Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Ren Faire remix

From the creators of TheBurg comes a trenchant look at those anachronistic folk who yearn in the suburban woods for a past they never knew: All's Faire.

Deconstructing the shove

A paparazzo shoved Bernie Madoff, the $50 billion Ponzi scheme braggart and possible felon, and it was caught on video. But I'm left wondering: Was this a vengeful shove or a tactical one or maybe a little bit of both? I don't watch enough celebrity gossip shows to know, but is shoving your subject a guerilla way to produce a frowny or angry face on a disgraced subject while also buying you an extra second or two to snap another photo? The fact that the shove was immediately followed by the photog snapping another shot made me consider this. Either way, it reminds me that as much as I love photography, I wouldn't be able to hack it as a pro photojournalist.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Tonight

A good day's work at an end. Running into an old friend. Handshake. His first time visiting. Impressed with the place you go every day. Seeing it through fresh eyes again. Not enough time to really catch up. Phone rings twice. Another friend. Dinner awaits. Snow falling outside in the Christmas tree courtyard. A promise to see each other after Christmas. In another place. One of many holiday places on the plan. Dinner at Cafeteria. Evergreens turning white slowly outside. Seafood inside. Catching up after almost a semester apart. Hot cocoa and tea and cookies and high ceilings in a new apartment not too far away. Dessert over. Bed calls. But not before a call before bed. Taxi part of the way. An extra dollar in the stack of ones, passed from bartender to me to driver. Keep it anyway. White-lit trees outside the skyscraper. Escalators down. The simple joy of falling blocks and colorful lines. Charlie Brown on the rotation. Mesmerized by the screens. Out the tunnel. Dar Williams. Mortal City. Swinging door, held for another. Icy-tipped hillside. Tears brim. A moment in the snow. Song ends. A couple huddles beneath the scaffolding. Door. Key. Home.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Thursday, December 04, 2008

The beginning of a poem I didn't finish

I have become accustomed to decay.
Signature slumps, posters tear,
Sole wears thin, sings out for repair.
Graffiti appears where volunteers once sweat,
Mocking Matissean leaves and flourishes.
Age shoulders in on once golden feats,
Scrubbing mystery, sowing fear.