1. Going Home

    Sixteen years ago my brother and I crammed into the backseat of the family Ford Explorer, squishing ourselves between duffle bags and boxes, a green and yellow parakeet in a too small cage, a shopping bag of grapes and crackers to eat on the eight-hour drive, and a five-foot long stuffed tiger. The car left the curb and we started down the street away from our house at 15243 Earlham Road (an address I remembered by counting back and forth on the fingers of my hand: thumb to pinky, index to ring … as a kid I didn’t know how often I was inadvertently fipping people the bird) and began the drive up to Sonoma County, and I murmured just a little too loudly, to no one in particular, “Well, that was a nice vacation.”

    Last night, as I turned the key on the dowstairs door to my sublet in Astoria for the first time, I thought to myself, “So this is home now.”

    Now I’m waiting for a flight to take me back to Berkeley, where I’ll spend two weeks wasting time and packing boxes. I’ll give away books and see old friends for lunch and patch holes in the walls of my well-lit studio on Spruce Street. I’ll fill a duffel bag with whatever clothes and camera gear I haven’t already left in Astoria.

    In two weeks my 24 year vacation will come to an end.

    In two weeks I’ll go home to Astoria.

     


  2. I went out last night trying to fuck up my life and it worked.
    — Sam Wexler (Josh Radnor), Happythankyoumoreplease
     


  3. It’s no secret that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about photography, nor that I tend to make declarations based on a moment of possible intuition instead of steady, well-paced deliberation.

    So here’s a contemplation: For art photography, the purpose is the object. For editorial photography, the purpose is the content.

    Just a thought. I have a million more if that one doesn’t work.

     


  4. FFUUUUUCCCCKKK.”
    “Fuck.”
    “Fuck.”
    “Fuckity fuck.”
    “Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuckity fuck.”
    “FUCK.”
    “Fuck.”
    “… Okay.”
    “I think I’m good now.
    — My side of a text conversation.
     


  5. Today in the world …

    Based on the past nine hours of editing through news photos for the wire, I believe I have some right to say I’m kind of aware of world events. At least a little bit. A perspective.

    And that perspective is:

    … And the UK and US were overrun by drunken twenty-somethings dressed up as Santa Claus.

    Yep.

     


  6. An Observation of December 7 at Justin Herman Plaza

    As a mere hundred protesters marched down the street from 101 Market towards Justin Herman Plaza, there was a distinct lack of the optimism which has thus far permeated the Occupy protests. The chants and rants of indignation weren’t filled with self-satisfied righteous fury, but with a mechanical need to inject spirit into a worn down congregation. Angry youths and tired-looking activists approached the thin police line surrounding the park, knocking down the few temporary signs declaring the former encampment location off-limits as the officers beat a quiet and anticipated retreat. Nothing was meant to stand for long. The signs and barricade were a tacitly acknowledged starting line.

    The plaza was the stage and the actors had been playing these parts for a little too long. The activists knew their roles, the cops knew theirs, and the audience had already read the reviews. Then came the point to go off-book, and each side seemed less certain. The protesters declared the park reclaimed. The cops reassembled. Some time passed with fluctuating levels of activity, the emotion growing as the first act comes to a close.

    While a large group of Occupy SF protesters and supporters began a general assembly to discuss the next steps in rebuilding their camp and community, others on the outskirts - onlookers, supporters, commuters, tourists - wandered in apprehension. Everyone knew the police return was inevitable, and any long-term planning at this point was either undue optimism or merely for show. And inevitably the cops returned.

    Wednesday morning I saw a few scattered reports that Occupy SF had been raided just a few hours prior. While I don’t doubt that the atmosphere on the ground was tense and incendiary, the coverage conveyed a greater societal feeling. Fatigue? Inevitability? Zuccotti was shut down. Occupy Oakland was shut down. Occupy Cal was shut down. The Occupy Movement in the Bay Area stalled. Major camps around the country are dismantled, and Occupy SF seemed in a similar position of merely sheltering itself from the inexorable backlash of a commercial center which has grown tired of the smell of patchouli.

    And the strangest thing happened. After several hours of two hundreds or so protesters facing off with a single police department, with obligatory screaming, hostility, detainments, civil disobedience, clowns and intoxicated antagonizers, it all just tapered out. The police left, freeing those who had been detained. Protesters briefly celebrated, and - with the exception of a few cracked and calloused hands reconstructing a tent or three - most people left. Eventually so did the tents, as well.

    I don’t intend to undermine a movement, nor do I intend to expressly support it. These are my observations, invariably colored by my own background. Maybe the inert cynicism comes solely from me; certainly, many of the protesters seem dead set that this same method of extended encampment will lead to a solution or resolution. But I suspect the cynicism has also crept through much of the populace that once quietly supported the Occupy Movement from the sidelines. Even some of the protesters seem worn down by overt flashes the status quo creeping rooting into this counter-culture movement.

    The raid and reoccupation and abandonment of Occupy SF seems to me an important milestone of the Occupy Movement. Not because it held off the police or because it didn’t hold off the police. No one won. It’s because no one won. The movement is changing because no one won.

     


  7. Raccoons

    There was a raccoon in the recycling this morning when I came back from a walk.

    Different from how raccoons used to be. This one was cleaner. His shoes looked newer. I couldn’t see his face as he was buried waist-deep in the glass and plastic bin, trying to wrap his fingers around every last treasure he could.

    Braver, too. I suppose an adaptation to most people not caring about what gets into their garbage. I walked by and he didn’t even notice: just kept clanking from bottle to soup can.

    It made a good photo so I stepped into my apartment to grab my camera, hoping he wouldn’t notice when I came back out. I knew he’s be gone by then, but I couldn’t pass up the chance. I stepped outside and I could hear him down the street, clanking through another bin.

    Then I saw him again, loading his bags into the back of a small Kia SUV. It was nice and clean; silver and the hubcaps still shined. The engine started quietly and he left.

    The raccoons are changing. They used to be bigger, scrappier. You could tell they lived out in nature and they would fight for the spoils of their plunder. They made a helluva racket when they fought.

    They’re different now. This one could have been my neighbor.

     


  8. As I click through pretty pictures and such (as I am wont to do on bloggish-type-sites full of connections to people that I don’t know), dot-to-dot-to-dot, on the erratic temporal line of Tumblr, it become increasingly clear: I have no fucking idea how to use Tumblr.

     

  9. We wait and wait and wait and wait and see and wait and wait.

    We see what’s there and then we see what’s there. And then we wait and it changes and we see it before we see it.

    And we wait and wait and wait.

     


  10. Also from Reuters: “Complete Egypt’s Revolution” by David Rohde.

    From what little I remember of what little political theory I actually learned in school, one of the main issues with a regime change (literally referring to a change of the entire political system) is that, while the inclusion of the military creates a naturally structured group at the head of the system post-overthrow, the military leadership generally lacks motivation to cede power. Without a clear civilian leadership that can effectively rally the entire population, the military is unlikely to give up their increased influence.

    Interestingly, Egypt would actually be expected to be an easier case for this transition. Looking to examples such as South Korea, the country faces some amount of perceived external threat (Israel), which should allow the military to maintain prominence and importance without needing to hold the reins of civilian politics. But … well, that’s not happening. And I’m not sure I’d want to espouse the benefits of Egypt and Israel being at odds on a military buildup.

    (Poorly articulated memories of things I barely studied.)