renewed faith in my luddite standing part two

do not attempt this with your computera letter - well actually a postcard - from anna marie

DUSK AT THE PAVILION WITH NATTY BOH IN THE DISTANCE

I had reached the peak. The outing to Bullneck – who couldn’t want to see Bullneck – the number 10 runs between Bullneck and Paradise but seeing Paradise NL I thought I’d give it a pass. Peak because I was aware of the brevity of time and the number of places that I wanted to see. Each outing didn’t help as it would remind me of new places. I tried to be mature and make notes for the next time. Being east of the Balamer, I wanted to go beyond Dundalk and explore more the points – Sparrows and Sollers – Fort Howard.

Passed the lost and found for the MTA and wondered about my hat, passed a Latino barber and thought about my hair – after seeing the snap I made of Uncle Lloyd and me where I came out the loser.

Worried about whether I had taken a rush hour bus and would have to walk back into Charm City.

Strange nice area. The river was being used for everything – boys leaping of the buoys in the middle, a couple fishing, the expressways in the distance. The wasn’t the inner harbour, except for those mentioned an a kid racing up and down on his bike there was no-one.

I felt fine as I got down from the bus. There was one waiting and another pulled up. I wouldn’t be stranded in Dundalk. Oh so I thought. Did a wander until dusk then headed back to the terminus where there wasn’t a bus. Getting darker and no bus, I gave myself a time limit before I would walk down Dundalk Avenue.

I had forget – or was spoiled by the bus coming out, being Baltimore the bus it seemed was only running now every thirty minutes.

Hopped down in Eastern Avenue before the park entered the barbershop. Chose it because there was a Brasilian flag out front. It was closing in 15 minutes the place was packed I was waiting watching the Spanish language porn – which made for a slower cut all around as everything stopped when the “good” parts showed up.

A friend – a barber who was off came in told me to sit down and asked how long I wanted it. short – he took off a swatch - well not that short but.. well since Bruce can pull it off...

Later I left doing a Toshiro Mifune in the Seventh Samaraí constantly feeling the back of my head. I though it looked better no more tufts no more trying to pretend that I am balding faster than the Earth is warming.

Walked down Eastern Avenue by Patterson Park but before I could it could really sink in that there were people out and about after dark, the bus the was arriving.

Liked Butcher’s Hill better than Canton people out on their marble stoops, the houses are not what some developer thinks a row – sorry town – house is, the most diverse area that I had seen so far.

I simply had to get out the last day. it was more due to my cabin fever than anything else, I feel entombed if I don’t get some air and in the hermetically sealed buildings of to-day it is even more necessary.

Really didn’t have any place to go as it was late and being in Park Heights Avenue was getting on my wandering nerves Too late to walk to the metro, but hate waiting for a bus.

One last phone call to the lost and found for the MTA revealed nothing about my lost Baby Leafs cap – the new one sucks too dark too stiff – so I thought that I would head over to Canton where it was last seen hoping that it would be someplace near Toone and Conkling Streets. Number 7 there as it was faster than the 13. People were gathering under the Pagoda in Patterson Park for a concert. Others were strolling the park with their dogs. Cops were driving along the pavements.

Of course there was no cap there. decided to explore and realised once again how small Balamer was. Headed west along Boston street which changed my mind a bit about Canton – a bit too chain chic for me – Starbucks, Safeway, Starbucks in Safeway, but at least I saw people, Before I knew it though I was at the most eastern point of a January wander when I was in Fells Point – Aliceanna Street. Ah no wonder it is more populated. But ah how compact also.

Headed north to zig zag in the neighbourhoods in the waning light a few conveniences photographed, some Balamer formalism, up Patterson Park Avenue, before heading west to photograph the Orthodox church from the alleys – formalism with a bit of Atget – and more alley boundaries. Racing the light I kept going off course – I was supposed to be heading back to the bus stop – when I found a house devoted to sending all abortionists to hell. Pretty dark which isn’t Joãozão’s forte but tried some oblique snaps. Up Port Street to head across the park, to see the concert.

The perfect ending to a Balamer stay heading up to the Pagoda I turn around to look over Highlandtown. In the distance, in the waning light the giant Natty Boh was becoming a beacon of East Baltimore. Walked passed community gardens, a woman bringing out supper to a group who are out front of their place in Baltimore Street. Photograph a church then try to do something with the balance of interior and exterior light before walking to the Johns Hopkins metro station.

THE NUMBER 51

The late afternoon outing was turning out badly, I had missed the M-3 in both directions which mean that I would have to wait for what would fell like an eternity for another. I was at a loss; hate upper Park Heights Avenue for its transportation options.

In the end walked the back streets to the Reisterstown Plaza metro stop not so much for the train but for the number 27 bus, thought about Port Covington. It wasn’t there and it wasn’t due to arrive for another 30 minutes, picked up a 51 schedule and it was the same I had just missed its departure at the Rogers Avenue Station.

Another 15 minute wait for the train down at Mondawmin as I thought about either Brooklyn via the 16 – not for another hour, or the five to Cedonia – was looking to make it to Butcher’s Hill. A 22 comes and goes and when I notice the destination wished that I had jumped on. Again wandering around at a loss I try to regain control by walking to the old neighbourhood and documenting the places I used to play.

The 51 rolls up, I stop hop on and head south.

I had been over most of the route before when I headed out to Arbutus to find my grandmother’s grave. Only remembered that the cemetery was on a hill and the undertaker mispronounced her name causing me to laugh. I knew that this route really didn’t link classes, it was poor all the way.

I was shocked at Westport though. Vaguely remember it when I went with my father to Cherry Hill when he ran the projects. Now, however with a great view of downtown was this slum with a few people milling about but almost nothing open.

I was on it for the ride for it seemed that my indecision at Mondawmin had thrown me more than I thought – I wasn’t going to make it to Brooklyn. I was too far away from East Baltimore to explore over there and I didn’t really feel like walking the inner harbour.

At the Patapsco light rail station – which resembled a scene from the Constant Gardener – people running along the track from Cherry Hill to catch the train – I remembered this open area at the Baltimore Highlands stop. I could see it from where I was.

A rural walk how novel – especially with my new urbanity making me a bit wary of open parkland. It seemed that everyone else was equally as wary for except for a couple fishing, and a model airplane meet comprising of four people I was alone to walk the trails.

Photographically a bust, it was too easy to be cynical with a pond where the lily pads were old tyres, found a mattress in a field, a ballpark with potential as there were containers in the distance mimicking the backdrop. Back in Peasants Pissoir as an indication of the summer is going I ruined the film by flicking on the light before I completely closed the tank. If I had to lose a roll this was a good one to lose.

Before leaving a snap of a landlocked boat under some high tension wires wishing that I had more time to explore down here and so that the loss of this day wouldn’t be so important.

THE PENN STATE CRICKET CLUB

Am driving along Northern Parkway glad that I made it through the red light camera district when at the high school before Park Heights I see person make a U turn and pull onto the grass of the playing field to the side of the school.

Typical I think – but wait why are all those people in white, and not Balamer white – oversized t-shirt, overly baggy trousers – but white with floppy hats, in the middle of the…cricket. After righting myself so that I don’t cause an accident, do all that I have to do then race back. Park the car behind the field and walk over to the idyllic Sunday scene that would make any English village proud – well except for the matting wicket, and the disused car parts strewn all over the place, and, well broken cassette tapes, oh and the swamp at deep extra cover, oh and the grass that was cut the last time our knighted saviour actually raised funds. What would normally go for four stopped dead just beyond mid on. I think that some of the fielders would have preferred shorter grass willing to give up a four now and then to chasing balls to cut short the run rate. They looked haggard keeping the batsmen to singles.

It seems that I have run across the Penn State University Cricket Club which drives the four hours weekly from May to September to play in a league with 30 odd teams between Baltimore and Washington. This week they were at the Pimlico Oval.

Being cricket once I was outside the sight lines of the batsman the deep extra cover came up to have a chat, where was I from where did I learn cricket.

Headed over to the team that was in and this is where I found out that they were from Penn State.

Mentioned that around Chicago when I saw matches they were usually played by potbellied old farts, to which they pointed to the score keeper and said looks can be deceiving. I fully documented between bowls preferred the spin bowler – who seemed to be having more effect he would pull the batsman off the line having them almost stumped twice, caused a lot of balls hit in the air which would have been caught normally and one lbw – than the pace bowler.

Ah the problem of constantly feeling rushed, I felt guilty watching the match – something I wouldn’t have felt in earlier times, I had so much that I wanted to do and so little time. it was Sunday after all and great day to wander the less desirable neighbourhoods as most shops were closed and the churches were open. Set myself a time limit, one hour. When I t came I walked slowly to the motor stepping over the broken glass and latex gloves, past the group on their Nextel phones under the tree in the mid distance and headed off.

THE PIMLICO OVAL

Sunday with the Penn State CC

TECHNO-WEENIE SHITE – THE END

I have finally fooled myself into thinking that I understand.
So after all that hand wringing and over buying of cameras to the point where I duplicated Ubaldo, I head east and trust the entire trip to decrepit Joãozão. It has been the bag from day one – with the exception of evening wanders where the light meter doesn’t work as well as Ziquinho’s and I thought that I should make sure the new lens worked. I have yet to put a roll through it – and thus feel like a real faculty member. While Ziquinho and the like are nice fall back cameras and work really well for Chesapeake/Bonne/Conception Bay formalism, I still like the portability of Joãozão and the fact that it draws the correct type of attention – looking old people don’t feel threatened – it is a conversation starter - a parking attendant was staring at it as I walked by.

In the end the courier bag was a slight modification of what it has always been – a real camera and a toy one – the toy one now being a digital point and shoot as that puny capture area allows for great depth of field. I wish that it could be replaced by film but I am not going to fret over it. I can tell when I am getting low on film I don’t like that battery light all of a sudden flashing.

Realising this I should treat Joãozão with more respect – gently pulling out the bellows rather than shaking them out. After yesterday’s outing and photographing quite a few humans with it I noticed that some of the gaffers tape was loose, a potential for light leaks. Crazy glued it back down and am off again to-day. I’ll junk about 20 rolls of film in the bag the camera in the front inner pocket as if it were a paper back and head out. .
So after all that hand wringing and over buying of cameras to the point where I duplicated Ubaldo, I head east and trust the entire trip to decrepit Joãozão. It has been the bag from day one – with the exception of evening wanders where the light meter doesn’t work as well as Ziquinho’s and I thought that I should make sure the new lens worked. I have yet to put a roll through it – and thus feel like a real faculty member. While Ziquinho and the like are nice fall back cameras and work really well for Chesapeake/Bonne/Conception Bay formalism, I still like the portability of Joãozão and the fact that it draws the correct type of attention – looking old people don’t feel threatened – it is a conversation starter - a parking attendant was staring at it as I walked by.

In the end the courier bag was a slight modification of what it has always been – a real camera and a toy one – the toy one now being a digital point and shoot as that puny capture area allows for great depth of field. I wish that it could be replaced by film but I am not going to fret over it. I can tell when I am getting low on film I don’t like that battery light all of a sudden flashing.

Realising this I should treat Joãozão with more respect – gently pulling out the bellows rather than shaking them out. After yesterday’s outing and photographing quite a few humans with it I noticed that some of the gaffers tape was loose, a potential for light leaks. Crazy glued it back down and am off again to-day. I’ll junk about 20 rolls of film in the bag the camera in the front inner pocket as if it were a paper back and head out.
In the end the courier bag was a slight modification of what it has always been – a real camera and a toy one – the toy one now being a digital point and shoot as that puny capture area allows for great depth of field. I wish that it could be replaced by film but I am not going to fret over it. I can tell when I am getting low on film I don’t like that battery light all of a sudden flashing.

Realising this I should treat Joãozão with more respect – gently pulling out the bellows rather than shaking them out. After yesterday’s outing and photographing quite a few humans with it I noticed that some of the gaffers tape was loose, a potential for light leaks. Crazy glued it back down and am off again to-day. I’ll junk about 20 rolls of film in the bag the camera in the front inner pocket as if it were a paper back and head out.

THE FAR EAST AND NATTY BOH

The excuse was Artscape so I raced to it which was a mistake. Wasn’t in the mood for an art fair – bad paintings, generic photos, the only decent things at them are the jewellery. Paid my dues then headed over to Altscape in North Avenue. There was a time when I took a bus to Friends from there – the lunch stand is a florist. While the work wasn’t much better there was an honest attempt.

I wanted to see the cars. The cars that were banned from Artscape as the politically correct thought that only hybrids should be in the car parade. They were to start at the Museum of Visionary Art and end at Altscape.

To-day one of the television channels listed the ten best museums. The best museum was the B&O, the one that caught my attention was the Famous Blacks in Wax Museum. The BMA nor the Visionary were mentioned.

While waiting the desire of flânerie was rekindled by the number 13 bus. Wandered about the area, but it was a short walk the cars and bikes were coming up Charles Street and were awaiting the rest outside the Charles theatre.

A great time documenting them – although I probably won’t use any of them. I was using the point and shoot digital as my mother wanted to see fair but hated it due to the shutter delay. I’ll see what comes out with Joãozão.

I was getting used waiting forever for buses – the number 13 to Canton – so I crossed the street to photograph the North Avenue Motel when it came.

I may have taken this once before, I do remember walking under the National brewery when they were Carling National and brewing Hamm’s. I forgot how far east I was going but it was still the same Baltimore – blighted black and lo and behold – gentrified.

This time there was a slight change until now racial and ethnic lines seemed delineated quite sharply, here in Highlandtown there seemed to be a mixing of peoples. Went to the terminal – spying Natty Boh in the sky, peeking out through alleys - got down and in my excitement left my St. John’s Maple Leafs cap on the bus, raced back but it was gone. Wandered down to the water, three dunks on a pier nodded hello, people fishing, dog walkers.

While it seemed like other parts of Balamer – it was more suburban, no shops, fewer corner taverns, there were places to sleep but nothing else. Unlike Federal Hill, Locust Point or just about any place I have wandered there was no-one about. I wandered the alleys – looking for some Balamer formalism around Brewer’s Hill using the brewery as a backdrop and was about to use a Johnny on the Spot when the number 7 arrived and for once was going to leave immediately.

Preferred Highlandtown and Butcher’s Hill to Canton, more self-sufficient, further from the water but treed and nice.

Passed all the Carsley family haunts. Finally got to see what the area around Clark(e)s Davises was like could I venture out. Upton was frightening – everyone in inner city uniform – overly large trousers with extra large white t-shirts. Ever since private school uniforms have frightened me. It would be a long three block to Druid Hill Avenue.

Changing buses in Sandtown – three blocks from my other grandmother’s last place – I had a strawberry snowball from a stand outside Daisy’s convenience 1824 Pennsylvania and North. Reverted to my northern self whipped out Joãozão and made a snap of her before hopping on the M-3 – breaking the law on the MTA one can only legally breathe.

- what are you going to do with that?
- Don’t know photograph people I speak to. My grandmother lived around the corner in Mount Street, I lived across from Mondawmin haven’t really been back in 30 odd years.
- god bless you.

I count my blessings...

Being at the greatest art school in existence was again proved a blessing to-day while I was wandering about Artscape. To be truthful Artscape while being tooted as the greatest arts festival in the Mid Atlantic is no more than the Art on the Square in Madison with the Maryland State Fair in Timonium – bad art and greasy food. It is better than Taste of Chicago as one is over charged by local small endeavours rather than bit size portions from “famous” restaurants which turns out to be mainly pizza.

I realised how blessed I am because this riff raff was on the M.I.C.A. campus – I could tell as there were signs and banners with MICA on them up and down Mt Royal Avenue. The school was actually a participant and while the art on the street was standard art fair at least the poor overachieving school was showing its presence.

The buildings were open - no compound like fence around it – with security guards patrolling and asking for ID’s. There were actual booths showing the school’s outreach, I was invited to go into the buildings and look around at all the work inside.

What the hell were they thinking – I am so glad that the powers that be gave us a knight to run our empire And even though like most nobility – he hasn’t a clue with money – maybe he is taking after the Queen and refusing to touch the nasty stuff – he knows how to keep the ivory tower as white as the marble steps along Baltimore Street. We’ll have none of those peasants entering the building, we don’t have to place banners on light poles nor names on buildings – that don’t fall off – for those worthy will find us.

We needn’t new buildings as that calls attention to oneself – and requires fundraising – and that is tantamount to begging isn’t it.

Who needs are these people performing on the grounds of the school – if one could actually find it. Worse is seems that there is an actual arts district growing up around MICA – along North Avenue just east of where the new dorms will be. Imagine an art school at that benefits the community, I never! I am so glad that we keep “those” spaces a good three miles from the real art.

It nerve wracking entering a building and not having to show anything why anyone could enter. I for one will only feel safe when I am back safely guarded at the knight’s castle keep where I don’t have to worry about all this other “art”.

A Riddle

If an excellent Indian restaurant is found in Little Italy where does one find Middle Eastern food?

Why at Al Pacino’s Pizza at Lake and Falls Road.

M-3

The plan was to take the M-3 bus to Penn North then hop on the 21. Growing up I knew everything about the bus system here. I could get everywhere and back on a transfer, I would take the most convoluted way home from school. As I said I liked the way the bus would wander rather than get someplace. I had never taken the 21 however.
An inner city bus it was one that stays in realm of the poor but starts around the corner from my Grandmother’s house in Sandtown – three murders so far this year - and ends up by where my mother was born now “safe” due to the expansion of Johns Hopkins’s Medical Campus. It is now a car park.

The M-3 isn’t much while it started in a semi suburban area, it soon hits the North West Balamer that everyone knows – blighted, empty houses, greasy take outs, closed corner shops. If a façade doesn’t have bars it is grated.

There were people making the best of it sitting on their porches in the 35 degree heat beside an abandoned building – must admit at least there were people out. In the air conditioned suburban utopia where the bus starts fronts of houses are deserted.

All changed when I saw the number 5 awaiting in Mondawmin. I had never been to Cedonia; this would take me past my other Grandmother’s house and the WMCA where they tried to teach me to swim. I could see if it were safe enough to go back one day and make snaps – along Droodle Avenue.

Another advantage of taking buses in Balamer is there is a good chance that the ride will be free. It seems that the MTA cannot fathom the upkeep of fair boxes and most – from bus to Metro to Light Rail are broken. In my case I usually cannot have a free outing for one of the four or five modes that I use will have one fare box that functions but so far this evening, I was on my second bus and so far so good.

I had started out too late. I had started out unprepared, on the 5 it started to downpour. People entering the bus looked like losers in a wet t-shirt contest. It was also darkening quickly so that not only could I not see outside the window all that well but when I did get down there would be no light left for snaps.

Had I had been in a more frantic mood and was not using the buses as moments of peace, I would have been pissed when the new 5 was not the old 5, when it started to tour the area south of the reservoir and head down Park Avenue like the old 28/37. But I was in mood to look and again this was an area I used to know and here I was with the surprise of seeing an area that I used to pass through.

Determined that the area around my Grandmother’s house was safe enough – but wondered how people would react with me photographing her marble steps.

By now it was too dark to do anything and I was afraid that I would be caught out in the rain so off at the Lexington Market now back to a blighted area where fresh fruits and vegs, along with seafood and
meats were replaced by fried chicken joints, renamed 7-elevans and bad Chinese restaurants.

Got down thinking of taking the Metro west (really north) back but as the rain had slowed decided to wander a bit. Down Howard Street along Baltimore hugging the Metro route in case of another downpour. Then the alleys east of Calvert.

All the grease along Eutaw Street had me hankering for some. Headed for the Inner Harbour and some fries remembering full well that once bought I would have to eat them as food and drink are not allowed on the MTA – even though there are vending machines in the stations. Having ordered them from a chain, remembered the person on his stoop in Federal Hill eating proper chips out of newsprint – kicked myself for forgetting to go there.

Regretted the chips – too greasy didn’t put enough vinegar on them and they stared at me blankly when I asked for malt vinegar. Having to eat all of this, headed past a vendor selling seafood awaiting the end of the Orioles game at the yards, teens heading over to the power point, the peace of the block at night, one homeless chap reading philosophy as I doubled back along Lombard Street before finally have to pay on the Metro to head back to Milford Mill, wondering how long I would have to wait for the M-3 closing the loop.

A Sunday Walk

Down at Lexington Market stepping over the people sleeping in doorways and their possessions past the Maggie Magee’s and the new Starbucks to buy the Sunday New York Times at the 7 Elevan telling the panhandler that no I don’t have a day pass that I am not using. After waiting on line with those buying their lottery tickets, heading east along Baltimore Street empty except for the people trying to leave via the buses that all seem to stop in front of the Baltimore Arena.

Over to Pratt where black faces turn white and the city is populated with tourists along Pratt looking for a place to eat before the Inner Harbour – shops open, ESPN zone hopping – give a pass and walk through the empty twisting streets between Pratt and Baltimore until I get to The Block now one block smaller – 2 O’Clock Club, The Hustler, and “newsstands”.

Walk around the Baltimore Police headquarters that now anchors the east side of The Block and overlooks the square where the homeless have set up permanent residence.
Believe.

THE NUMBER 27

One of my traits when I am below the 49th parallel is my propensity to rush. Here that means walking over to the Metro at Rogers Avenue – walking is the faster means waiting for a bus would take longer – getting a day pass and hoping that I didn’t just miss the train.

Sunday I did and seeing that the number 27 bus would arrive before the next train I left the station and boarded the bus.

Day passes are great a little more than double the fare $3.50 – I can get on and get down as much as I want. Needless to say they are great for wandering.

What I had forgot was that buses are great for sightseeing. It is so cosmopolitan to ride the metro/underground/subway but nothing is seen.

I realised this in London when I rode the tubes but couldn’t get my bearings and noticed it even more when living in tubeless Camberwell. It really became apparent one afternoon in New York when I went underground in Union Square and re-emerged in the 80’s wondering where the grime went. I walked back to find out.

Buses here are more like buses in small towns where it is more important that they reach as many people as possible than actually get to the destination on the front.

The 27 supposedly goes south east to Port Covington – that mythical place that I have yet to visit – but in doing so heads east then north then west then north again so it is further north than the northern terminus before heading south. Prefer this to Chicago buses that pick a street and stick to it.

I thought that I knew the areas as before the metro this would have been – more or less - the number 10’s route I am in Mount Washington to take the light rail and I know downtown.

What I had forgot was the third world conditions between these places the closed shops the boarded houses with people living in ones beside them the wreck of a business district just south of Pimlico.

Just as I was getting used to this scene, I was in leafy big lawned Mount Washington, separated only by Pimlico. Brochure like Baltimore continued down Falls Road into Hampden which they seem to want to make into clichéd Baltimore with Café Hon, bee hive hairdos and Aqua Net along the Avenue.

An area that I would have been lynched - literally – when I was growing up has become hip, nice shops and boutiques other cafés and restaurants outside of Hon, specialty shops that sell everything from old records to electric trains – remember to walk Hampden.

Then blight again as below Wyman Park a neighbourhood in transition within spitting distance of Johns Hopkins University. Local fat laden dirty greasy spoon take-outs with gratings over the windows and doors, no other shops at all. this continues down Howard Street past M.I.C.A. – under Bolton Hill into the burned out section of the old downtown of my first Sunday wander.

renewed faith in my luddite standing

I am in the attic wondering how I can possibly clean out this house before the end of the week. I was here last month removing the remnants of my stuff, comic book collection and the train set my father gave me when I was five or so.

It is 35C in the attic my job is to simply find everything up there and throw it down the steps so that I can box it in a more welcoming atmosphere.

Up there I look to the right - the forgotten part of the attic – and see a pile of my sister’s early art work. I take it that she didn’t want it but couldn’t be bothered to take it down and junk it.

Typical - I think – until under a pile of clothes there is a small box of my stuff.

Sheepishly after throwing what I can down the steps, I carry the box down.

There was my great collection of coca cola bottle caps when they placed the capitals of the world and countries under the caps for collecting – not for winning prizes. Torn, I know if I throw them out, I’ll find out that I could have bought all of Witless Bay with Bay Bulls thrown on the value of the caps.

There are other sundries that quickly find their way to the dust bin.

Then there is the wooden box. I am a sucker for boxes, I open it and find green and yellow outlined envelops with blue and red. My years as a fluminense. Letters from my friends in Niterói mixed with letters from Bradford and London before I headed over.

I didn’t get around to reading the letters I was too enthralled with the envelops, the franking of the post office, the date stamp, where it was mailed how people put their return address. Ana Teresa Teixeira de Freitas Magalhães Duarte who after a while simply wrote ATTFMD. Trying to remember people by their handwriting. The distance travelled.

While I save e-mails, which is problematic for must of them are no more than post-its, I wondered what the fate of these letters would be if email had existed back then. I cannot image the mystery of an email, there is nothing to really open, the format is determined by my provider not by who sent it so they all look the same. While the message would be the same, there is no sense of distance travelled.
I fear that I would have simply chucked them.

So that is where Cathy was when she was in Bradford – forgot the name of the college library.

That wouldn’t have hurt for obviously I forgot that they existed but now that I have found them a history that I am sure I have sanitised and made revisions will be corrected. The gossip of the day - ah yes Thaïs did go off to an all girls school in Furnas, Rio. I still cannot remember Paulo Roberto Cecchetti, the articles about Flamengo.

I replaced the letters glad that they wouldn’t reflect how bad my Portuguese was.

The real prize though were the Tickets to the stands of Maracanã. I had thought that I had seen more Fla x Flus and less of other teams but I do remember that going made me feel less a tourist and while not a brasileiro, a brasilianista.

There was a remembrance of better times also as one ticket was for the preliminaries for the 1970 world cup Brasil x Colombia.

Germany x Portugal

It came in an empty James Joyce, during the third place match before Germany’s first goal, why Yanks hate association football

Compare it to basketball
1-A 90 minute football match is over in two hours with the half time.
Basketball while shorter takes longer in real time.
2-While supposedly basketball has the epitome of athletes they seem to need to be constantly substituted and require time outs.
While those boring footballers go for 45 minute halves – with some injury time without a nice rest. There are only three – too many in my opinion – substitutions and coaches actually coach without having to stop the match.
3-It seems that the game must be pretty easy as the score is so high – it seems more often than not a set play ends in success.
4-Fearing failure it seems that an entire season is played to eliminate less than half the teams.
5- a point in basketball is like a lira in pre E.U Italy, pretty useless. In fact you cannot get a point in basketball.

Football – “American”
1- An advert for overeating at McDonald’s. 300 plus pound, men who are so winded they have to stop every play and rest for 45 seconds. Where players cannot problem solve on the run but have to stop and rethink what they are doing. Here an hour game takes three. Even Canadian football only allow 35 seconds between plays. Rugby where players are less transfat blimps have to go 45 minutes without a rest.
2- These masters of athleticism need about 40 people for a game that allows only 11 on the field at a time, they can substitute at any time. They are so speicalised that they cannot multitask. Association football allow less than half of that on the bench.
3- With all of this they still need time outs.
4- There is a chance in five to win your division and even then the second best team is allowed to play for the championship.
5- Scoring is so easy that one can get three points for kicking a ball between uprights from 50 yards away.

Baseball
1- Selig – nuff said

All these sports reward mediocrity. They are for people who have problems paying attention. But then again this is a land there are graduation ceremonies for kindergarten, where one gets awards for showing up. In my limited knowledge of the world, where there is an art school where one gets credit for showing up to 12 of 15 classes, where being productive is making a print once a year and expecting tenure, where working three days a week for 30 weeks a year is so taxing that people who have been teaching all of seven years, have to go half time for fear of burn out, where the logic of the powers that be is that they can only raise money when not in debt not to get out of it i.e. when it is easy to raise money, and keeps the position, how can one appreciate a match in which plays are executed beautifully but still result in failure (no goal), where one has to concentrate for an extended period.

How can they relate to a sport where a league - say the English Premiership - has 30 odd teams and only one wins the divvy that some/most teams are out of the running after the first couple of months?

What would Cubby fans do if they knew that their team could be relegated to the minors for their quality play?

No no it is much better to keep them entertained without having them think.

And of course supposedly the U.S. can beat the world at everything else – well except baseball oh and basketball, and no one plays American football.

one year on...

MORE TECHNO WEENIE SHITE exercises in misreading myself –2

As soon as I left the house with the 35mm’s, I knew that they were a mistake. Developing the negs proved it – too many and too small – but in a moment of fantasy the deal was cinched.

Awaiting something to download I did a search of Niterói – it could be the World Cup - and found that not far from where I lived in São Domingos,
down the street in Ingá there is a small hotel. Feeling like waxing nostalgic and adding to things that I would like to do I went to make a postcard from the snaps that I made when I was there in 2001. Ah the detail of what Ubaldo can do. Made three snaps – wasting precious time – and remembered why I use cameras marginally larger than 35mm.

Wandering the Niterói site, thought about heading back – my visa expires this year – and becoming Fluminense once again, staying in the city revisiting the places that I used to hang out in, São Francisco, Charitas, Jurujuba, where we drank until dawn, and out to Itacoatiara at the time my favourite beach (nearly always empty)
– which being too North American and thus believing the negative press, I was too frightened to explore.

Wanted to make one last book about the change from inhabitant to tourist again thinking note taking – the role of the Dianas in a past life and the last time I was there – thought 35mm small, lots of film… well you know. In truth when I first thought of this – due to an image I had taken on the ferry – I thought digital point and shoot. This is before Gros Morne. I liked the habit of wandering during the day and heading to the internet café in Visconde de Pirajá near Jangadeiros that evening to write individually each person – did blogs exist? It would solve the hassle of film passing through x-rays four times and the fear of running out and the Diana got me out of the idea of images that could be made large. Seeing, however, what I did with Ubaldo in 2001 and where I went, prefer the 21st Atget look of the 6x6.

Also found that in my marlings about South Baltimore – where just after saying that there were no police cameras in Federal Hill (C)harm City’s finest put one up – Ubaldo was great, it was no more awkward than the Nikons in the bag, the number of images on the roll was manageable and even though I did run out of film – my fault it was to be a short outing but I should know by now – carrying more wouldn’t be a problem.

Intellectually 35mm is out – but feel that to be a real photographer – I have to use one.

on the way...

Have to be careful to arrive at the James Joyce just as the match is to start. Too early means either having to sip my Smithwicks or go broke with that extra (U.S.) pint.

Needless to say being Baltimore I could always stop and marvel at the surreal on the way. At the Roger’s Park Metro Station the cash box only accepted tickets. One had to go beyond the barrier into the station then buy the ticket. The guard seemed unconcerned.

Walked slowly through Little Italy – the location of the Reginald Lewis Museum of African American History – in mind to make snaps of the area and pace myself for the arrival. A group of Asians stop me and ask where the Chinese restaurant is.

Didn’t know what to expect. For Germany x Argentina the place was packed, and Italy x Ukraine – guess that happy hour had something to do with that.

Brasil X France – sniff – was empty – missed the Wicker Park Tavern.

To-day it was busy. A couple sitting in front of a television at the bar doing crosswords and checking movie listings.

why i like sundays

Heading back from a marathon football session at the James Joyce - Argentina x Germany and Italia x Ukraine and not to worry the wounds on the wrists are superficial after Brasil x France I went across the veins - on the light rail heading up Howard Street I notice a series of potential snaps. One side of the street is boarded up the other is a mix of empty buildings, failed enterprises and antique shops.

Sunday – a break from packing – I head back down on the light rail – get down at the M.I.C.A. stop – wow getting down from the tram in the middle of the M.I.C.A. campus, I’d be jealous if I didn’t work for the greatest art school in existence – to walk to the yards. Sunday before noon, on a street where hardly anyone is out and about on a week-day made photographing a snap. I like Sundays in cities as shops are closed the streets are pretty much empty the traffic light and the wait for either machines of people to get out of the way is minimal.

Of course once off the tram and out with the camera a person comes up and wants me to make his snap. I do it he thanks me and moves on down Reade Street.

I take my time photographing the façade only (C)harm City’s finest slowed down each time they passed. I only remember one snap that I wanted to make a coffee shop that looked like it was perpetually about to open. There were three in various stages of operation on the block.

Wondered how valuable antiques can be across from bombed out buildings – doesn’t that make them junk?

Photographed my favourite vitrine – AT Jone’s and son a shop with circus figurines. They seemed fitting guardians of the street. The street could be a Rocinha theme park actually no as Rocinha – has social services, a transit system, and functioning businesses actually it functions better as a city than Baltimore.

I find remnants of the homeless, crates to sit on, clothes left out, places for the evening. I only actually find homeless when I am below Centre Street – along Mulberry Street, the car parks, and the light rail stop just below Baltimore Street.

It seems strange to talk about enjoying a day where I am swarving a part of a city that with a bit of improvement be Gary Indiana but I like to wander. The wander was my history. Passed Hutzler’s my school mates – closed, passed Sherman’s Book Mart – that a bastard he overcharged for magazines – but then again so does the Starbucks at Eutaw and Baltimore – closed. The Palmer House – closed.

But there was a new Indian Restaurant and Deli

It was to be a short wander as I had to get back to pack but again was pretty pleased with myself as riding back I saw a snap that I wanted to make after the football marathon. Got down and did the Howard Street walk again. It was Sunday and the light rail only runs every 15 minutes plenty of time.

The result of Portugal x Netherlands (yeah yeah yeah the snap is Brasil x Ghana)

We are chatting away during the Portugal x Netherlands match at the Wicker Park Tavern and a pitcher of Guinness The conversation comes around to his residency in the Catskills and what he is going to do when he is there in August.

Being a photographer I was wondering if he was going go digital or analogue – I wasn’t worried about whether he would make snaps after all he is staff not faculty.

He said that while he was going to take his usual cameras but thought he would take the Canon digital to see if he can come to terms with it and since he was being asked about archiving and how/if working methods with the camera, he wanted to be prepared to answer them.

We went on to talk about how digital photograph has allowed photographers to make work in situ the way that “real” artists have done for some time editing becomes something that can be done if not immediately soon after, and one can leave residencies not geared toward photographers with product.

Sobering up enough to drive and once I didn’t have to divide my time between being social and watching Portugal win, I realised why he was staff and not faculty. Here was someone who was actually taking the time to do something that was not part of his practice because it may be needed in his job. Both of us being reigning monarchs of optimistic cynicism know full well that the majority of those who are blessed to be part of that great institution in a major Midwestern metropolis will find away of passing on their ignorance to a lesser being if they bother to pick up the camera at all. He was simply preparing himself.

The reason – however – isn’t complete cynicism – I am guessing as making snaps he is also seeing if he can reconcile digital and its particular syntax into his working method. One has to pity him. Now if only he’d slack off a bit and do the residency during term missing a few classes... well then.

musing

Argentina lose on penalties to Germany and immediately the coach steps down.
A school in a great metropolitan area loses money in bad investments, has little to no endowment as the president's office seems to be unable to raise funds yet they are still there.

Maybe I am confused by the word "Charm"

Just got on the light rail at Mount Washington heading down to the James Joyce to catch both Argentina x Germany and then Italy x Ukraine.

I look up to read an advert for Hunt Valley - a shopping mall - which states that they will escort off any person under 17 who is not with an adult after 9PM. if s/he is with an adult and misbehaves both the adult and kid will be banned - there is some orwellian term for it.

Baltimore's approach to crime is to become super nanny and ban everything rather than give people something to do.

Anyone see the irony in the places where crime cannot be contained are the same areas where there are flashing blue lights on every corner and video surveillance every block.

Feared that a swat team of Charm City's finest - or would it be the MTA police - would storm the light rail as a mother fed her child a McDonald's fry on the train.