Whittier, Pt.1

The drive to Whittier is comically beautiful with mountains so rugged it's as if they have been shaped out of the rock with a hatchet. The coastline is silty and the ocean is shallow and in some spots very still. So still that one can imagine no tidal influence. The runoff from melting ice and snow rushes down the sides of the mountains and into the sea.



Whittier is behind the mountains and is served by a one way tunnel that was, until ten years ago, accessible by rail only. You would pay a fee for the vehicle and a per-person fee and you would be taken two miles through the tunnel to the city of Whittier on the other side. Today, the tunnel is just wide enough to fit passenger vehicles and entry and exit times are scheduled hourly.





For those of you who knew I was making this trip, I may have overstated the status of Whittier (a bit).

The Lie:

Everyone lives in this big creepy building -- it's the first one you see when you GIS "Whittier, AK."



The Truth:

1) Not EVERYONE lives in the Begich Towers building. Only 80%. The rest live in Whittier Manor or in surrounding small buildings.



2) The BTI is NOT the creepy decayed building that one sees when Google Image Searching. That is the Buckner Building which was built to house soldiers and has a movie theater and a bowling alley and an amount of asbestos so large that cleaning and refurbishing the building is not cost effective. In fact, the cleanup needed to facilitate a teardown is so much that the building just sits and rots in plain view. The effect is much like the Ryugyong Hotel in North Korea -- a grotesque specter looming over the landscape.



Whittier was created during WWII to act as a port to ship goods from the lower 48 states to Alaska. The same is true today -- most of the freight that comes into the state of Alaska is sent in through Whittier and people make good money loading crates on to rail cars when the ships come in.



Cruise ships also stop over in Whittier and there is talk of expanding Whittier's industry to be more supportive tourism.

All I Know Is "Ball" and "Good"...

I'm in Reading, PA right now. It's 11:30 PM and I've been working all day, though nowhere NEAR as hard as Dan has. One of the things I do when I travel is carry the camera and snap pictures that usually never see the light of day. Most of this is because time is the best editor, and... see previous statement about the light of day.

Seeing as how my last foray into liveblogging a job went to tits, I would consider this my first attempt to deal with a nightly schedule. Let the record show that no great art was made today. No great sights were seen; no great experiences had. Let it be known that downtown Reading is swimming with a sense of unease due to the roaming gangbangers debating (and in some cases not...) whether to flash signs at the camera or not. There are a lot of dudes with teardrop tattoos.

The closest I came to anything amusing was this sighting of what is clearly a rapemobile,



And this sign,




Hung at Jimmy Kramer's The Peanut Bar & Restaurant,



Which can be used to diagram MANY things, not the least of which is the morale of the crew at any given time. For those hard of sight allow me to transcribe, left to right, The Drunkard's Progress,

1. A glass with a friend.

2. A glass to keep the cold out.

3. A glass too much.

4. Drunk and riotous.

5. The summit attained. Jolly companions. A confirmed drunkard.

6. Poverty and disease.

7. Forsaken by friends.

8. Desperation and crime.

9. Death by suicide.

It's kinda neat in a T.G.I.Fridays in Hell kind of way.

I mean, I guess the bookmobile is kind of interesting for the, "WHO BOTHERED TO SPAWN THIS WRETCHED CHARACTER DESIGN?" question.



Tomorrow we are off to Pittsburgh.

We Are In Great Danger

I am typing this on a borrowed laptop, which reminds me that I need (need) to spend money and get one for times like this. Also, DIA wi-fi is mondo sketch and its webvertisements are sending Firefox into fits.

I've had my flight bumped three times (we were originally supposed to be in the air at 3:30 MT and have now been pushed back to 10:30 MT). I had dinner (corn dogs) and drinks (beers) with Danny and Nina and Ezra last night. When we left at 12:00 AM (MT), I was still waiting for my pictures to come out of the Sputnik photo booth (having taken the pictures 30 minutes earlier). I had explained this delay away as part and parcel of the color process. I should have seen this as a cause for alarm and a sign of impending doom.

More later.

Fuck You, That's My Name

Miami, Florida has become my least favorite place on the planet supplanting Chadds Ford, PA and Orlando, FL. To a wo/man, the waitstaff at local eateries and the Delano hotel staff were rude, lazy, exclusionary and arrogant towards paying guests (i.e. ME, and the rest of the crew). I then became rude back and spent my three (3) days there in a combative rage.

A series of examples:

EXAMPLE 1

Richard is in the SHOWER, having ordered room service the night before. There is a KNOCK at the DOOR.

Room Service: Room service!

Me: (From the shower) Leave it there, please!

Room Service: Room service!

Me: (From the shower) Leave it there, please!

Room Service: Room service!

Me: (From the shower) Leave it there!

There is silence as Richard finishes his shower. And exits to find there is NO FOOD LEFT EITHER INSIDE OR OUTSIDE BY THE DOOR IN SPITE OF REPEATED REQUESTS TO LEAVE THE FOOD. Not only that, upon checkout Richard finds that his vanished meal IS ON THE BILL. When Richard goes to the front desk to protest, he is greeted by a DESK CLERK.

Desk Clerk: Can I help you?

Me: Yes, I...

(A woman appears from behind Richard holding a cell phone.)

Desk Clerk: Yes Ma'am, can I help you?

Me: (stares; addresses Desk Clerk) I'm sorry, was I not just standing here?

Desk Clerk: (stares)

Me: (stares)

Desk Clerk: (to the woman) How can I help you, ma'am?

Richard proceeds to stare at the Desk Clerk's Assistant until the Desk Clerk's Assistant decided to come over and help. Powerless, Richard decides to change every other word in his vocabulary to "Fuck" in full earshot of the CHILDREN behind him while staring at the Desk Clerk.

EXAMPLE 2

Richard returns from a walk around town with his BACKPACK and CAMERA through the beach-side entrance, flashing his GUEST CARD to the SECURITY DETAIL upon entry

Security Detail: Sir, you'll have to check your camera.

Me: But I'm staying here at the hotel.

Security Detail: Sir, they don't allow photography here.

Me: I'm not taking pictures. Besides, I was taking pictures last night and they didn't say anything THEN (see image above --Ed.)..

Security Detail: You'll have to put it away.

Me: Well I have to go to my room to put it away.

Security Detail: You'll have to put it in your backpack.

Me: MY BACKPACK IS FULL.

Security Detail: (stares)

Me: (stares)

EXIT Richard toward the lobby, knowing he won that little battle.

EXAMPLE 3

Richard is working with the crew in a small-ish CONFERENCE ROOM with many LARGE, HEAVY TABLES and ROLLING CHAIRS. They call the CUSTODIAL STAFF to remove the tables and chairs, a common production custom.

Crewmember: Yes, we'd like to have these chairs and tables taken away, please.

Custodian: We've nowhere to put them.

Crewmember: What?

Custodian: They're big and there's no space to put them anywhere else. Besides,
(whining)
they're HEAVY!

Crewmember: Yes, we know they're heavy.

END SCENE FOR EDITORIAL CONTENT

Now, custodial and janitorial staff in hotels gets PAID to move stuff all day long. They get paid to move things and sweep and bring food to people regardless of whether something is heavy or not because it is their JOB. The hotel had known that we were coming for at LEAST a month; knew our requirements beforehand and chose to not honor them. Rather than act as if they were in a SERVICE INDUSTRY, they acted as if WE were the ones putting THEM out.

EXAMPLE 4

Waiter at Nemo: Would you like to see the desert menu?

Me: Yes, thank you.
(reads)
I'm curious, and going out on a limb here... ...would the chef prepare ONE of the buttermilk donuts? I'll pay for it, but more than that would be wasteful. I'm just curious.

W@N: (curtly) No.

Me: Really.

W@N: (curtly) I don't think they'd go for it.

Me: You know they won't, or you don't THINK they will?

W@N: (curtly) They won't go for it.

Me: (stares)

W@N: (stares)

Me: I see.

W@N: (curtly) They're little.

Me: That's irrelevant, really.

(The waiter goes)

Me: (To Crewmember) He didn't even pretend to go ask.

Crewmember: Yeah... I mean, he should know that if he pulls that off or at least tries to pull it off, it goes towards his tip.

Me: I know, right? It's easier than that. You go around the corner, have a cigarette, come back and say "no," you don't just say it outright.

Crewmember: Fuck him. He gets stiffed.

Me: That's the spirit.

The waiter is stiffed on his tip. END SCENE

Like Brett Favre, Richard Gin Is Having Fun!

To a point, anyway. Yes! I was in Sweden! Yes! I was only there for forty and one-half (40.5) hours or thereabouts and when you factor in the travel time (about twenty [20]) hours, you begin to figure out how hectic life can be. You understand how painful life can be when you consider that the airplane was showing a mini marathon of late 80's to early 90's TV hits including Wings and Cheers (with Shelly Long, no less).

Now, to be clear, I'd still be in Sweden right now (or perhaps Norway) if it were not for NY Fashion week -- I had to come back on time to pick up my requisite days on the party circuit (seriously) and as much as I need a vacation proper, I'd like to keep the momentum from last month.

Dan's oldest kid said he imagined Sweden to be full of 'dragons and dwarves fighting with axes.' I'm paraphrasing. Some others would have you believe that you can't swing a dead cat in Sweden without braining a six-foot (6') tall amazon with shimmering flaxen tresses and boobs out to here.

(gestures)

Neither of these scenarios are true, sadly. I add "sadly" for obvious reasons.



Another sad thing:

The thrift store clothes in Gothenburg (I will not make assumptions regarding the hipness of the rest of the nation) are all from American institutions, including AYSO, the Y "M's" and "W's" CA and the United States Army. Aside from my disappointment, I don't know what to think of this, though the low quality of the selections suggests that the Swedes dispatch a warm body to Domsey's with one hundred (100) US dollars and a round trip ticket with the order to "bring back what you can."

On the topic of Swedish Monies, the twenty (20) Kroner note has a CHILD RIDING A GOOSE. This is very important and the mere fact that some brilliant person came up with this idea (lifted from Swedish legend or history or not) shows how far our European friends have advanced beyond our simple American understanding.



We had difficulty finding endemic foods at first. It seemed that every restaurant we passed was italian or french or a burger stand of some sort which might have been good eatin', but why bother when the promise of meatballs and herring was so tempting. The concierge at Gothia Towers pointed us in the direction of a swedish soul food joint about one (1) kilometer away, and we ended up pigging out on... meatballs and herring. The fresh ligonberry jam is the hurdle that IKEA can't clear. The warm nordic food sits well in the gut when tromping around ill-paved medieval cobblestone streets stalking locals with a camera in the spirit of adventure and staving off any sort of future jet lag (see paragraph two (2) of this formless essay).



In all, Gothenburg is not a nation of contrasts. It appears to be (in limited experience) to be decidedly Swedish, though the good people speak superb English and are cheerful and willing to help out disabled tourists like ourselves. This has not stopped me from making jokes about their language (see post below) and I will be doing so again once I take formal shots of the hilarious candy bars I packed into the country.

Final Grade: A+, would travel to again.

Someone Has To Be The Ugly American. Why Not Me?

"Rea" apparently means "Sale" in Swedish. Therefore this picture is funny.

Another Retroactive Post to June 24, 2007

The one thing I always liked about the prairie is the way the weather patterns shift minute to minute. We landed in Denver just as a summer storm was passing through and the tailing end of it made one of the weirder sunsets I'd seen in years. We walked outside after drinks (martinis) at the Cruise Room in the Oxford Hotel and it was like someone had put a Tobacco Filter on the world.

Retroactive Post to June 24, 2007

Me: "Oh! We can stop at Randy's Donuts on the way to the airport!"

Dan: "Yes... we could do that."

In truth, I'd never been to Randy's, even when I was going to Kings games when they were still at The Forum (which is still, even in religious mothballs, better than the Staples Center). We arrived at Randy's with a good two hours to spare before it could be considered panic time at the airport, but we had to wait in line for a good fifteen minutes before our turn came. The line itself was always about ten people deep (there is one walk up window) and the drive-thru windows were easily backed up onto Manchester Blvd. They seemed understaffed for a Sunday morning, even though it was going on ten AM.


In true (bad) scientific form, I consumed one (1) plain cake donut as a control. The donut base is really pretty good -- better than you'd expect, if you're the type who figures they'd coast on reputation -- cakey not too sweet with a nice crisp exterior that holds up well to dunking, which is the only way to enjoy a fresh donut.

I then had a maple long john, which is a surprisingly obscure commodity here on the east coast and found it to my satisfaction -- the light sweetness of the cake portion didn't make the whole thing sickening or overwhelm the maple flavor which, while as inauthentic and synthetic as anything else, was passably "maple."

In conclusion, Dunkin' can take a leap. Horton's gets a pass for belonging to a culture. Krispy Kreme remains some other-type shit.

The whole detour to Randy's took a good half hour longer than we had figured and by the time we made it to the airport a pipe had burst in the first terminal, forcing passengers out into the street and causing massive congestion that seems to happen in L.A. no matter what. Still, we made it into the waiting area with ten minutes to spare and pacified our producer, M., who got a chocolate-cake donut with a sugary glaze. He declared it "good."

Retroactive Post to June 22, 2007

Hello from Los Angeles. Westlake, actually, which isn't in the City of L.A. at all, just the County. I'm on the road for a Pharma with Dan, who sees fit to throw me work now and again and sometimes, when the moon is full and the harvest comes, takes me on the occasional trip. This one will take me to Simi Valley and Denver -- the former of the two is closest enough to my ancestral home of Santa Barbara that I will get to have my parents drive down and pay for a dinner that I could just as easily invoice the company for. It will also be nice to see them -- I only get back to the West Coast once a year or so, and I rarely schedule a vacation due to my erratic work schedule.

It's times like this where I debate about whether to purchase a laptop -- I already carry so much shit (between gear for work and my camera-toting) that another breakable object seems like an absurd hassle. Then I remember that I'm traveling with only two memory cards and I'd love to be able to do realtime updates from wherever I am rather than post retroactively [as I'm doing now --RG].

It looks like the schedule will grow in intensity rather than soften as it goes on, and downtime will be scarce after Sunday the 24th when we fly to Denver. I'm definitely looking forward to Colorado, though. I've been twice -- once to Gunnison (which is some beautiful country) for a shoot with Preservation Volunteers and again to Estes Park for Knievel's Wild Ride which was a... different... experience.

Updates to follow. In the meantime, there's some action over at the Flickr Site with more pictures from SoCal.