.
"Well, I'm just saying they should've taken this lockbox if they had any sense. There's passports, passwords, account numbers, all sorts of stuff in there. Stupid fuckin' kids."
By this time SIU showed up and started to photograph the scene of the crime. I spoke with the detective a bit and showed him a boot print on the door the other officers had thought might be significant.
"Shoe treads only matter on TV," the detective said and went back inside.
I told Tanisha and her mother, who had shown back up by then with her grandson, Tanisha's son, that I would be leaving and to call if I could do anything else for them.
The kid started yelling and screaming about the cat in the basement, making all sorts of a racket and Tanisha told him he'd better shut up and head upstairs or this officer would take him right to jail, which of course had an effect to the contrary, sending the tantrum to level ten.
"Oh, don't tell the kid that," the detective said putting his head in his hands in a gesture of defeat.
"I'm just trying to get him to shut up," Tanisha said.
"It's not fair," he said.
"To him?" Tanisha asked.
"To the other officers. He'll be afraid of all of us," he said.
At that moment, the detective standing there rubbing his temples, I could see him imagining this kid's whole life play out before his eyes and somewhere, out on that line, he feared that he, or one of his fellow officers was going to run into this kid, right here in front of us right now, but as a teenager, or a man. And that when that day should come, if it should come, that this very moment of convenience that Tanisha and her grandmother had seized upon as a way to silence their child was going to end in tragedy, and his face seemed to say, "again."

Duck Island

2009-03-25T15:01:00.004-05:00

St. Patrick's Day, 2009 - Holgas

2009-03-19T10:24:00.003-05:00

Rell Family Appliance, Madison Ave & W. 98th

2009-02-10T12:30:00.001-05:00

Wlady's, Lorain Ave., Cleveland, Oh. - Shoe Repair

2009-01-27T16:51:00.001-05:00

Sunrise, Steelyard, Cleveland, Ohio

2009-01-27T10:56:00.000-05:00

Structures

2009-01-27T10:51:00.001-05:00

West 65th St., Cleveland, Ohio, 1/20/2009

2009-01-21T14:47:00.001-05:00

Louis B. Stokes Wing, Cleveland Library, 1/20/1009

2009-01-21T14:46:00.002-05:00

Inauguration Day, Cleveland, Ohio, 2009

2009-01-21T14:43:00.002-05:00

Ohio City - Market Days, Cleveland, Ohio

2009-01-12T09:34:00.003-05:00

January 9th, 2008

Lorain Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio

2009-01-10T18:34:00.002-05:00

Car Fire, Ontario, Cleveland, Ohio

2009-01-08T15:17:00.001-05:00

Christmas 2008 - Cleveland

2008-12-31T10:30:00.004-05:00

Christmas 2008 - Long Island

2008-12-31T10:29:00.003-05:00

Airplanes

2008-12-30T10:41:00.001-05:00

Lorain Ave/Tremont

2008-12-17T15:50:00.000-05:00

Forest City

2008-12-17T15:48:00.000-05:00

Slavic Village

2008-12-17T15:47:00.000-05:00

Lake Erie, Gulls, 12/11/2008

2008-12-15T07:46:00.000-05:00

Sportsman Barber Shop

2008-12-12T14:54:00.000-05:00

West Side Market, Cleveland, Ohio

2008-12-12T14:08:00.002-05:00

AllState Barber College, Cleveland, Ohio

2008-12-09T21:51:00.003-05:00

Shop

2008-12-05T14:30:00.000-05:00

New project. Shooting people making a living in marginalized industries.
These are Kelly Woodworth from Smoke Zone II in Cleveland, Ohio and Scott (I'll get his last name next time) from Revolution Tattoos Cleveland, Ohio.

Elyria, Ohio: Cora Roberts

2008-12-03T14:44:00.000-05:00

Ridgeville, Ohio, December 2008

2008-12-03T14:43:00.000-05:00

Cleveland, Oh., 11/26/08

2008-11-26T13:50:00.000-05:00

Abandoned Coast Guard Station, Cleveland, Oh., 11/26/08

2008-11-26T13:31:00.000-05:00

2008-11-25T12:40:00.000-05:00

Cleveland, Ohio, 11/24/08

2008-11-24T15:20:00.004-05:00

Medina, Ohio

2008-11-06T11:50:00.001-05:00

Arcelor-Mittal

2008-11-06T11:49:00.000-05:00

Obama Rally, 11/02/08

2008-11-06T11:48:00.000-05:00

Canton, Ohio, 10/27/2008

2008-11-06T11:43:00.000-05:00

Obama in Canton, Ohio

2008-10-28T16:10:00.000-05:00

Brandywine, Ohio

2008-10-27T06:49:00.002-05:00

Cleveland - Obama Biden Rally, 10/16/08

2008-10-17T10:59:00.000-05:00

Valley of Steel, Cleveland, Ohio

2008-10-14T08:36:00.000-05:00

Early AM, West Side, Cleveland, Ohio, 10/10/08

2008-10-10T13:45:00.000-05:00

Lou and Evelyn

2008-10-09T13:50:00.000-05:00

Cleveland Halite Field

2008-10-02T09:44:00.000-05:00

10/01/08

Underground Railroad, 10/01/08

2008-10-01T22:49:00.001-05:00

These shots were taken from one of the last stops on the underground railroad. From this point in Lakewood, Ohio, slaves would board ships for Canada.

Lake Erie, 9/26/08

2008-09-30T12:15:00.002-05:00

Cleveland, OH. 9/24/08

2008-09-26T15:48:00.000-05:00

For "Stag at Sharkey's"

2008-09-26T15:30:00.001-05:00

Well, Danielle and I have made it to Cleveland and we are both looking, in earnest, for decent work, which is hard to come by here in Cleveland it seems.
Today, though I found a lead on a management position at the Cleveland MFA - retail sales. Hey, everybody needs their "Starry Starry Night" repro.
In any event, I got to look around at the collection, at least the part of it available to view (the museum is undergoing extensive renovations and as a result only one wing is open to the public.)
I like the feel of museums and think I would like to work in one, even as a retail clerk. I mean, at least I'd have cool stuff to hang out with on lunch breaks.
A good deal of the work I saw today was 19th and early 20th century American paintings. All of them interesting and fresh to me (I've been to the Boston MFA so many times that I forget there are other collections out there.) One in particular struck me so much that I decided to write down my thoughts in a poem. Here it is, an ode to George Bellows' "Stag at Sharkey's."

For Stag at Sharkey's

Another restaurant and I'm
in Ohio's world again, but
this time it's nickels and dimes and
pennies from ashtrays that I'm
hunting. Oh, Mother says
we can hunker down at
her and Father's compound if
things get too bad. And I'm sure we
could. Fifteen bedrooms and
an acre of green grass out back and
we could easily turn the fourth, fifth
and sixth garages into chicken coops.
But, what did I learn all of these things
for? The people of
the FSA, gaunt and deteriorated, clear-eyed
and dirty, flat and wasted, on their iron and straw
beds with their shaving bowls and straw brooms.
They're gone.
And I went to see Stag at Sharkey's
today and understood the painting, I think, and
saw in it the future of the form and its demise. I
think this may be the greatest moment of my life,
looking at this oil, and laugh to think I may think such
a thing. Where would we get chickens from, anyway?
Does anybody know that, something like that?
We can get tomatoes, for sure, but...

Chinatown, Boston, MA 2008

2008-08-26T12:10:00.003-05:00

Redbones - Last Shift

2008-08-26T11:42:00.001-05:00

On Cycling in the Rain

2008-08-26T11:36:00.000-05:00

But then I ventured into the rainy afternoon
And found myself on Massachusetts
Avenue and heading south into
Cambridge and not caring too much for
The morning I had
Spent with you sweating
In those wonderful new
Sheets and having
Scotch and
Magazines and quick dinners
And videos rather than mortgages
And Babies and Businesses and Real,
Honest, Large Work.
By 16 East/West (less than a mile)
I was again
Righteous, but hungry
Already and again trying to eat intelligently
For I was training to race,
Wasn’t I?
But Di Mio is a half mile and
Pesto and foccacia and perhaps then
A stretch of slow riding.
The struggles of the racer are
Not well known but let it be
Said they are many and
Not as feminine as all that. One wants
To BE Beloki, who came back too
Early from his crash, to get
Back on the bike and struggle
Into town on broken rims (Beloki
Would never ride on broken rims)
And depleted systems, delirious
With dehydration and hypoglycemia
Only to suffer tendonitis, a bad
Contract and the burning desire
To remain still.
And still the water spraying up
The saddle onto my back.
Couldn’t I have gone to the beach, to
The water, to the sounds and achieved
The same maybe more?
Perhaps it helps to quell the
Warm sensation of disembowelment
That swarms through my depressions.
Having died, having wanted to die
Having planned for death I get
On a bike, climb as many hills as I can
Until I taste blood on your tongue:
If you want to follow me, man, this
Will not be easy.
And you want to be Kivilev in
A situation like that. Kivilev who
Chased the leaders across France
Until his body withered and the spirit
Of his mind withdrew from
His face. Who like the farmers, who like
The drought
Like the dust of the deep depression, until his
Skull lay still, crushed on the Tarmac
In France. There is no redemption. Unlike
Nozal, Ullrich, Armstrong, Cassagrande
Or Virenque who
Withdrew into their deepest kernel and could
Not resist. And I ride in
To town. The angry cars
Like the news, like the
Accretion of work.
I stop to eat,
Thinking in the rain I should really be
Reading poets from Chicago
Who speak nothing
Of the sport of cycling for what is
It? I tip the waitress
Too much and consider walking into one
Of those kitschy retro shops that
Have sprouted across town, perhaps
Buy back my affection for her
With an old clock, or
An enormous toy ring. But I am struck
In place by the thought
Of being a king.
As I stand breathing
Deep looking
In through the pane to the
Plastic record players,
Lunchboxes and cigarette cases,
I reach around my back - the pockets
Are stitched into the back of these jerseys -
Into my jersey pocket
And feel for my key chain and lock ring
Charm, my wallet and a little
Bit of money.
There’s an old dog tied to the parking meter
And he’s wet and probably blind by now and
We’re waiting there and
I tell him I’ve only four dollars.
His eyes are milky and he makes
A noise, more of a chuff than a
Bark, and he says to me over and
Over and over
You are a king.
You are a king. You are
A King.

Rot-Gut: Or, What Happens When They Make Wine from Apples and Call It Kiwi Strawberry

2008-08-26T10:26:00.004-05:00

Atop the hierarchy of intoxicants, fine wines and Scotch Whiskeys typically hold sway over all other considerations. Their regal colors and scents, their depth of provenance, the nearly mythical back-story: all of these elements conspire to assure wine and Scotch Whiskey their deserved spots above the rivers of rotten libations we humans produce and consume in search of the perfect buzz.
But are they, these two kings of the drunk-dial, really so different, so far afield from their besotting brethren as to be truly separate?
If drunk, do they not give us hangovers?
If set to match, do they not aflame (not wine, but that's splitting hairs)?
If offered to alcoholics, are they not dispatched with verve and alacrity?
No, you can see, they are not any greater of themselves. It is we, the perpetually stinky bar people, who elevate and denigrate our drinks of choice and chide. We are all marketers, picking and choosing, aligning and re-aligning based on whimsy and want.
And, typically we want what we are told to want.
Take vodka. Perhaps the most popular potent potable in the pouring world. When done “right” it has no scent, no flavor and, theoretically leaves little to none in the way of a hangover. It can be drunk in a shot, as a fruit based cocktail, as a classic martini or a martini in Manolo Blahniks. It can be injected into melons and smuggled into concerts. It can be poured down an ice luge in Vegas and drunk with surprisingly little shame. It is the perfect vehicle for the alcoholic; the stereotypical Russian in his kitchen, listening as the compressor in his Stinol sputters to a stop, downing drop after drop of his last chilled Putinka, his own spirit rising on a current of evaporating memories.
Vodka sits not alone atop the trash heap of alcoholic marketing campaigns. All of them, in some way, cater to and create their very own dancing slice of the demographic booze-pie.
In one sentence or less (or more), a quick synopsis of where some popular alcoholic products and trends have taken us:
Bourbon – NASCAR – cars for running moonshine now run on moonshine. Rich.
Beer – Drunk Super-Nerds nattering on about esters and oily, piny residue sticking in a lattice to the glass. Blah.
Rum – Mojitoes.
Tequila – Sammy Hagar's goatee.
Cocktailing – The introduction of the celebrity bartender. Old, fat, loud and sybaritic these narcissistic belly-flops washed up onto our bars over the past decade and refuse to swim back to sea.
And that's the top end.
Equally aggressive but perhaps less vapid, the lower rungs of the booze ladder offer some insights into who we are, why we got where we are (if you're there, you know what I mean) and, are we really to blame?
Maybe by defining a portion of the low-end of the booze theory we can grasp how similar we really are, separated only by the slightest circumstance.

I offer you a tour of the lesser labels.

Listerine/Nyquil: ($6.00) Terrible. Absolutely abhorrent. Check the labels, though. Both products contain a fair amount of alcohol and can get you pretty juiced. Only for the absolutely desperate. Not even worth an experimental bender. Causes dizziness, the “jooglies” and run-on nonsensicating.

Robitussin: ($5.00-$7.00) Active ingredient Dectromethorphan (dmx). When used in normal doses the side effects include, nervousness, dizziness, sweating, nausea, vomiting and unusual paleness along with a litany of other complaints. When consumed in unhealthy doses, add hallucinations to the list. Only recommended for the compulsively efficient. If caught alone under the influence of this nuisance, remain calm, out of sight and in your kitchen cabinet (you're probably there already.) Attempting normal communications with other members of the species while “Robo-ing” is possible but ill-advised.

Ripple: (unavailable for purchase) The wine that made Gallo blush. Gallo Wineries of California produced this ultra affordable table wine through the 1970’s. Gallo discontinued making the product to coincide with their efforts at capturing a more upscale portion of the drinking market. All that remains of Ripple are the pop culture references from “Sanford & Son,” to the Grateful Dead to the inimitable Gordon Lightfoot’s thought of “Georgia pine and Ripple wine.” This wine has, thankfully, left the pantheon of American liquors. Only the dark cloud of Gallo’s cynicism remains to hang over an otherwise enjoyable pastime – gettin’ lit up.

MD 20/20: (about $3.00) A fortified wine produced by Mogen David Wineries. Originally, known as Mad Dog 20/20, Mogen David Wineries changed the name to MD 20/20 to better reflect the sophistication of its market. This poison is known for its ability to induce foaming mouth syndrome in heavy imbibers, and tends to color the tongue a lovely hue of either green or blue, depending on flavor. A prerequisite at all proms, fraternity Hell Weeks and Venice Beach barrel parties, Mad Dog’s phantasm of flavors has pushed MD 20/20 to the forefront of rotgut. Its alcohol content varies with flavor and color between 13% and 18%. Mango Lime, Orange Jubilee, Pacific Peach, Kiwi Lemon, Tangerine Dream, Key Lime Pie, Red Grape Wine and Strawberry Rose are all available. The stuff tastes like sugar water and can knock you on your tail with gusto. Should be paired with cheese and peanut butter crackers, or bread crust.

Boone’s Farm: (around $3.00) This puzzlement is made from apples. The flavors alone speak volumes about the quality of this product. Names like Strawberry Hill, Kiwi Strawberry, Wild Island, Mountain Berry, Sun Peak Peach and Kountry Kwencher evoke a calmness akin to the catatonia of a three day Boone’s hangover. Boone’s hails from Nevada where, apparently, apples grow wild in the desert: their vintners keeping a watchful eye for the best pink lady to distill into a bottle of Kiwi Strawberry.

Thunderbird: (about $6.00) Vinted and bottled by Gallo wineries, the color of this wine is disarmingly similar to urine. First marketed post prohibition, the Gallo brothers sought to corner the downtrodden market driving through ghettos, pushing the swill to the disaffected and disenchanted. “What’s the word? / Thunderbird!” So goes the jingle. A drink for hobos, bums and hard-core drunks, Thunderbird is available for sale at select stores of untold esteem.

NightTrain: (about $6.00) Another loop in Gallo’s extensive net of hobo wines, this wine is fuel enough to sustain a three thousand mile bender. The type of trip from which one never really returns. Keep this one in the bag for an added shot of credibility next time you’re mining the turmoil of your darkest mind. Once you’re on the train, it makes no stops.

So, c’mon, if you’ve got $6.00 and you’re staring at a bottle of Robitussin, or Thunderbird skip it. Walk up to the register and pick up a couple of nips. The crème de menthe nips go for a cool buck or less and they keep your mouth fresh and inviting. Or you could venture into a handle of Rubinoff for $10.00 or so. Soon enough you’ll be bleeding from the gut and conspiring with Rasputin on that long slow train out of St. Petersburg on your way to the bottom of the Neva.
And you won’t even know how you got there.

Suffolk Downs, May 14, 2008

2008-05-15T10:38:00.000-05:00

May 12, 2008

2008-05-12T13:47:00.000-05:00

May 9, 2008

2008-05-09T11:47:00.000-05:00

Concord, MA - May 7, 2008

2008-05-08T13:38:00.000-05:00

May 2008

2008-05-07T13:47:00.001-05:00

LaForge @ Charlie's Kitchen

2008-05-07T11:47:00.000-05:00

Color

2008-05-06T09:37:00.001-05:00

Somerville Ave,

2008-05-02T09:17:00.000-05:00

Arnold Arboretum

2008-04-30T16:29:00.001-05:00

Holga

2008-04-24T13:33:00.003-05:00

Spring

2008-04-24T11:26:00.003-05:00

Down at Conroy Park

Evelyn's Birthday Weekend

2008-04-21T12:59:00.010-05:00

Went to Cleveland to celebrate my niece's 2nd Birthday. Here're the pics

Alewife

2008-04-15T08:11:00.002-05:00

A series of images from the banks of the Alewife Brook in Somerville/Medford/Cambridge/Arlington.

New Pics

2008-04-11T12:04:00.001-05:00

Littleton, MA

2008-03-31T09:13:00.004-05:00

These are four images made in Littleton, MA. Although, the horse lives, I think, closer to Harvard, MA.
A strange world out there. I love it, very green and deep old growth forests pocketed with 200-300 year old town centers built around village greens and churches. I used to train on my bicycle out there.
All sorts of apple orchads, pig farms and horse stables. I believe most of the farms are working farms, but I did notice alot of Benzos pulling into the long drives of those family farms. Who knows?
The boat and VW were parked in front of the Littleton Depot, now defunct but converted into a junkyard/graveyard/resurrection lot for antique ovens.
The commuter rail still flies past the depot - the lines are still active. It's a strange and rare coexistence of an old country lifestyle and a bumping, status-rich concern of downtown Boston, and NYC even, I'd imagine.
Living there seems alright: a farm, a horse, wife, coupla-three kids, ten to twenty cats, twelve pigs, three rusted out Bluebird school buses and a tree fort. What more is necessary, really?

John Smith House, Concord, MA

2008-03-25T10:57:00.002-05:00

MIT Architecture

2008-03-06T09:49:00.004-05:00

Rollin' through MIT w/my Yashica. Those eggheads don't mind a little analog. Not even one stare while on campus. Most of 'em had their noses buried in chocolate chip muffins anyway.

Street - Boston & Cambridge

2008-03-06T08:32:00.001-05:00

Color

2008-02-28T17:56:00.009-05:00

Portrait

2008-02-28T10:37:00.000-05:00

Middlesex Fells

2008-02-28T09:48:00.000-05:00

A dog named Ursula

Beach Rocks

2008-02-27T21:35:00.005-05:00

Working on making better negatives.

Down'ar at da Choich

2008-02-27T17:11:00.000-05:00

Mes' Roof

2008-02-26T14:22:00.001-05:00

I'm not a graffiti artist, nor have I ever been that much into it. No emotions concerning the matter at all, really. However, a friend of mine, Jared Coffin, clued me into this rooftop. It's called Mes' roof. Mes is an old graffiti tag for Boston and this is his roof. His tags on this roof have not been painted over. They're fading and surrounded by newer, brighter tags, but they persist. The building is being condo-ized, so I don't know how much longer Mes' roof will remain his. Here it is for posterity.

Union Square, Somerville, MA, 02/25/08

2008-02-26T10:19:00.003-05:00