photos

pictures from way back yesterday

It’s my desperate belief understanding that you all enjoy my photographs. Because who doesn’t like a rectangle simply stuffed with pixels? I tell you, my rectangles got so many pixels, they’re almost bulging out at the sides. My pictures are the fat man of… pictures.

No copying my metaphors, you hear? Also, hands off my synecdoches. Or should I say fingertips? Which reminds me:

 

The next time some methed-out radio DJ hectors you to phone up the station and recite “the phrase the pays,” call in and sing that song. The DJ will be all like “Argh you again” but he won’t hang up, because “[A]ny action that directly or indirectly effects a cessation of any performance of Fingertips is considered high treason and is punishable by fines of $5 and/or death.” The law is only applicable to residents of the Republic of Cool Ranch Doritos. But that’s where you live.

Hmm, pictures.

I did some more freelensing over coffee at Tangerine Food Bar, which produced some good results with the autumn-themed centerpieces. 

no one needs wicker this badly

Where do you get weird centrepieces like this?

Freelensing, as you may recall from yesterdays’ blog entry, is the practice of removing the lens from the camera and shooting with the lens held just off the mount. The result is shallow depth of field, a dramatically reduced focal distance (from one foot to a couple of inches) and lots of weird blur and light leaks. For example, the eye of Schmutzie

'Eye yai.' Get it? Yeah, you get it.

Later that evening the spirit of creative photography seized ahold of me like a Wendigo and gnawed at my soul. So I stuck a blender jar on the end of my lens and went around taking photos of things until something interesting happened. 

dining room light

nine points

And that’s yesterday. No daring street photography, no stray image that told a story. But not every day has to produce something like that. Some days you’re lucky to squeeze in one beautiful thing.

photos for monday

No one smiles for my camera. So I've decided to work with it. Enjoy!

Deb is Engaged

deb

Lacey is Alone

lacey

Aaron is Mulling

aaron

Curtis is Not Really Inside The Glass

curtis

Curtis and Gina Are at a Brief Impasse

curtis and gina

Jules Is Not Sure

jules

Water and Ice

waterglass01

Additional Water and Ice

waterglass02

friendly weekend

I will not be insulting the elements this weekend. Here is my stapler.

dead weeds in spring

Wait, there has been an error. Hold on.

I said it's my stapler

The stapler was a gift from Schmutzie. The rest of the office envies me my stapler.

No one envies the dead dry weed on the street. It is pitied by all.

important update: halloween was last night

Every year I find myself in the same situation, which is to say, the one in which I've thought of a bunch of great costume ideas in July, neglected to write any of them down, and found myself completely uncostumed at the end of October. Despite the build-up of candy in the stores, the online articles about scary movies, the steady creep of black-and-orange horror show paraphernalia, Halloween surprises me with its suddenness every year. It's as if I fall asleep on October 30th and wake in the midst of a queasy alternate universe where everyone is obliged to dress in archetypes. It's like the subconscious has risen and devoured consciousness, and for some reason my brain has been tasted and left on the plate with the napkins.

We don't do any preparations for Halloween at our apartment, which may have something to do with it. Schmutzie and I are not seasonal decorators (thus the fact that we have never had a Christmas tree, making do instead with an iron sculpture wrapped in fake foliage, LED lights and topped with a cowboy hat), and no children come to our door for candy, so we never buy any.

But it's great fun to go out for a drink after work and witness the ingenuity and/or desperation on display. By far the most common costume of choice was pirate. I found it interesting that both men and women dressed in pirate gear, which makes Kiera Knightley an unlikely pathbreaker. Even among the unpirated a kind of eighteenth century aesthetic prevailed, with piled-up wigs, frilly shirts and billowy dresses everywhere. A couple of my friends had taken aim at 1930s and 40s era sex symbols, with great success. A couple of Hunter S. Thompsons roamed the crowd, one with a Dr. Gonzo attendant. My friend Steve showed up as J. Michael Hall's Dexter, with the green river driver shirt, latex gloves and expensive looking blood splatter on his face. A Silent Bob and Jay kept walking in and out of the bar, astonishingly recognizable. There were no Sarah Palins or any other politicians, which shows how immune we Canadians can be to the political agonies across the border.

Most of the women fit into the 'slutty n' category of dress-up (slutty pirate, slutty construction worker, slutty vampire, slutty fairy, slutty devil, slutty accountant, slutty comptroller, you name it), but what amazed me were the astonishing number of wings on women's backs. Fairy wings, bee wings, angel and devil wings, miscellaneous wings: everything except deep-fried chicken wings, I would guess. Wings were the psychoplasmatic feminine expression of the night. Aside from that it was all tits and teeth and cheap greasepaint.

I had no costume, but at some point I drank enough to put on a Viking helmet.

My friend Shanan took a picture of us together, but I had clearly hit the point of no return, and most of my energy was spent trying to hold my face together. Fortunately Shanan (the poreless face on the left) had enough smile for both of us. She also had the presence of mind to actually look at the camera.

And here's one more, also taken by Shanan, also of me, because, even though I had the least elaborate costume there (somebody else's hat), I think I look surprisingly good with Viking horns. I call this photo "Towards the Viking future".

cthulhu waits no more

Hey check this out. Last week we bought a bag of onions from the grocery store. It turns out that at least one of those onions is the Elder God Cthulhu, who has woken from His eldritch sleep of death and journeyed from the underwater stone city R'lyeh. I guess the stars must be right for His awakening.

onion02

You can use His tentacles in sauces and stir fries, or simply chop finely into your salad as a garnish!

onion03

D'you know, I think He's reaching to turn off the kitchen light. His Will is to Become One with The Darkness.

onion04

onion01

I think He noticed me when I took His unholy image here.

I'm a printin' photos

I printed a small selection of my photos. These ones ended up looking, to my crazed eye, absolutely smashing. I'm thinking they'd make nice prizes. If only I had a contest. Do I have an outstanding contest going?

You've seen these photos before. But you like them.

The Kindness of Oxycontin

night time leaves

Pint of Keiths

glass of beer 01


End of Days

end times 03

Fingah Meats

through a glass beerly 02

Snarf

laughter

Victory in Feldkirch

victory

You're Too Close To My Apple

cursed apple 2

High Heels

girl kneeling 2

UPDATE: Nate of Okay City is the first winner! That didn't take long at all. He has named the contest "Dibs". For his sins he receives a print of "End of Days".

a lesson from my cat

You think that Onion, my cat, is harmless. Here in this photo he is beguiling you.

Beguiler x-3000

Pow! Onion has delivered a powerful right jab. You have been schooled by my cat.

Shazbat!

Now you'll think twice before letting the cat beguile you.

beware

i has a camra?

Yahoo! I got me a swanky, nearly pill-sized* little digital camera. They call it a Lumix FZ-8. I call it Daniel the Camera. Why Daniel? Because many years ago, when I was an orphaned boy wandering around the ruins of Eastern Europe, a man named Daniel locked me in a shed and forgot about me. I nearly starved to death. Daniel looked a lot like my camera. Here is the only surviving photo of that half-human, half-animal jailer who nearly destroyed me.

And here are a few images I took of stuff 'round the house.


Here are two otherwise civilized cats exploding into arcs and blobs.


And then some more.


These are wind chimes that Schmutzie's parents brought us from the Dominican a few years back.

It behooves you not to forget the Crab House Crunch.

Anyway, every time I look at my camera, I think of Daniel, and my heart grows a little colder. It's good to have a camera.

*Obviously I'm talking about a sizable pill.

pink sweater


I took this last fall with Schmutzie's camera. I generally don't like taking self-portraits, mostly because I'm always surprised at my own face. But I like the look of this one.

fine dudes


In a daring move, 1970 has sent four of its finest dudes to the twenty-first century (Two of them are twins. Or clones. Dunno which.). No one knows why these hunkonauts have landed here on the far shore of 2006. Maybe the sexy scientists of the past predicted that nuclear warfare would render males infertile or impotent, and these fine dudes are meant to repopulate the scorched wasteland of Earth. Or maybe these are weapons of the homosexual agenda, sent by elite radicals to conquer straightdom in the future. Or maybe these guys are swingers whose mesh shirts and dashikis proved so sexually powerful that they tore the very fabric of space-time.

And these fine dudes may not be the only emissaries of manliness. Perhaps the future holds dudes even finer, with furious sideburns and shirts so sheer that their very nipples shimmer.

friday on the deck

Last Friday the deck at O'Hanlon's opened. This marks the start of the warm season in this city. Armed with Schmutzie's digital camera, I started taking pictures of people at the long end of the zoom.

This guy caught me just as I was taking the picture. Clearly he was pleased.

Note the strange spindle of a goatee. It's like a little fur-lined piano stool holding up his lip.


His friend didn't care about being photographed. Instead of a goatee he's sporting a bottle of Kokanee.

That must be heavy.


Youngblood (on the left) and Nick (on the right) were sitting with us. At his best moments, Nick looks a bit like Superman.


This is not one of Nick's best moments.


In Youngblood's best moments, he gets a soulful early Peter Fonda look going on.


Actually, I think Youngblood would make a great California folk-rocker circa '71.


Abigail and Dashing Rod joined us for a while. Rod reacted correctly to the news that I'd left my job by buying me a beer. Remember: screwing up your face and saying "Whaddidjadoothatfor?" is the incorrect response. Buying me a beer is always correct, or at least on the correct track.



Last but not least, I caught a couple of photos of C., the world's most dedicated Sonic Youth fan.



And that's all. After I took these photos I stepped out into the street and got hit by a dog on a skateboard. Or maybe that was an episode of Scooby-Doo? Best bet, that was an episode of Scooby-Doo that I made up when I was a kid. Or an adult. Or just now.