Eat When Offered; Drink When Free

The best explanation for the allure of Fashion Week comes courtesy of L Magazine (yes, the freebie) when they said, paraphrased,

'There's nothing New Yorkers love more than a party they're not invited to.'

This seems a little Sub-Woody, maybe, but it's basically true.



This particular press line goes for another ten yards to the left and right of this picture.



If you see a pretty lady, take her picture. In my head it doesn't seem right that this bunch is chimping instead of shooting.



By eating the hors d'oeuvres, you lighten the load of the waitstaff. In turn, they will visit you often. I've never managed to develop a taste for fois gras.



It's the second (and third) best time of year for letchery after the first day of spring.

'Tis Better To Be Regionally Famous Than Internet Famous

One of the things I forgot to mention is that the Reading Eagle followed us around and took copious video and photographs of the production crew. In this instance, "production crew" is meant to include the producer (crucial) and cameraman (crucialer). I did manage to squeeze myself in to a printed picture though and I have diagrammed it for you, the reader, below,



This picture is not mine -- obviously -- credit where it is due, but I couldn't find the credit.

As for the video, you can spot me gracefully gracelessly going "over the boards" to escape the rampaging Yuengling wagon and the panicked team of stallions careening down the street.

You Know What I Keep In The Lining

One of the simpler joys of television production is that you get to be a tourist on the company dime, unashamedly going places that are more of the hoi polloi than the hipster douchebag fucks [I] usually cavort with. This is how I made it to the top of the Empire State Building without having to wait in line. This is also how you end up on one of the pedestal lookouts on Mt. Washington (I realize this corollary is a little wanky, as there are no lines for the pedestal lookouts on Mt. Washington, but follow me, would you?).



You also tend to eat well -- especially when doing food shows -- or at least eat uniquely. Here we have the Primanti Brothers' flagship location in Pittsburgh. The sandwich has a meat, a cheese, a cole slaw, a tomato, a handful of french fries between italian bread. It's a sandwich designed for truckers who would take them to go. Pretty soon everyone (specifically stoner college kids) started consuming them, as is the case when something utilitarian becomes bougie (cf. Underarmor and those ridiculous telephone earpieces).



Let it be known that nothing we've eaten this trip has been particularly healthy. I've been trying to cram salads and fruit behind (or in front of) every meal, but I'm still left feeling logy and listless and gross. Granted, I've not done a good of of taking care of myself for the last month or so anyway, so the effect is compounded.

An Observation:

The North Side of Pittsburgh is BEGGING for gentrification! Not only is there a charming, colorful area called the "Mexican War Streets", but there are old man bars that only need Ms. Pac-Man to become destinations! There is a YMCA with a bitchin' sign (picture to come) that will provide a tasteful amount of transient low-lifes and charming brownstone row homes that lack only kooky white artisans to make them complete! I suggest that we (my peers, and my only occasional readership) buy a block of these homes and do them up right so that by the time the NEXT real estate crash comes, we'll be goddamn gajillionaires.

Later, BUFFALO.

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.

9 to 5

This is a sampling of the people related to me. The poll has a margin of error of +/- 5. The short story is that my brother got married (he and Jenny are in the center and scattered throughout the collage). Yes, I shot my own brothers wedding and no I don't recommend it -- working a family event means you don't get to enjoy it as much as you might if you were just, say, drinking or entertaining babies or eating (in that order). However if you are the type of person who hates his or her family, this new form of practical isolation might be good for you and might endear you to them.

The long story is that I've been trying to hold working office hours to get the film done. This means that there is no film from Antimagic and Talk Normal at Silent Barn, nor is there any film from [All Nines] and Japanther from last night (8/24/08). I am behind, and I've been neglecting my precious, precious blog. This is going to get worse before it gets better -- I'm off to Redding, PA (Huh?), Pittsburgh (PA) and Buffalo (NY) this week for a food show or somesuch. Details are sketchy at best. All I know is that the Redding Phillies and Pittsburgh Pirates are in their respective towns and I will get to see my long lost friend Ashley and her flock of children in Buffalo.

Then, Fashion Week, Season 8 -- The Return.

An anecdotal thought based on comments made by Robert Wright, by way of Rob Haggart (whose blog you really SHOULD be reading, even if discussions of signal-to-noise ratio lead to moments of doubt).

I was basically told during the Photo 101 phase of my schooling that the professors had 'seen it all -- empty swings, pictures of pouty friends, and the roll of film taken in your dorm room an hour before class,' and that 'those things are OK, we aren't going to judge you on that content, and you need to get them out of your system so you can go on and do REAL work.'

To this end, Robert Wright writes,

...The confluence of technologies of digital photography, the www for sharing, a boom in consumer credit allowing amateurs to purchase gear that only professionals would have bothered with in the analogue days, all of this has brought an unprecedented number of photographers into the arena at exactly the same time and often at the same phase, that early discovery phase that used to go by fairly unnoticed in art schools around the country.

It's true that you're always trying to grow through your work, but at the same time I like to think I managed to have my most larval development out of the public eye. Those pictures are embarrassing.

Multiple Post Day (Pt. 1)

I'm back from Pennsylvania (at the Cannondale Plant) and Delaware (at the Dogfish Head Brewery). Not much to say about that other than we escaped from Delaware by boat (see above), which I would like to believe lent a certain prison-escape-ambiance to the end of the trip. Obviously I am delusional and tired.

Dogfish Head beer has, shall we say, certain alcoholic properties that are above and beyond most beers. I like to drink beer and became confused and disoriented after having no more than my regular serving of said liquid. Also, they sponsored one of the Punkin Guns from last season, giving me another chance to be self-referential on this blog. Oh well. Cannondale Bikes were pretty neat, but it was an odoriferous tour and shoot and everything was loud and squealy or windowless and air-tight so it made for a clammy, sweaty affair.

Upon my return, I shot the Handful (links down there somewhere. You know who they are at this point) and Starscream and Radiates at their (the Handful's) insistence. This proved to be a strong call.

Double reminder: ANTIMAGIC TONIGHT

Antimagic, at the Knitting Factory, 8PM. Be there, be square.

Onward and Upward

The Mighty Handful show on Saturday disappointed me because of my friends. Because of their lack of commitment to excellence I am/continue to be alone in my age group and in my appreciation of said band. I also made new friends with Dulaney Banks (just scroll down. I don't feel like hyperlinking myself) and was told to check out Calamity Sam's next show in April; the discussion of the particulars and wherefores went something like this,

Sam: Hey Richard Gin, I'm Sam.

Me: Hey dude. 'sa pleasure.

Sam: You're here for the Handful?

Me: You know it.

Sam: Yeah, they were in my band... ...supposed to be in my band.

Me: They ditched?

Sam: Yeah.

Me: Bastards.

Sam: Totally.

Me: They dropped you like Gary Young, huh?

Sam: Yeah! Exactly! Awesome! You should come shoot my band?

Me: Right on.

Sam: Yeah. We're better than them.

Me: Word. I'm on it.

END

Anyway, that should be interesting.

NEW THOUGHT:

True to form and as I suspected, the Lord Has Provided. I'll be away for the next work week in Pennsylvania and Delaware for... ...work and will likely not be updating or blogging in the mean. Hopefully this will be because I am having breakfasts across from the Holiday Inn Express at a Waffle House. This of course means no pictures for a while followed by a frantic upload on Saturday and Sunday.

Fuck it. How about some news you can use:

BEHOLD THE MAJESTY OF ANTIMAGIC

Antimagic, Ted McGrath's non-Savonarola-based project (featuring both members of Savonarola) will be at The Knitting Factory on Saturday the 22nd of this month. I will be there with bells on. Doors at 8, apparently though I'm sure that is subject to change. Past instances where Ted's solo-projects were found to be belligerently oppressive have been relegated to the past with hidden Smile-ish sub-melody. It will rule.

Following the next weekend I will be in Denver for two days (as of now -- these things change) and will hopefully be dining or drinking irresponsibly with Danny and Nina, whom I have not seen in... since they moved to Denver. Or before that. I think I missed the going away party for some reason.

Now, I rest.

He Said Captain, I Said Wot

Dulaney Banks don't need press from me -- any germane facts are on their Myspace (linked to; above. Please visit) but I'll boil them down for you nonetheless. Guy and girl are a duo that sings folk and spirituals and songs about murdering them wot done you wrong. They are will be legally able to busk in the subways once they turn eighteen (18) because they won a permit through the MTA Arts For Transit/MUNY audition. They are not yet 18, so they have no permit.

This is insane on several levels, most notably of which is the fact that they should not be performing in the subways for any reason other than for fun; they should be making the circuit through your usual medium/large touring venues with a proper sound system. Not to give short shrift to the Dulaney half (it's a great skill to do all the heavy lifting through one guitar, it's a wise man who knows when not to play), but to call the Banks half's voice "mature beyond [her] years" is an understatement and an absurd joke.

A Dramatization:

Jack: You're going to shoot Dulaney Banks?

Me: Oh yeah.

Jack: They're great, right?

Me: Yeah. I went to their Myspace link. I was like, 'who is this girl and how did she steal Nina Simone's voice?'

Jack: Yeah.

END

They are fantastic.

Own A Piece Of History

In the continuing spirit of plugging my friends' shit in this blog in the name of goodwill and glomming on to people and personalities who are far more socially advanced than mine, I offer the following news you can use.



This is Ted. This picture of Ted is as old as the ones of Bill and Nick and Dana, so please see the comments on those pictures for timeline information. Also, I don't think this particular picture is very good, though it gets both of us in the time we were in.


THE BIG NEWS:

Ted has been featured in Print Magazine this month, the one with this cover,



As one of their 20 Under 30 profile. I personally think 30 Under 30 has a better ring to it, but that's not the point. Can't be diluting the talent pool, can we? The point is that you, while celebrating the careers of a gaggle of young upstarts, can own an image made by me, Richard Gin. Please see the screen capture, below.



That image is, of course, THIS image,



Only cropped to hell, desaturated and therefore inferior to all the other profile pictures which capture artistic rapscallions at their most gloomy/moody/contrasty/artistic. As you can see, Ted was having two (2) milkshakes before they were popular. Ted chose my picture of him because his mom liked it. I think she said it was one where he didn't look too weird. I am paraphrasing.

Also in this issue and also in this article on dashing young men and demure young ladies are profiles of Phil Lubliner, stand up dude and commissioner of my fantasy baseball team, and Gary Fogelson, man about town and stand up dude. I will not post pictures of them because I have none, nor was I involved in their profiles. Gary and Phil are active dudes, and have various and sundry satellite projects and sub-domains that are worth checking out and are awesome.

The magazine itself is available now at your local magazine deployment concern and you should make it the bestest selling issue of Print Magazine, like, ever.

To You From Failing Hands We Throw The Torch

It's bad news when a new venue treats its lighting design as an afterthought. You can tell things are wrong when the drummer for The Orion Experience is stretching, trying to tilt the par cans over his head off of him with his drumstick. I mean, honestly; you have ten lights pointed STRAIGHT DOWN to slash the soundproofing on the back wall and no edge lights hitting the front of stage. You have one row of fixed cans at the front of house with deep amber (!!??!) gels on them dimmed to about 40% -- a dimmed tungsten light is warmer than a tungsten light at full power so the result is a warm light... with a warming gel on top of it. Net result is a color temperature somewhere around 1900K.

WHAT FUCKING GOOD DOES IT DO TO LIGHT THE BACK WALL?



And there are sidelights with no punch on stages right and left gelled BLUE. This post is incoherent and choppy and rambly. I'm furious. I mean, the building is just over a year old. Someone -- a loved one; a caring friend -- should have told the owners to hire a LD to set something reasonable up. It's not like the old Luna Lounge where you could understand a converted bar slapping up a few lights because people couldn't see shit; this was a ground-up install that should have taken into consideration EVERYTHING and they dropped the ball. What should have been a quality medium/small venue in Brooklyn becomes just another bar with a stage attached. You shouldn't have to worry about making your own separation happen when your subject is on a fucking STAGE.

The Audio Department Confounds Project Runway Viewers In General

Did anyone besides Ally see my back (ass) in last night's recap episode of Project Runway? There seems to be some discussion that you might be able to see me molesting Jillian or Kit or some such in the background. A telltale sign would be a 6'2" tall half-asian with a black harness swaddled around his rippling body; lean with sinewy muscle and tense with strain from labor. There should also be a California Flag patch sewn on the harness between his shoulder blades which appears to wave in the breeze as he dances through the motions of his profession with the precise grace of a jungle leopard stalking his prey.

This Bores Me.

February has been a slow month for me work-wise. I've taken to shooting shows more often in order to keep my head out of my ass and get myself away from Photoshop -- the longer I fiddle around with selection tools the more likely I am to do something totally fucking [stupid] like selectively colorize everything.

In this spirit, please do let me know what's out there for the next few weeks. I am actively soliciting interesting bands to shoot. God bless my friends, but they only play so often. Bonus points if you play at a venue that is not totally fucking [stupid] when it comes to lighting.

Hi-V to The Choke, Knife Fight (bros) and WLWL for putting together a game group of bands to suffer through the conditions at Don Pedro's (the worst venue in Brooklyn).

Late Hi-V to Crystal Stilts, Silk Robes (bros), Vivian Girls and My Teenage Stride for making my Valentime's Day less [stupid].

Audio Department Confounds Nation With Its Sexuality

From the comments for The Onion's TV Club breakdown of Project Runway's 11th episode,

RE: I'm going to marry Jillian
by Clownfucks

And she's going to wear overalls and do my laundry.
10:04 PM Wed February 13, 2008


RE: I'm going to marry Jillian
by Me too

as long as I occasionally get to come over for some hankey-pankey.

Umm, that garter thing she was wearing when she was jumping with excitement? HOT! (Fierce)
10:13 PM Wed February 13, 2008

RE: I'm going to marry Jillian
by idiot wind

Jillian's little garter-thing (at first I thought it was a gun holster under her dress, like in the movies) was indeed extraordinarily sexy, but then I realized it was probably just one of those microphone-thingies to hear what she was saying.
11:15 PM Wed February 13, 2008

RE: I'm going to marry Jillian
by dove

I'm going to continue thinking it was a gun holster. because jillian just seems like the type.
6:01 AM Thurs February 14, 2008

Bondange is so hot right now.

More News You Can Use!

The Big Daddy Website has been updated and upgraded (for the most part) as of about noon today. What's the big deal? Well things are BIGGER for what I think are strictly utilitarian reasons -- my work has been getting a little bit more, shall we say, a study in proportions and objects in space. This is an idiotic thing for a photographer to say. The point is, there's new stuff and some old stuff re-jiggered, so please do take a look and chime in.

Special thanks to Lauren and Steve at Heart And Cross for,

a) Putting up with my shit,

and

b) Getting this done quickly and smoothly. They are A+ people.

I HAZ FOUND TWO FWIENDS O_O (Birthday Addendum. I Will Stop Typing Like This Shortly)

Ted and Beth made up for their missed presence on Saturday night with a guest appearance LAST night.



Ted brought Beth, and bought dinner, which was appreciated. I am grateful (see "appreciated").



Beth brought moral support and gazes of appreciative amazement for my work, for which I am grateful.

I CAN HAS ATE FWIENDS? ^_^

According to yesterday's math (December 15th's math -- the day of my portentous birth; to some a day to be scorned) I have eight friends. These are their portraits. If you see them on the street, congratulate them for their wise choice to not alienate me.



Matt brought me artworks in a similar vein to this series, for which I am grateful.



Melissa brought cookies of the homemade variety. They were (emphasis on the past tense. They are with God now) excellent and peanut butter with jelly dollops. I am grateful.



Chuck brought wine, which was a welcome arrival. He also took the time to swing by before band practice. I am grateful.




Gersh brought himself, which is important because we decided we'd known each other for seventeen (17) years. Go figure. I am grateful.



Ally brought Yuengling, which is important because it is nourishing and good for you. I am grateful.



Alex also brought Yuengling. Actually you could parse his arrival in several ways -- You could say that he brought the Yuengling while Ally (see above) brought HIM; You could say that he brought Ross (see below). I am grateful.



Ross arrived and watched Slapshot with us, which is important because it is the finest movie of All Time. I am grateful.




Holly came late but brought herself, which is important because it made for an even number. She also acts as further proof that I have nothing but good looking friends. I am grateful.

Now, there were MANY others who were invited and did not appear. MANY others. Those... people... will be dealt with in my own time. Their remains will likely be posted here later.

My love to you all. I am now 28. I feel like shit.

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

Punkin Chunkin

Punkin Chunkin happens when a bunch of teams of people get together in a field and lob pumpkins into the distance using a variety of means of propulsion. The team whose pumpkin travels farthest (regardless of means) gets the trophy below,



All teams name their machines and some have painted mascots. Team Morgana, below, named themselves after King Arthur's nemesis -- King Arthur being the name of another team. King Arthur is not pictured.



Team Onager has a Roman Legionnaire.



Punkin Chunkin takes place in many states, but the championship takes place in Delaware. There is a sideshow carnival-type-thing with fried goods, Midway-style amusements, local crafts and a cheerful bouncy dinosaur.



Centrifugal machines fire pumpkins as you might imagine. Whereas catapults' and air guns' violent motions, magical clouds of vapor and wham-bam army noises to announce the deployment of the gourds, centrifugal machines sound like a blown-up lawn mowers and the pumpkin leaves relatively unannounced, the sound of the belt unclasping far too soft to hear over the hum of the arm spinning.



Air guns are big and loud and generally fire the pumpkins too fast and far to see. We were not at the show five minutes before we heard our first cracks from one of the torsion teams regarding the needle-dick-ness of the air gun crews. Bad Hair Day, below, is fielded by a team of women. They do not fall under the needle-dick heading, I suppose.



Appropriate safety attire is required for all crew members.



To this day, I have no idea what a hard hat is supposed to accomplish. Should it deflect the thing that's hitting you? Should it shatter and dissipate the force of impact? Is it like border security legislation?



This is Fat Jimmy. He's a super nice guy. He's wearing a costume and name tag reading "Fat Jimmy/Queen Is A Fella." He rode up on this motor bike and was summarily molested by a young lady (not pictured) who grabbed his plush, ample bosom and held it to her tongue. Jimmy was at the event with his daughter, who was not seen after the events described, nor could she be reached for comment.*



In conclusion, Delaware is a land of many contrasts.

*I did not try to contact her.

Up, Up And Away...

Blimps are neat. There was this one instance in Junior High when I we were asked to list attributes of a character as an exercise in description and I chose "good." The teacher thought the word was weak and told me so, and I told her that "good" was perfectly acceptable if you used the word with enough conviction. So blimps are NEAT -- said with a child-like enthusiasm -- in the same way that Dinosaurs are NEAT and elephants and giraffes are NEAT. Big things are NEAT.



When stationary, a blimp always wants to face into the wind. When blimps are moored in a field they are tethered to some sort of mast (in this case, a telescoping mast attached to a truck) with a bearing on top so that the blimp can spin as the wind shifts.



These are the poured-concrete ruins of a WWII-era hangar that was burned to the ground six or so years ago. The company whose blimp we were shooting lost a few ships in the blaze. The hanger itself was similar to the one below, only BIGGER.



In google satellite images you can see the footprint of the old hangar and how it relates to the footprint of the one still standing. We never got to go into the hangar because of some sensitive co-renting agreement between multiple blimp companies and their desire to keep their ships off camera. Similar hangars were used to house the Gotham City set for Batman Begins.



When a blimp takes off, it's literally CARRIED by the ground crew -- around 15 or so people -- to a spot that's free from obstructions. On the ground, the ship appears clumsy and awkward and uses its engines to assist the crew in maneuvering. The captain of the ground crew, with help from another member holding a wind sock, uses hand gestures and verbal commands to help the crew move the ship. Recall that a blimp always wants to face into the wind when not powered -- the crew WANTS the ship to face into the wind so that the pilots can use the lift generated by the airflow over the envelope and the ailerons. When the pilots are ready, they turn their engines to the ground and clear the ground crew for takeoff.



The pilots told us that the blimp can take off in a straight vertical like a helicopter, but more often than not will use more of a fixed-wing-style takeoff with a short taxi down the strip to gain speed before pulling up into the sky.



The nature of the blimp, which the president of the company described as 'benign,' and the fact that it takes a HUGE disaster to bring a modern helium blimp to the ground, means that it can travel safely above ground at about 100 feet. It allows us to see how the rich people at Kitty Hawk live. They live well, annual hurricane threat aside.



The windows of the blimp are removable, so you can stick your head and shoulders out of the gondola and take unobstructed pictures of the ground below. The pilots have two small windows that they tend to rest their elbows on the way Harrison Ford leans on the windows of his hot rod in American Graffiti. Obviously, the cabin is non-pressurized.



Taking pictures of the Elizabeth City Coast Guard facility is probably a breach of national security in someone's mind.



The ship has a motion very much like a ocean-going ship -- a smooth rocking and cresting and diving over airstreams. The propellers are powered by Porsche engines and are belligerently loud when the windows are open.



When it comes time to land, the ground crew lines up in a "V" shape, with the chief of the crew and the windsock at the vector. They visually tell the pilots how to orient the craft so that it's facing into the wind. As the blimp descends, the ground crew breaks for the dangling lines and they WALK the blimp back into the mast. Here, the rope team has already grabbed the lines and the men who will carry the gondola are sprinting for the hand rails on the side of the ship.



As with most of the posts on this blog, there is no real conclusion. I'm not a good essayist. The blimp averages about 50 MPH in the best conditions, which is slower than a car. It requires a ground crew of 12 to 15 people and a secure mast to lash it to when it's at rest. The ship is higher than a 747 at its highest point, and is unable to fit into most hangars. The flight is pleasant and relaxing and non-hurried and when the weather is fair, as it was when we flew, the views are beautiful. The ship we were in is the only model with a restroom and it maxes out with a 12 passenger load. For all the potential and pleasure to be derived from the blimp as a mode of common travel it's not practical.

Charlie was one of our pilots for our trip. He's a full-time professor and a part time blimp pilot.

The Way That I Rhyme

There's not much to say about this set from Darkside Haunted House -- it speaks for itself, I think. I will add that it was one of those jobs you're happy to take just because the situation is so weird that it becomes a crime NOT to take it. There's a Disneyland-style line-maze that serves to pace attendance and allows guests cycle through and experience a series of terrors. One such section featured a series of hillbilly-Deliverance-style vignettes. Our host and guide said, dryly, "Guess what our theme was last year?"

This comment reminded me of one of my cleverer moments, if I do say so myself. Back in college one of my video professors was a heavy in the early Experimental Video, Queercore and Riot Grrl scenes in the 80's and 90's (and was even namedropped in Le Tigre's "Hot Topic") and she and I would frequently butt heads over this and that. For example, she would accuse me of misogyny and in turn I would make my work more misogynistic because... well... wouldn't you?

Anyway, a few years after we graduated George and I went back to talk to some of our more beloved professors and in the course of conversation asked what Cecilia was up to.

Professor: "I'm not sure. Last I heard she was in Ireland working on a horror film."

Me: "You mean, like, slasher-horror or the horrors of gender relations...?"

Professor: "..."

So I never got a good answer, and I suspect I was right.

Danielle's Gonna Have My Legs Broke For This

D: "...and these are going to all end up on the internet, right?"

R: "Probably."

I'm working on some publicity stills for the Hidden People (see previous entry) and got to bring in Danielle to assist in keeping my head straight, which is as difficult as you can imagine, and to help fly in lights for the location stuff (examples to come). Having someone on set who's better than you but is comfortable in letting you believe the opposite is very, VERY important.

Of course, aside from coffee fetching (not in a subservient way, but in a liberated, choose-to-do-it way), the assistant(s)' primary role is to stand in when the Photographer needs to see how badly he screwed up with the lighting (in this instance, a unit was not turned on). Furthermore, it is a happy coincidence when the Photographer has someone he's never succeeded in photographing assisting him. We've known each other for years and years at this point (it was quite a handshake) and have always seemed to be watching each others' work from parallel paths. Along with Bill Stengel (future Throwback Image Sunday candidate), she's my point person for all my tech talk and gear-head-wonkiness. I claim "Superfan 99" status.

Her home on the Internets is here:

Daniellestingu.com

If You And Your Friends Are In The Dark, You Are Hidden People.

I have to say, while I love all my friends' bands (here, Hidden People), I really, REALLY wish they'd play venues with grown up lighting design instead of, say, fucking Christmas lights (see below).



I'd much rather shoot ambient without having to ramp up the ASA all the way and open all the way wide. Fun things happen when you have enough light to shoot with without augmenting.

Throwback Image Saturday (II)

Another from my early series of people I (used to, for the most part) hang out with in college. Dana was the editor of the school newspaper for a spell, and an all around cheerful person, in spite of the attitude this picture suggests. Call it one of my early dour-hipster pictures. This particular image was an outtake (one of her smiling made it in) and I uploaded this one 'cause it just seems more me at this point.

As with Nick, I've not seen Dana since I graduated. Last I heard she was back in Seattle or someplace on the Western Coast.

HYPE ALERT: Richard Gin Is Now Featured Over At Venuszine.com

I now have a featured portfolio over at Venuszine.com -- this following what was a sloppy series of communiques with the Venuszine staff. These images aren't anything you haven't seen before (they are all cribbed from the daddy page, richardgin.org), but please visit, and please forward this to your friends and lovers as you see fit.

Also, apologies in advance if I didn't make doubly sure to clear usage of your visage -- they kinda threw the page up without consulting me all the way with regard to the particulars and wherefores. Please don't kill me. More importantly, please don't sue me.

THIS IS THE LINK. THIS LINK IS VERY IMPORTANT.

THE LINK

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.

I Call Bullshit

I call bullshit here,

And here,

(Above, dated August 2, 2007)

And I claim by 5 dollars.

(Above, dated May 1, 2007)

SAVONAROLA IS BACK FROM THE DEAD

Until Sleater-Kinney gets back together I will have to be happy (and I am, believe me) with the sudden and powerful return of Savonarola, two of my dear dear friends and one of my favorite singer/songwriter duos. I rank them higher than the Lennon and McCartney. I am a contrarian.

They dissolved about a year and a half ago after one self-released album (full disclosure: I produced "Knives" and "People I Don't Like") when Ted had a midlife crisis and ran off to join These Are Powers.

AND NOW THEY ARE BACK. And possibly with another name change, though I'm encouraging them to keep it, and possibly with a stylistic change, which would predicate a name change. In short, they are writing stuff, but I have no idea what it is. They played an acoustic show at Tommy's Tavern (possibly the best they've played) on Sunday on a bill promoted by Anthony Macbain and featuring he, Schwaahed, Ron Wax and MC'd by Oldman Unfamous Jacob.

The images (and there are more here), were my first with my new Pocket Wizards (awesome) and the after-show was my first time DJ-ing (off a borrowed iPod, no less).

A splendid time was had by all.

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 23, 2007

I've been offered travel jobs in the past that would take me back to California before, and they've all been canceled shortly after informing my parents of the possibility of my arrival in the state of my birth. This has led me to not talk about jobs before they happen, or at least to wait until the very last minute to tell people where I'm going.

In this instance, I got confirmation from Dan in quick order that the job was going to happen, and he had the tickets to prove it. So I called the folks and they drove the hour down to Westlake to see me, and I was happy to see them and we drove another hour south towards Dodger Stadium where it just so happened The Police were playing. This ate up another hours' worth of time and delayed our arrival at Philippe's, purported origin of the French Dip Sandwich (pictured above, with lemonade and pumpkin creme pie). It's a landmark of sorts, and is covered in Dodger memorabilia and artifacts from the nearby Union Station and features $.09 coffee (I like the way nine-cents looks when digitized like that).

The waitresses aren't allowed to handle money, mostly because of disease, though I'm sure at some point someone's pilfered the till -- you put the cash on the tray (left of frame) and they take it to the register (not pictured) and bring the tray back to you. You can see the plastic safety gloves on her hands. The sandwich is turkey (I'd already had a roast beef). The waitress in the picture started crying for some reason after she took my check over to the register. I never found out why. She had an eastern-european accent.

Tomorrow the crew will fly to Denver, weather permitting. So far the actual shooting has gone off without a hitch.

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.

The Long Trailer

One of the companies I work for does corporate presentation videos -- the company is owned and operated by D. (referenced here) -- and I've spent the middle days of the last few weeks working for him in Pennsylvania. In Chadds Ford. It's one of those places where you know where it is but you couldn't tell anyone how to get there. Regardless, I've missed a goodly portion of the nice East Coast weather by spending the pastoral days locked in a Best Western ballroom listening to people prattle about this or that product while gazing wistfully out the window like a kid trapped in school a week before summer vacation.


With that in mind, one would think I'd been a world beater on my off days, galavanting in the city like a gay tourist ("gay" in the 50's way, thanks). In truth I've spent the last few days inside during the working hours, trying to motivate and finish editing the family videos but I've not had a good time of it. I'm starting to wonder if it's all in my head and if I'm starting to let go of some of the grander promises I made to myself about the type of person I would become. There's still time, sure, and I haven't had the fire under me lately, and it worries me terribly in my quiet moments, of which there are many.

When looking back at the last two years in terms or work cycle, I find that summer means work travel, and hopefully that will be the case this year -- something to shake off the rust and complacency that comes from working from rote.

In other news, I beat my audit! I'll be posting that story soon. Once I get my tires on the ground instead of spinning in the sand.

The truck stop is somewhere off 295 in New Jersey. I have no idea where, really and I'm not sure I would bother to tell you where if I did.