RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER

You read that right Philadelphia. Your beloved mayor is jihadist scum. Last Wednesday, I captured these images of Mayor Nutter doling out terrorist fist jabs at a public event. As a further insult, this was a Sunoco sponsored fun day commemorating our nation’s birth. Why is he corrupting our youth with this kind of behavior? I can only assume that his red shirt covered in “targets” is some kind of Blood gang symbol/uniform. I demand immediate impeachment.

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Go America! Have a great 4th of July.

Last week, a check for $600 arrived in my mailbox. I immediately went out and used it as the down payment on a $450,000 house out in some new development off of Route 30, halfway to Lancaster. The interest rate is great until 2010!

But seriously, I had planned on doing something subversive with my economic stimulus check, like putting it into a savings account or spending it on a Mexican vacation. But then I saw it there on my coffee table and I got to thinking. Wouldn’t it be cool if I could take a photo of it? Minutes later, I spent 80% of it on impulse. God Bless America!

There aren’t many places in this city where I can go to escape, but those places do exist. Last Sunday I needed such a place. Since this spot is so fucking cool, I’ve posted about it before. Since it’s a secret, I’m not giving directions. What I will tell you is this.

Through the city’s northwestern neighborhoods runs the Wissahickon Creek. The creek snakes through the valley that divides Roxborough and Manayunk from Germantown, Mt. Airy and Chestnut Hill. Somewhere in this valley is a small tributary stream. Somewhere along that unnamed creek, obscured from all paths and invisible from every trail is the spot. It’s where I go to think and write. It’s where I spread the ashes of my dead cat. It’s where I’ve done things that are too personal to write here. I like the place.

A few years ago, 2 friends of mine started building a series of terraces on a natural ascension in the land next to the small creek. They’ve worked seriously and carefully since then, expanding the original terrace to several more, adding staircases, planting ferns and damming the creek. I can’t say much more that can’t be better described in this series of photos. Enjoy:

A photo from the creek in front of the spot.

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Approaching

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And here it is

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The western wall

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4th and 5th level terraces

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4th level terrace. Look at the detail in the stone work. It fits together like a puzzle.

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Puzzle pieces on the western staircase

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Ground level

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A chair built into one of the walls caught the sunlight, so I sat in it.

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The view from the chair. This is a good place to sit, think and relax.

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The End

Occasionally, my place of employment attracts minor celebrities and future Kings of England. Last week, it was minor celebrities. Apparently Jane Seymour, (better known as Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman) is a big fan of public art. Who knew?

Here’s a quick, crappy shot I took with the incredibly annoying Canon XT that we have in the office.

Far more excitingly, here’s a photo (taken by Paul Loftland) of Mayor Nutter with Baltimore City State Senator Clay Davis. Both were at our annual fundraiser. While Wikipedia calls Senator Davis a “fictional character” and refers to him as actor “Isiah Whitlock, Jr.” fans of The Wire and citizens of any corrupt American City beg to differ. I mean, there he is with the Mayor. And Nutter is real, right? Think of Senator Davis as the Vince Fumo of West Baltimore.

Well, quitting the internet didn’t work. And if you happened to visit yesterday only to see that this site was gone completely, that was an accident. I don’t know what happened, but it’s better now. For my triumphant return, please enjoy this deeply bitter and miserable rant:

Until a couple months ago, there was a dirty, dingy old Laundromat near 20th and Spruce. Even though most of the machines were broken and the place smelled like death, (mice behind machines) it was the closest Laundromat to my apartment and I’d wash my clothes there anyway.

The only employee I ever saw was an old man who never seemed to leave. He wasn’t very friendly, but he was pushing 80 and working 15 hours a day, 7 days a week in depressing dump of a business. Who would be friendly?

The Laundromat closed in March. The owners are renovating the space into a nail salon. I do my laundry at 15th and Spruce now. It’s much farther away, but it’s cleaner and friendlier.

On Tuesday I was walking by the old Laundromat. Sitting on its stoop was the old man who used to work inside. He was filthy, unshaven, wearing dirty clothes and obviously homeless. The Laundromat left, but he didn’t.

I was in a bitter fucking terrible mood, so to be honest, this sad sight barely touched my conscience. I wondered for a second if I should give him the address of the Social Security office, or the number of a social worker. But I didn’t. I don’t know where those offices are, and I don’t have the numbers to any social workers.

And what good would it have done? I assume that his life is over. What kind of help can anyone possibly give him? He’d have moved on if he wanted to. That shitty fucking place was his life. That’s what touched my conscience and made me sad. Miserable people and their shitty fucking lives.

If anyone out there is a more hopeful person than I am, you know where to find him.

A little over a month ago I woke up early and set out for a pre-work bike ride. Since I work at a non-profit, showing up to work straight after an 11-mile ride is perfectly acceptable.

Also, morning rides on the Kelly/MLK Drive loop are also a hell of a lot more pleasant than afternoon ones. Without rollerbladers, dogs, children on scooters, people randomly wandering in front of you, walkers who take up the entire path, oblivious crew brats and all the other people that make me hate people, an early morning ride is actually nice and relaxing.

But a month ago, my ride was cut short by a glint of silver down in the Schuylkill. As I crossed over the MLK Drive bridge just west of the Waterworks, I noticed this flash of light. When I got to the far end of the bridge I was shocked to see that it was a Loon eating a fish. The fish, reflecting the light of the sun was what caught my attention. I had to cancel my ride and get home to pick up my camera.

Why?

Loons are some of my favorite birds. I’d also never seen one anywhere near Philadelphia. You think it just looks like a duck with a cockroaches body? Well listen to the sound they make:

Loon 1

Loon 2

The loon couldn’t choke down the fish… but it tried for as long as I watched it. Some fishermen told me that they come through every year. If you’re looking to catch them on the Schuylkill leg of their migration, just head down to the Art Museum about a month ago and keep your eye out. Until then, here are some photos:

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In September 2006, while wandering aimlessly around the streets of Montreal, I accidentally found the 2005 World Press Photo Exhibition. Five Canadian Dollars got me in the door. The rest was a horribly depressing orgy of brutal, beautiful photography.

While getting out and seeing hundreds of 24×36 gallery prints is great, the 2007/2008 photo + photographer interview feature on this year’s website is pretty damn cool.

Also, as a word of advice to all you people out there with a flash site. This is how you do it. Simple, clean and to the point. Why make it a flash site at all? Be sure to click the little magnifying glass in the lower right.

Check out Tim Hetherington’s soft, blurry, outstanding winning photo and fan favorite, Platon’s portrait of Vladimir Putin. I’d link directly to them… but it’s a flash site. LINK

Look, listen, learn.

Not long ago I had the privilege of shooting the Fairmount Arts Crawl. Although it was a sprawling event that covered an enormous area, I could have stayed at the Neighborhood Potters wheel all afternoon. Here are a few shots from the demonstration wheel:

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When you go camping in Acadia and you live in Philadelphia, here’s what you do:

You get in your car in early evening and you drive. You hit North Jersey at the end of rush hour. By the time you leave Connecticut, it’s night. Massachusetts and New Hampshire fly by in a haze of rest stop Starbucks. When you get to Maine between midnight and 1AM, you still have 4 hours of driving to go.

I rarely talk about music here, but I became a Radiohead fan in those 4 hours. I’d put Amnesiac on the pre-Ipod CD changer thing. It came on around 3AM. I was on a small highway in rural Maine. My girlfriend was asleep. I was alone on the road. It was the perfect setting for an alien abduction. It wasn’t my favorite album and it still isn’t, but for that hour it was just about the greatest thing in all of creation.

And then you reach your destination.

You’ll approach Seawall campground just before dawn. Before you get in line for an early morning campsite, pull over just past King’s camp store and walk out onto the rocky beach. Smell the air. Listen to the waves. Watch the stars fade as the sun rises over the ocean.

This time of year I start to crave Maine. I just talked to an old friend up in Portland and she kept bugging me about when I was going to come up for a visit. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t live there and vacation here.

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In May of 1962, Centralia PA’s volunteer fire company was busy with their annual set-the-landfill-on-fire Memorial Day spectacular when something went horribly wrong. A vein of coal ignited and spread to the mines beneath the little mountain borough. Forty six years later that fire still burns.

Since then, Centralia’s population has dwindled from about a thousand to about a dozen. Why? Occasionally the earth will split open, sucking anything on the surface into 150 foot chasms of fire and poison gas.

By the mid-80’s most of Centralia’s population had been relocated by the federal government. In 1992, the state of PA claimed eminent domain over the remaining properties. Those that were abandoned were torn down. Those who chose to stay do so at their own risk.

Which brings us to last Saturday. I took a trip with fellow photographers Albert Yee and Andrea Gingerich to the ruins of the burning town. None of us died, and a good time was had by all. Enjoy the photos:

This is my favorite photo of myself. It was taken by Andrea Gingerich during a weekend trip up to Centralia, PA. I’ll post my own photos later on in the week, but none will be as good as this one. I love it:

Last night I waited 5 hours (3 spent on my feet, completely immobilized by a crowd of 35,000 people… I think the Bush Administration calls that a “stress position.”) to hear Obama’s stump speech and get this um… awesome 300mm shot, which I then cropped down from 12.8 to 0.6 megapixels. All in all, the 15 minutes he spoke was pretty cool. The people I waited in various lines with were all nice, but 5 hours? Damn.

The atmosphere was like a non-competitive sporting event. Next time, I gotta get a press pass.

Yes I’m really saying that I judge my own shots from the pre-”debate” rally at the same standard as the New York Times. Actually Times photographer Béatrice de Géa has a slightly nicer Canon camera and a much wider lens… but in my own defense, I was told by a cop to get back on the curb before I could get the wider shot myself.

Here’s mine:

And here’s hers:

And acting as judge and editor, I like just like my Obama shot better than theirs. Mine:

Times:

And since this is my site, here are a few more of mine:

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On Sunday night I went to and photographed a trifecta of performances at Tritone. The night included a set by the broken-jawed Justin Duerr, a trash bag fashion show put together by Jamie Campbell and her 10 beautiful models and a headlining set by Seizure 17.

It was a great night of performances that produced some excellent photos. Except for the fashion show, I shot without a flash. In a dimly lit room, with underexposed shots, it’s hard to capture much color information outside of red and black. For example, here’s a shot from this morning’s New York Times, taken by Damon Winter at last night’s infuriatingly pointless, soul-crushing talk-radio level “debate.”

Ed Rendell is a red faced man, but in that shot he looks like Satan. And Chelsea should really get that jaundice taken care of. There isn’t a white balance adjustment in the world that could find the right color information in that shot. The information just isn’t there.

My strategy for Justin’s set was to convert to a sepia kind of tone through color manipulation and desaturation. I also did some b&w conversions and some other creative tinkering. All in all, I really like these shots. Fashion show and more are coming soon:

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I recently browsed over to planphilly.com and read Thomas J. Walsh’s article on how to fix the Ben Franklin Parkway. In case you haven’t noticed, the road has never really lived up to its full potential. Like the waterfront or east Market street it just sort of sits there waiting for greatness. While Walsh’s article is full of nice, modest ideas, he doesn’t go nearly far enough.

If done right, the Parkway has the potential to transform the city. It borders everything from City Hall to Fairmount Park. It’s surrounded by busy and vibrant neighborhoods. It’s lined with world-class museums. And right now, it’s basically a highway. If I was an omnipotent city planner and I had a billion or so dollars to play around with, here’s how I’d fix it.

1. I don’t care who makes noise and how much noise they make. First and foremost, I’m closing the center of the Parkway to vehicular traffic from Logan Circle to Eakins Oval. People can drive on the Philadelphia-sized 2-lane streets that abut northern and southern borders of the new grand pedestrian mall.

In addition to closing the midsection of the road, I’m tearing up the asphalt and putting in a wide path lined with gardens and outdoor vendors. Artists, musicians, performers and food trucks will be encouraged to descend on the space. There will be benches, stages and public plazas. There can be bike lanes and bike rentals. People can rent a cruiser near the Franklin Institute, pedal the Parkway and Kelly Drive, go to a museum or 2, grab some food/drink and call it a day.

Why do this? There will never be street life on what’s now basically a 6-lane highway with 2, 2-lane roads on either side. Traffic absolutely has to be secondary to the Parkway’s purpose. Think of what it could be. Think of something like la Rambla in Barcelona… only bigger.

2. All in all though, I’m not completely deaf to the needs of commuters. And we also need a quick, fast and easy way for people to get to the Art Museum and this grand new space. That’s why I’d take the old rail bed that runs under Pennsylvania Ave. and turn it into a subway. The infrastructure for a new line is largely in place. Making the Art Museum easily accessible would benefit everyone. I discussed this (with pictures and diagrams) here.

3. Move the Youth Prison out and move in the Barnes. No offense to Youth Prisons or prisoners, but a looming kid-jail can be a real drain on the festivities.

4. Bury the parking lot at Eakins Oval and turn it into a park / plaza.

5. Keep some of the green space that lines the Parkway, but also encourage residential and commercial development.

6. Drop a MOVE style bomb on the Philadelphian and let that beast burn to the ground.

Actually that last one isn’t really essential. But the rest is…

This city has the population and the ability to sustain a grand public boulevard. If the Parkway were designed according to these plans, the throngs of people that clog up Kelly Drive would bleed into it. The throngs of people that run up and down the art museum steps all day would bleed into it. The throngs of people that live and work in Fairmount and center city would bleed into it. And aside from all this, people that don’t go to any of these places would be drawn to the beautiful new space. The Benjamin Franklin Parkway is empty by design. It’s time for a radical redesign.

Years ago I used to go for late night walks around center city Philadelphia. Sometimes my walks would take me to the whole historic area. It being the United States, I always took some pride in the chance to stoop sit at the front door of Independence Hall.

I’d sit in quiet contemplation and look out over three centuries of growth. If it was late enough, I’d be the only person in sight. I felt lucky to have the opportunity. Being a pessimist, I figured that 1 good terrorist attack would lock the Mall down and put an end to my stoop sitting. Even then, it felt a little strange that I was allowed to be there. At the same time, I was confident in my right to be there.

Unfortunately I was right about the whole terrorist thing. Now you can’t get anywhere near the stoop without being screened for weapons and bombs first. Once in the hall, there’s not much room for sitting around. Tours are strictly timed and monitored by armed guards.

Which brings me to last Saturday’s daytime walk through center city. I ended up down on the Mall for the first time in a long time. There I saw the new “People’s Plaza;” a small area of stone tile about 50 yards from anything, that’s been put aside for the use of first amendment lovers. Here’s a picture of me standing on the edge of the new free speech zone:

All in all, the zone wasn’t too inspiring. Now if I were more of an organizer type, I’d encourage everyone out there to go to the official Free Speech Area and do something interesting. Stage a performance. Shout at tourists. Protest the Free Speech Zone. Use it as home base for a game of tag, or strip naked, cover yourself in pigs blood and defecate on a burning flag. After all, it’s your space, people.

On Saturday I was out on Market Street when I noticed a crowd of about 70 people at the corner of 11th. I could hear a street drummer and a horn player, but I couldn’t tell what else was going on. As I walked up, I saw that it was a team of performers.

For a street show, the production was tight. There was music, breakdancing and circus sideshow style stunts. The guy leading the whole thing had a huge crowd presence and kept everyone thoroughly entertained between acts.

The grand finale involved a spectacular jump/flip over a bunch of randomly selected audience members. (There were 7 at one point, but I think he sent a couple back.)

I had my camera, but failed to get a decent shot of the pre-finale jump. (over the heads of 2 small children) I hit the shutter a split second too soon and got a shot of the performer’s airborne back.

As they were gearing up for the finale, one of the performers saw me and my big camera and assumed I worked somewhere important. He designated me the official photographer and made sure I had an unobstructed space to shoot from.

This was all well and good, but suddenly I had to get the shot. There would be 1 chance. I increased the ISO (800) and chose a fairly wide aperture (3.5) to ensure a fast shutter speed (1/1000th of a second). I shut off autofocus and picked a mid-jump point to set the camera to. He ran, he jumped, I waited a split second and hit the shutter.

Ever get pissed at the obscene amount of money Canon charges for their remote shutter triggers? Why not make your own for $5, or less. At this point, most of us have the raw materials for this project gathering dust in a drawer somewhere.

I’m not sure if this will work on more advanced DSLR’s, but this is a pretty neat trick that will work on most Canon models.

Thanks to Lifehacker.