Respect Authority

I realize in retrospect that, left to my own devices on RA today, I wrote one post about babies and the other …about…babies. Must be that biological clock. So in an effort to right my wrongs, I did a Google Image search for “macho photo” in an attempt to find the manliest thing possible to counteract all of my feminine ramblings over the past 10 hours. This is the first image that came up. Happy New Year.

Some people create Flickr accounts… but me? I just clutter up this website, instead.

Having windows placed strategically throughout my apartment in order to allow me to spy on two separate alleyways sounds like a nice perk in the Craigslist ad, but in reality, provides me little entertainment aside from counting the number of bums who rifle through the dumpsters every day. For the record, 6 to 10. What can I say? Allowing pets may be a clincher for some, but personally, I’m not paying any application fee until I see the magical words, voyeurism is OK — *creep creep* Read More ›

The magic camera fairy dropped off an early Christmas present for me last week. Which marks the third time I have filled Canon’s coffers for the exact same camera. It’s not that I don’t take care of my toys, it’s perhaps that I do take care of them… in the cackling, maniacal arch nemesis shouting “I’ll take care of you this time, Batman!” kind of way. Come on, like G.I. Joes would be even half as fun if you didn’t eventually set them on fire, anyway. Indeed, what’s the point of having toys at all if you can’t pretend to be Godzilla and smash them all in the driveway?

Unfortunately, that’s a serious existential question to which I have no answer. I’m not a Toys ‘R’ Us after all, and despite years of chanting that I was, in fact, a “Toys ‘R’ Us Kid,” I somehow managed to grow up anyway. So now I just play with big boy toys instead. Yep, all I need these days is a crumpled soda can with some holes poked through it and a 7/11 within walking distance. Cobra Commander may be long gone, but you know I still be blazin’.

Also, I’m thinking about using that last line in my debut rap single. Probably auto-tune the fuck out of that shit, throw in a sample from some 70s funk song, maybe get Rihanna to do a guest vocal. See you from the top of the charts, bitches. Read More ›

Why are newspapers and magazines having such trouble visually depicting the new economic crisis? Is it because there are no bread lines? No “Free Soup” signs? A lack of fedoras? Every newspaper in the country has run a front page story about the crashing American economy and the accompanying photograph is always a huge failure. If I see one more lonely ATM machine, one more “going out of business sale” sign, or (god forbid) another beleaguered looking stockbroker, I may lose it. Granted, I have no idea what I would do if a photo editor told me to go out and shoot the completely non-visual market crash, but really guys? This is the best you can come up with?

After a few weeks of this, I was needless to say pleased when the Magnum photo agency announced they would be documenting “The New Depression” as it was being called. Magnum is the true old boys club of documentary photography so if anyone could do it, it would be someone working for them. The first assignment went to internationally acclaimed photographer Paolo Pellegrin, one of my all time favorites (his book, Telex Iran, is one of the greatest accounts of civil uprising ever published), and this is what he came up with. Empty cobblestone roads around Wall Street, large financial buildings split by shadows, and motherfucking pictures of sad traders on market floors.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for the next migrant mother, but variety is, after all, the spice of life, and frankly, I’m not seeing a whole lot of it.

There aren’t too many drive-in movie theaters anymore, and many of those that still exist have begun offering a different form of entertainment to those who don’t mind a few ghosts. Legend maintains that whenever there is a full moon, the slurping sound of dozens of teenagers sucking face in the backs of long-gone Chevy Novas can be heard echoing across the barren field all night. My battery ran out before I could find out, but the smell of the impressive urine collection festering in the bum toilet in the former concession stand was enough to scare me away as it was.

I took these photos while visiting my devastatingly boring home town in Connecticut a while ago. Whenever I’m in Connecticut, I’d rather climb around in something abandoned than visit any of the currently operating businesses. You know how it is — been to one Chili’s, been to them all… and you’ve also been to Ruby Tuesday’s, TGI Friday’s, and Applebees, all at the same time. Besides, why bother with yet another serving of mediocre chicken strips (I’m being facetious here, of course, all chicken strips are inherently fucking incredible) when you can try a hearty dose of well-aged paint chips? It was the best case of lead poisoning a dreary November afternoon could buy. Read More ›