beatnik sidearm

Bullshizzy I have spoken in defense of public art

A new QFC market opened in Ballard this morning. It's only one block closer to my home than the far-superior Ballard Market, but it'll prove convenient on those rainy Seattle nights when I have to get some decent wine and cheese and I don't feel like crossing 15th St. When you've got a hankerin' for a hunk o' cheese, convenience is king.

This piece of kinetic art, by one Rodman Gilder Miller, sits in front of the store on 24th. It's a right pretty thing: The market's sloping glass awning pours rainwater into a giant funnel, from which it cascades over those two glass leaves and into a giant metal spoon on a hinge. It rocks up and down as it fills and empties, and makes a satisfying clank noise on the downbeat.

Immediately after discovering it I thought, "There's today's ten frames," and I brought out my Nikon. The only problem was that a boy, maybe five or six, had grabbed the end of the spoon and was slamming it down again and again: clank, clank, CLANK. I couldn't get my photos.

"Please don't do that," I said.

The kid kept banging away, and his father said something to the effect of "Nice sound, isn't it, buddy? Isn't that fun?"

"Please stop doing that," I repeated, and this time I directed an aside to the father: "Please. I'm a friend of the artist," I said, holding up the camera.

That one hit home. "That's enough, buddy," he said to his son, taking him in hand. "Let's go inside and have some more pizza."

And that, savage reader, is the genteel art of Seattle passive-aggression. It took me years to succumb to the appeal of that Northwest bullshit, but today I have. I don't know Rodman Gilder Miller. But I didn't want to see his art abused on its first day in the world -- and goddamn it, I wanted my ten frames. And I got them.

Read me hard, read me long

I've got pieces published hither and yon, and you oughta read the living shit outta 'em!

The Las Vegas Weekly was kind enough to publish an email I sent to myself from the year 2020. Monkey Goggles, the wonderful literary and pop culture blog I have a hand in editing, is running two of my pieces this week: A "things to do in Vegas" piece, one of which I seem to publish every year, and a slightly edited version of the waiting-for-the-bus piece I read at last month's Three Wise Guys reading, the one you kind of liked. Read them! Love them behind my back! Denigrate them to my face! Just hit the pages; I need the impressions.

Wherein I hold forth on "Sherlock Holmes"

The part of it I liked best was the wild, uninhibited barebacking. Hot, glistening bodies slapping against each other, witty dialogue giving way to animal grunts, faces furrowed with tension before the moment of ejac...

Oh, that's right! Nothing like that happened. It was mostly two guys punching each other and arguing about who left the oven on. You assholes led me to believe that Robert was gonna mount Jude, and it didn't happen. Didn't even threaten to happen. There's more sexual tension in "Inglourious Basterds"; hell, there's more sexual tension in any episode of "Two and a Half Men."  I expect Roger Ebert and A.O. Scott to make these rookie mistakes, but Dan Savage, you're fucking fired.

This Year's Model

I have to admit it: The photography fell second to the writing this past year. Most days I didn't even carry the camera with me. When duty called -- when I had to write, had to, to feed body and soul -- the writer guy came back and smoked the photo guy's ass. I don't expect things to be any different this double-digit year. I have lots of writing to do in 2010, for both paying venues and my own fulfillment, and it'll be a rare day that I can grab the Nikon and shoot up the joint.

But I'll try anyway. Every day of this year, I'll shoot ten consecutive frames of someone or something. In January 2011, I'll compile all those frames into a 3,650-frame video. I shot the first ten frames of this project not 20 minutes ago, but unfortunately for you, you'll have to wait 366 days to find out what they look like.

And oh yeah, I'll work on the novel, even though that trick never works.

Happy New Year!

Wherever you are, savage reader, I hope there are fireworks exploding overhead. You deserve them.

My Favorite Shots of 2009

They're not necessarily my best shots of the year, but they are the shots I hold near and dear for whatever reason. Enjoy.

December 2008

January 2009

February 2009

March 2009

April 2009

May 2009

June 2009

July 2009

August 2009 (It's my list; I'm allowed a bloody diptych)

September 2009

October 2009 (This is a stand-in only; I am contractually unable to show you my real favorite photo from this month. I took it, but signed the rights over to a friend. It's a naked lady photo, so tough luck for you, pal.)

November 2009. And I'm still working on getting that December shot.

By the way, if you like these photos or any other photos in my stream, I'll sell you an 8x10 print for $10. Three shots for $25. I need to raise money so I can go to Las Vegas to perform a monologue, which on its face sounds like such a crock of shit that it certainly must be true. Anyhow, send me a note if you want a print or three.*

*(I can't sell any rollergirl shots. If you're a rollergirl and want a print, contact me and we'll make an arrangement that covers the cost of materials only.)

Story of a Shot: "Jayne and Sophia," October 2009

There's really not much of a story here -- only an opportunity for me to recreate this iconic photo:

I took the above shot in a shop at Disneyland. The placement of the figures was serendipitous. The bottom photo was taken in 1957, and yes, Jayne Mansfield's nipple slipped out, much to Sophia Loren's apparent ... bemusement? Disgust? Delight? Photos are liars; appearances to the contrary, they really don't tell you everything.

Nothing much else to report today. We are drinking wine and listening to Nick Drake and David Bowie, which is precisely how we got our jollies back in the 1970s. Before Disney made Tinker Bell into a shameless FILF.

Story of a Shot: "You Don't Know That," June 2008

As is often the case with my street photos, the story in my head is better than the genuine article. I don't know what this bus was actually doing in downtown Seattle in June 2008, but I'm prepared to take it at its word. Whatever its purpose, wherever its destination ... this bus is just plain wrong. And its driver knows it.

Eightballs of Fire

Seattle had a window of sunshine this afternoon that lasted about two hours. Before that was hard rain, unusual for this region, and a goddamn lightning storm, which happen here so rarely that I think I can count all the lightning strikes I've seen in seven years of Seattle residency on my fingers and toes. Last night, I filled an entire hand: five flashes, five house-shaking booms. It was wonderful.

I haven't much to report beyond that. I went to Arcane Comics and bought nearly forty bucks worth of titles, something that is all too easy to do. My old girlfriend Katharine used to spend something like fifty bucks a month on comics back in 1992, a sum I thought to border on the profligate; truthfully, it ain't shit. Granted, I've mostly been buying compilations instead of individual titles (though I'm hooked on "King City" and "Chew"), but goddamn, those funny books add up.

And that's that. It's raining again -- and I just saw a flash of lightning outside. That's the left little toe.

I was born to love.

I love Shiner Bock. It's my new go-to beer. I've had exactly two other go-to beers in my lifetime: Sam Adams and Schlitz. I ascribe this meager selection of fall-backs to my religious upbringing, and also because I never really had the college experience. I had a favorite gin before I had a favorite beer. Still, there's nothing like a beer to chase a burger, and the People's Pub -- my go-to bar -- has Shiner Bock on tap.

I love Seattle and the people who live in it, despite the fact that in the last bar I visited before this one, these assholes were cheering the Yankees.

On a related note, I love a bar that's perverse enough to blast ABBA records during the World fucking Series.

I love writing, though I've been kind of sucking at it lately.

I love Las Vegas, the city that gave me the roots I'd always wished for.

And I love quitting while I'm ahead.