Wednesday 23 August 2006

Tuesday 22 August 2006

Not the bus the Who were thinking of.

Contrasting inclinations of what to do on the last day. we were going to rest the legs but there were so many things we haven’t seen. Is this a time of winding down or making that last push.

My inclination is to make that last push. But first we had to prepare for the new regulations of airlines by posting all our liquids back to Peasants Pissoir. In San Fran it is easier to find an internet café –even in the Tenderloin – than a post office. Even the postal worker had problems.

That done, I was at a loss. The idea was to wander the Castro and the Mission districts but both of us were tiring of Market Street and the filth of Valencia that we gave up at Dubose. One can take so much filth.

We decided to head to the ocean one last time as it was a perfect day weather wise – around 12C.

One thing we liked are the non automated transfers where the drivers were giving us about three hours instead of 90 minutes. We headed back to the hotel, picked up our winter gear then waited for the Geary Bus to the Ocean.

While I was complaining about the residents being stand-offish, it seems that while waiting for the bus, we ran into one who had had a double espresso in every café in Nob Hill, she chatted away, where was everyone from, what were we waiting for, she was awaiting her hubby who was circling the block, welcome to the United States. We breathed a sigh of relief when the bus came.

We wish that we hadn’t as the bus could have been the George Orwell Down and Out in London and Paris Theme Bus from the rank odour that rushed out like so many commuters on a rush hour bus. It stank, stale air, unwashed clothing, it made me think longingly of Greyhound coaches as the air would be fresher. No one would open the windows as it was cold out. This couldn’t be blamed on the people of the Tenderloin as we caught it just west of Union Square.

The excuse for the walk was the usual sightseeing spots, Cliff House then along the ocean to see the Golden Gate Bridge again – actually I just wanted to wander and getting down the giant windmill interested me more than the ocean.

Finally got the giant camera, didn’t see where it was a camera except for the camera obscura aspect until some other tourist after realising it was closed – the boarded windows nor the padlocks weren’t clues – pretended to turn a nob while her boyfriend photographed her.

Too many people about. Wanted to photograph around the Sutro Baths but people were climbing all over them. A few surreal images, a bit of documenting the graffiti, and a walk to see the Golden Gate.

Until we saw that the path was closed. This proved to be the theme of the day. Both of us thirsty we searched out a café like the ones we found south of the park but found ourselves in a rampantly residential area. Walking toward the city and not wanting to be fooled again. We determined to walk only so far then take the bus – Carol had a hankering for some take-away from Greens for one last time.

One last chance to see the Golden Gate as we tried before hopping on the California bus to see it from China Beach failed.

I didn’t want takeaway – even from Greens, I wanted something Asian – I thought so I left Carol at the hotel and headed out on the same transfer to find some food. Walked the Tenderloin but having a flash of déja vu or my modus operandi in Baltimore, headed down to the MUNI to see the ocean one more time down by the zoo at the end of the L line. Heading out I saw how most of the MUNI rail – J.K.M - had a terminus at Balboa Park. I thought that I would – all on the transfer – head over on one line the M then back on another the J. When done I would ridden all the MUNI Rail lines.

Liked West Portal, like Taraval got down at 48th and Stoat and walked to the ocean in the dusk but first photographed the mini area of old motels in the area – without too much success as I tilted the camera a bit much. Arriving at the beach I made some standard snaps when the sun came out from under the clouds and set in the ocean. Events like this make wandering worth it. Some more snaps of restaurants, the offices of the motor inns and façades before hopping back on the L Line which – luckily for me not for anyone else - was the K and was heading to Balboa Park.

Too dark to do anything – meaning photograph – so stared, got down at Balboa Park and waited the J to head back.

And waited, and waited, waited, saw everything else leave. An hour later – when they are to run ever 15 minutes – I saw a J at the station, waited for the driver to open the door.

Even though she saw me standing there, I must have been at the wrong spot as she drove off, ignoring me. Being in San Fran this long I didn’t expect her to open the door to explain, but I did expect a pointing to where the stop was. Raced beside the tram until I got to what I thought was the stop but I must have missed it by a millimetre as she pulled past then opened the door. No comment no remarks simply adhering to the Red Stripe Advert admonishing bus drivers for not being more humane.

The ride again showed me how compact the city was as I was heading down Church Street. Paralleling the area we had planned to walk. Wished that I had more time but it couldn’t have been a better ending.

Returned with no food – I find that I only eat when I am bored the reason I lost so much weight last summer – as Carol was picking up the phone to ring missing persons.

Saturday 19 August 2006

rest day


It is moving day, a sizeable chunk of it will be the move from the condo into the Adagio. Not the move so much but the wait until the room is ready.

We had resolved that to-day we would give our legs a rest, and not try anything that would remotely resemble the walk yesterday – there would be no time.

After coffee at the Gallery Café, the wait until being too bored to wait any more we phone the hotel and find that our room is ready. Walk the baggage over and start making calculations. If we can check in in 15 minutes we can make it to the ferry to Sausalito.

It was close. Threw the stuff into the room and raced down Geary Street to Market - where the distance was farther than I thought - and into the terminal with two minutes to spare. This took a great deal of personal discipline on my part as when I walk I tend to slow down and gawk a bit and lose the reason we were trying to make time.

I like ferries – again the idea of demarcation – but also a time of enforced quiet, one cannot walk across the bay. My favourite area was taken – the bow – and was a bit disappointed by the boat – in some areas more advanced than I expected - a café – in others less so, no prow to stand on while heading down the bay toward the Golden Gate.

We sat in the back where I tried to act my age – and not like the camera toting – photographer’s vested monopodded backwards baseball capped man – and sit quietly. I couldn’t, with restraint I had to peak around the front to see the bridge – the bay bridge still looks more impressive to me – and the Pacific and tried to figure out which of all those homes on the opposite shore was Sausalito.

I can see no reason for Sausalito. A row of rampantly touristy shops, I couldn’t find a place where the locals would shop. Walked out of town toward the Golden Gate then back, tried to hire a machine to see the Muir Woods to no avail – I am sure the rental agent couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave Sausalito. Walked back down the main street checked the ferry times still an hour to go. Amused myself by looking at fig trees, walking the pedestrian lanes behind the shops, photographing a basketball court, yeah right future NBA stars from here, and keeping away from the main drag.

Here again I ran across the unhelpfulness of the locals, the surly woman at the information booth would give only an answer to the question asked so one had to plan.

Wandering the main street again, saw a bus that headed back to downtown San Fran so back to the information booth.

-the bus…
-15 minutes before the hour – it is $2.00.
and she foisted a piece of paper on me.
Not exactly the correct information but what she assumed I was asking and thanks to her the day was saved. She was giving me information to the bridge to walk across it. Why not.

Clueless people: two.
Waiting for the bus there were two Japanese tourists who sat in the middle of a bench for four. An experiment, Carol sits down and I sit on the edge. No movement on their part whatsoever.

Surly People: two.
The bus arrives we get on and do what the paper says – pay $2.00 – tell the driver where we want to get off and sit down. The bus climbs the hill out of town, stops, he mumbles something, doesn’t open the door, and sets off over the bridge.

That couldn’t have been our stop it was only two minutes out of town we could have walked that and nearly did. that short ride isn’t two dollars worth.

Waiting for the tolls on the San Francisco side I go up and ask where the stop is.
-Could it be when I announced it back on the other side.
-You mean when you cleared your throat? Sorry that I am a bit hard of hearing.
Another woman pipes up
- I’ve had him before he is mean.
We get down on the San Fran side hurling some obscenities at him as a parting shot and try to decide what to do.
Obviously walk the bridge twice back over to Marin County and then back to catch a bus.

We have been lucky for weather it was clear, and warm. The bridge wasn’t enshrouded in fog. Again the walk should have assuaged my boundary lust – and there was a tinge when I saw the Marin County line on it - but nope – more formal images came, tried to deal with the lengthening shadows, tried to ignore the people. Made a note how out of tune I was with the rest as reading the paper the info woman gave us, we were walking on the bay side which is supposed to be the more interesting side when all I wanted to do was walk on the ocean side.

Surly people: three
Trying to get a bus to Fort Mason for Greens, we notice the bus that is supposed to go there pull up but the destination sign is different. I try to ask
- Get on get on
We do so only to find out from a rider that, no, this doesn’t go to the Fort but way out of our way to Daly City. We get down.

The bus ride frustrated me as I goes along the main road to the bridge that has all those nice non chain motor inns of the past. Wanted to get down.

Greens was the saving grace, the server polite and funny, the food great. I pigged out sorry that I had only one stomach to give to the meal.

I cannot understand – however - how a restaurant can call itself vegetarian and use cheese with rennet. It seems that the challenge would come from finding a rennet less Parmesan to incorporate in the dishes that use it. My ears perk up when certain ingredients are mentioned the table beside us was having something with the cheese. This came up while I was asking for olive oil for the bread. She wanted to know if I were a vegan.
-Living in Wisconsin? Hardly.


Walked back to the hotel down Van Ness so that I could marvel at more seedy motor inns and Carol could experience first hand the Tenderloin at night.

backhanded enlightenment


I was nonplussed by my reaction – or lack of it – upon seeing the Pacific. After all my raison d’être is significant lines of demarcation and coming upon them not having any enlightenment. It also seems – however – that I am constantly reminded of those other points – the bridge dividing New Hampshire from Maine, customs heading into New Brunswick – changing time, “it is noon 12:30 on the island or - for those - off island “nine o’clock a half hour later in Newfoundland. Even standing on the edge of the Atlantic I imagine the lands beyond – which way exactly is Eire, Greenland? Here, however, in Ocean Beach, I only thought of the sand, the objects on it, and the view along it. The let down of lack of revelation didn’t happen as the supposed significance never manifested itself.

I was surprised how I didn’t realise that the water was on the “wrong” side, I thought briefly of the next landfall being Asia but I didn’t strain to see Korea, China, Taiwan etc.

This feeling or lack of it pervaded the stay. I seem to think – because of how it is treated on television mainly – that the Pacific Time zone is different. It is ignored when mentioning the hours of programming – 9:oo eastern 8:00 central. The only time this happens is during Sunday televised football when it seems games start in the late morning. Here, however, there was none of this reference. I didn’t compare nor did I realise that when I was experiencing the day most of the country was finished with its. Here I thought about the rest of North America not at all.

Thursday 17 August 2006

a sunday stroll

To give the legs a rest we were heading out to the ocean, Carol had never seen the Pacific and I wanted to see if looking west over water would be the same as from Sally’s Cove.right brother I am going his way thanks.
The Gulf of St. Lawrence has the Pacific beat as it lived up to its name.

After getting down from the MUNI line along Judah and holding our breaths in the toilets, out to the water where some kites were flying, some people were fishing, a homeless person had stored his belongings and there were remnants of bonfires. Oh so bucolic.

The official walk was through Golden Gate Park back to UCSF. Walking parks aren’t things that I am interested in I prefer neighbourhoods. There are two things that I photograph things and street furniture and I find parks are lacking in both – especially parks that border on wilderness.

Ah but this is why one travels with someone. While she was looking at the potted and dried plants that grow wild out here, I was noticing San Fran’s not so hidden problem.

I went to photograph some things when I realised that I was photographing a homeless person’s encampment. It was discrete, neatly arranged, and the sort of thing one would pass thinking that a parks worker had missed something until I looked in and saw the sleeping bag and more valuable objects.

I photographed it. Being a cold-hearted bastard, the only thing I could think of was was Ubaldo and colour the right choice or should I go black and white and more rectangular. Nope colour it was, in homage to the Wizard of Oz in reverse and She’s Gotta Have it. Ran across two more encampments in the park one just around from a full picnic area another I couldn’t photograph as someone was in it. I want the belongings not the people as they are too loaded a subject matter and prone to value judgements. Without the people while the places were neat there was the hint that it was left.

This brought back the plight of the homeless in San Fran. They are everywhere and it seems people can ignore them the way the rich ignore the poor in say Mumbai. I noticed by simply acknowledging them was a start in making them feel human. They would thank us for simply saying sorry when they asked for money or trying to sell the local paper. Later on my own walking down to the Civic Centre MUNI station seeing a wheelchair bound man trying to make it up the hill, I offered help. When I started to push him up another homeless came.
-That’s all

I guess I would trouble me less if this were Baltimore where the place looks like it is barely surviving but as I have said this is San Francisco. Our hotel in the tenderloin was $300 a night and we had to walk pass places where people were waiting to get inside for the evening. Saw one valet at the corner of O’Farrell and Taylor outside a posh nightclub trying to chase one away.
-What do you want punk you son of a bitch!
-You know one can’t be here.

Left the park in an area that I prefer just south of the park, shops and cafés without the pretension of the areas closer to downtown.

The only chain was a Jamba Juice. We passed three cafés fought over where to eat and settled on Arizmendi Bakery for the pizza and breads, sat outside started up a conversation with two ladies who seemed to mimic what I was eating. Another reason why I like this area, outside of the nice run down nature of San Francisco south of the Park and closer to the ocean, people talk to you here and don’t seem so solipsistic. Until now the only ones who were decent were the help at the rehearsal dinner and the street people.

San Franciscans are not the friendliest people about this would become even more evident and they are self involved. Find the narrowest point any place and that is where they will stand – entryways, under construction, where halls narrow, they seem to congregate there.

There is a joke. Put two brits in a phone booth and they will never touch put to yanks in an aeroplane hanger and they will run into each other. I think you can add place a dozen San Franciscans in a hotel and they’ll all stand in the doorway.

Naturally I made a snap of the two women. Twice for Ubaldo in decided to jam, so Joãozão came to the rescue. I have come to the conclusion that he will be used until he finally falls apart in my hands as he is the preferred camera. The ideal note taker. I’ll miss the Plaubel when it’s gone but I’m not going to protect it.

It is never meant to be this way but after the snack we headed back into the park as I wanted to see Kezar Stadium. We found ourselves in Haight Street so walked to Asbury. This street should be allowed to die. Most people on it parents weren’t born when it was in it heyday and it legitimacy is brought into question when there is a Gap nearby. Nostalgic grime and decay is still grime and decay. It had the feel of a theme park. Sort of a hippie Williamsburg. Wondered if they had people dress up as hippies on week-ends and had sit in re-enactments.

Naturally an area that I wanted to photograph but too many people would need to come early when it was empty.

Then we noticed that we had walked the entire length of Haight Street and since we were just up Market at Powell. We walked back to Nob Hill as supper was being readied for the street people and they were beginning to congregate in various areas along Market.

Found another set of belongings but as I was preparing to make a snap, the pile moved and I put the camera down.

Back at the condo, Carol couldn’t go on but I wanted to walk Columbus Avenue. That was the idea but by myself I started to wander and was too far South of Columbus to pick it up and ended up walking through this utopiaville to the Embarcadero, where another group of street people were staking their claims for the evening. I wanted to photograph the empty encampments but didn’t know if they belonged to the people who were sitting nearby on benches.

Asked, it was ok with them it wasn’t their stuff, made a few snaps, one man came up soon after to sit by his stuff as he was afraid that I was going to take it. In sight of one encampment GQ guy and Cosmo girl were kissing before hopping into their beemer.

Walked back to Columbus Avenue and up it but it darkening quickly put away the real cameras and brought out the digital and made snaps of the tables outside of American Zoetrope – eat your heart out Ngolo – then for some reason all the places selling baseball caps.

Stood and stared at City Lights looked at the books in the window which – of course drew a crowd – see above. None of them knew about the bookshop, Ferlinghetti I don’t know oh Kerouac yeah I heard of him as they look at the books.

Back at the condo I realised that I had walked from Ocean to Bay across the city and that I hadn’t had anything to eat.

Chutneys or Shalamar Shalamar or Chutneys.

Wednesday 16 August 2006

WHY CHICAGO SUCKS

At the dinner sitting at the "artist's" table, two things come up. What we do and where we are from.

The what we do is dealt with quickly, as Amy and I both are artists – I prefer photographer – and teach in the nation’s number one photography department at the world's greatest art establishment. We were seated at the table with Catherine Wagner and her partner. Who countered with
-Oh? Who’s there now? Joy’s gone, Barbara Crane’s retired, so has Ken, Fred's dead. Is Barbara de Genevieve still there? haven’t heard much about it lately.

So I guess the answer is a bunch of nobodies.

When it gets down to where are you from, people seem to feel that they have say “what a great city” when Chicago is mentioned. I don't mention Chicago. Amy said yeah. I said it sucks.

Ah lively debate.
Chicago sucks as it is over regulated. While I am no fan of San Fran – that later – at least the neighbourhoods are distinct. The shops along Fillmore are not like the shops along Haight nor along Judah. There aren’t teardowns in up and coming areas people rehab. I saw little of what is happening in any area that is surrounding the loop, the pulling down of a modest house for the building of the oversized fortress. Don’t know why this is not happening in San Fran but it makes for more interesting walks and a the feeling that new ground is being covered. Neighbourhoods like West Portal, Castro, or along Taraval Boulevard have shops that engage the surreal of the recent past rather than the urge to be oh so trendy – and failing. In a city a third the size of Chicago I found more places to hang out and have a non Starbucks coffee than in the city of big shoulders.

Both Chicago and San Fran are based on a grid but while it may be harder to find addresses in San Fran’s case they have managed to make the grid more interesting – see neighbourhoods above. Add to this the lanes and alleys stairs and cul-de-sacs and the place is rife for exploration. In Chicago is Division Street all that much different than North Avenue.

San Fran where property values are outrageous decided to keep the Presidio green, Chicago which had the same opportunity with the old marshalling yards east of the Loop and the South Loop turned it into Condoland.

Didn’t find in San Francisco a park built to the glory of an Il Duce like mayor which is closed for private parties more than it is open as Millennium Park is.

From downtown San Francisco, I can see the Marin headlands, Mount Tam where Breezer, Fisher et all started the mountain bike craze. From Ocean Beach I can see Half Moon Bay and – I think Stinson Beach.

From Chicago I can see Schaumburg and Gary.

Restaurant choices - anything like Greens or Millennium for the vegetarian in Chicago San Fran 3 x 0 Chicago. Organics abound. Not enough time to go into he choices of Indian, East Asian, West Asian, Mexican food. I would come back hungry as I couldn’t make a decision – Shalamar or Chutney. Chutney or Shalamar…

As for diversity…

But the art scene in Chicago… yeah but what do you do the second day. All the galleries can be seen in a decent weekend – pretty lame for the once second city. While San Fran may not be any better, it does have an excuse it being much smaller.

The polite fallback was Chicago is too worried about competing with New York City to let its traits shine.

To poorly paraphrase Gertrude Stein concerning traits, there is no there there.

first things first...


So let’s get this over with straight away. As the wedding ceremony is beginning, I place on camera around my neck to pick up another – so I think – but instead hear this great bang – don’t know how to convey the sound of reinforced plastic hitting a hardwood floor – and an oh shit as she is beginning to walk toward the priest.

Needless to say right now I am a bit nervous as at first the only problem seemed to be the back and me having to force it. I then – a few rolls later when I had some time – checked the rangefinder focus and found it was a bit off. I am hoping that the discrepancy is less than the depth of field.

The wedding was rife with trouble as later on the other photographer had her bag taken – her bag with all the film from the weekend in it.

The day started off well, Carol’s legs aching a bit from the hills as we headed out to the Gallery Café for coffee.

I had found it the last time I was here when the people I was staying with would sleep the morning away making me a nervous ansty wreck. They slept so heavily and so long that I could leave the place and do a nice wander before they stirred.

This was great as I was up before the city was and could make a decent amount of work without people getting in the way. One such walk was up from the Mission District through Chinatown and Nob Hill where even in winter it was warm enough to sit out and have a quiet café au lait before seeing if they were stirring yet.

The place was easy enough to find as it was on the cable car line. I was tempted to check e-mail as being San Fran there were terminals but luckily this place was as backward as me and I forgot how to open applications on OS9.

Like having to write postcards even though people have to decipher my scribbles. The idea of the choice of card the message and then the stamp works for me – although here just north of Silicon Valley while I have seen a lot of postal workers, I have yet to see a post office. Post cards weigh less than a power book.
Ah but I seems that technology always wins as trying first find a post office then queue up to buy stamps had me leaving it.

Then a walk along the cable car line to the bay to get in the prerequisites – a view of the golden gate a scoff at Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghiradelli square and a look out for another place to have coffee while making a bay area formal snaps.

I admit it is a fall back position but I do like to see how people demarcate their property especially in tight situations. I also wanted to see what a real art school looked like so I kept discretely looking for S.F.A.I.

I didn’t want to see the wharf the end of the cable car lines etc. I want to walk the row of seedy motor inns along Lombard Street on the way to the bridge. I want to walk Columbus Avenue as it is a diagonal and passes City Lights – don’t care much for Kerouac Way as these places seem rife for me. But I do know that surprises come everywhere and new shocks me into thinking.

Made some messy snaps along the bay, some Mondrian like images in Fort Mason. Before heading back to get ready for the wedding.

The walk to the wedding was the most frustrating so far. Segregating the wedding snaps from mine not wanting them to get confused, I had to walk without making snaps – a pity as we were early and Fillmore Street was my type of haunting ground.

IT IS LIKE ST. JOHN’S BUT WITHOUT THE BUBBLE.


Before leaving the departure lounge at the airport in San Francisco, we run into stereotypes. Along the hallways, everyone is on a laptop – and new to me – most are Apples, There isn’t a person seated without one.

Making our way to the Airtrain, we run into a bunch of buff boys who look more like they hang out at the gym than on any playing field.

Taking the BART into the city, it is a parade of teen-age mothers with their month old children – being San Fran of all nationalities and creeds.

-Louise is going to gaol. She sold three pounds to a cop.

San Fran has this mystical aura to it as being one of the great cities – romantic technically savvy, very diverse – but I never see it. I saw people who seemed to have staked out their own public dust bin as their shopping area. every open area along the embargadero had someone in a stupor while hugging some brand of cheap alcohol. I have become friends with the street person outside the Walgreens in Sutter street. The first thing I notice is the poverty.
Outside Il Fornaio out on the patio having wine I saw a man with a specially made cane so that he could place it over pennies in the fountain and pick them up with out getting wet.

It is not like Baltimore’s third world like poverty – the poor and homeless seem not to hang around Harbour Place – her being an open minded city the poor seem to have made ground rules not to congregate and have their own turfs so that one can pretty much go about one’s business without being overwhelmed by them.

I remember this from the last time. a city where there seem to be a great deal of homeless.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t like it - would like it more if I could get a decent pint of Smithwicks overlooking the lengthening shadows creeping up to the Irving sign on the South Side Hills – it is a great wandering city and has me call into question my thesis on one of the reasons Chicago isn’t – the grid.

Anyway

After standing baffled like many others in front of the BART ticket dispensers we headed for Powell and Pine where we were staying, Reckoned that we could avoid the walk up the hill with the cable car but after seeing the block long queue, decided to walk. Again the training walking between the old Wordplay and where I parked the machine did me well, I could take the hills like a pro luggage and all, Carol had to become acclimatised. I was getting visibly annoyed with the crowds and was wondering if people here didn’t know how to walk – they seem to be five abreast – or the pavements were exceedingly narrow. We kept having to dodge people.

Checked in at Powell Place – strange that just north of Silicon Valley where when I checked for wireless signal, this place charges for internet access – and went up to our rooms. I was tsk tsked when I said I had brought my computer by the concierge ‘ you are hear to get out’. I countered in a 21st century way ‘but how do I download my snaps?’

Rooms is the perfect word, the condo is tidy well laid out and feels like the rooms one would have when one “went up to town” than the usual time share condo. Was shocked on how nice it was it is laid out so that even though it is small one can be in one room without seeing someone in another even with the doors open, There is no long hallway.

Being in Powell Street I can complain in an oh so exclusive way about the constant whine of the cables and the clattering of the cable cars as they trundle past. I could be a perfect refuge and fits with my present anti big sentiment.

Am careful with the walking as I tend to overdo it and it been a long time since Carol has gone for a walk with me. Try not to divert, attempt to take the shortest route.

Well I tried, I went a bit out of my way as walking up Stockton didn’t look as exciting as the Embarcadero so we went a couple of blocks too far east.

Then I overestimated the time it would take to get to the restaurant so a wander up to Pier 39 to look at the bay and to start with some bay area.

It was a rehearsal dinner that we were heading to and thinking it would be a small affair took only 10 rolls and only black and white.

I reckoned that with a camera I would walk more slowly and thus Carol would work on her endurance.

I forgot that when we walk – while I can take hills and walk forever – I gawk when I wander. Like a well trained school child at the busy intersection I look in every direction as I walk along the street. I usually have to catch up with her as her manner of walking is closer to a fitness hike. The outings are usually me mentally remarking as something, then looking up to see Carol a good block away. I, again, knowing that we have to be someplace, even reigned back the making of snaps made mental notes of places to return to.

The dinner was a bigger affair than I had thought and nearly ran out of film. Darkness saved me to an extent. My legs were getting stiff from sitting so long. I had wanted to pass by City Lights on the way to the restaurant now was looking to seeing it on the walk back.

Friday 4 August 2006

Two blocks from...

this snap, while wandering over to make a drop at a hypercaffeinated friend’s in Wicker Park – I wander the alleys of Bucktown/Wicker Park hoping that they would be interesting enough for some Chi-town formalism, they aren’t but that is another entry – I am changing film as this bloke, having just seen his beemer driving wife off from their three car garage with the prerequisite basketball hoop over the cream city brick just below the garage level deck – where are all these white basketball players – sees me change film curse Ubaldo as the repair at International Camera wasn’t made, and attempt to make a snap with all the satellite dishes, fences, and the cables they must sweep the alley I have never seen one this clean. He trying to be nonchalant takes out the basketball and attempts a few hoops – blowing one of my potential photographs. As I pass
- hello
- hi
- what are you doing?
- making photographs
I walk on imaging what of his possessions he’d try to save when I come back after the scoping the place out and how he wished he had moved to that gated community rather than live in the “grit” of the North West side.