beam

Temperatures in Atlanta have been hovering in the 60's. No frost, no chill, just warm weather throughout the holidays. Unfortunately, the sky won't collaborate and has given us plenty of rain and clouds to accompany those comfortable highs.

I was heading east during one of said recent days and the sky broke just at sunset to let a kiss of warmth touch the top of City Hall East. Too bad it looked much better in color.

ponce bbq

diner

After much window gazing, I finally ducked into the Majestic to see the changes firsthand. The diner has been undergoing renovations, which have become controversial due to the historic look of the longtime Ponce landmark. The owner was smart enough to respond to the accusations that he was corrupting the original decor.

Personally, I think it looks fine. It's still a diner and the only place I'll take Yankees at 2am.

bmx tourists

Met some kids from McDonough while photographing another story. The official word was they just wanted to come to the city to ride, so they asked a 32-year-old friend to drive them. The riders decided to turn the concrete wall adjacent to the Texaco into a quarter pipe. It was fun to watch, moreso because no one got hurt.

Also met some great people over the weekend. Hopefully those contacts will develop into good relationships. Still working on the next slideshow. And yes, the photos are getting bigger.

post-op

specific

take my picture

shoes

Where to begin? Georgia has lost 61,000 jobs in the past year, second only to Michigan. The city is dealing with a massive budget shortage and Mayor Franklin is annoucing the layoffs of over 200 city positions, mostly in public works and recreation. She also said 23 recreation centers would be closing and has cited a second firehouse decommission in the past seven months.

"We are cutting into what we believe is the bone," she said.

Atlanta Peach, a lifestyle/luxury magazine let go its staff and shuttered its doors. Alternative weekly Creative Loafing declared bankruptcy, fired its editor, and is getting baited by rival Sunday Paper over its situation. Cox, the private media company that owns the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, closed its DC bureau.

Peachtree & Pine, the street name for downtown shelter Task Force for the Homeless, had its water shutoff due to non-payment of utilities. The water has been temporarily restored, but $6,000 is due by tomorrow as well as a plan to payoff the $160,000 debt. There seems to be speculation that this is Atlanta's push to finally rid the coveted Midtown/Downtown area of it's homeless. The shelter beds about 700 men.

Local heavyweights Home Depot, Coca-Cola, Delta, and Turner Broadcasting seem quiet, but no major layoffs that I've heard of. I feel like Wal-Mart and Colt 45 are the only companies who will be smiling through this period.

Seems like a trek through Dante's Inferno, especially with holidays and heating bills on the horizon. I hope anyone who leaves decent shoes behind has good reason. Now is not the time for irrational decisions.

reflect

closed for repairs

Rumor mill had it that The Majestic was closed for temporary upgrades. I had to inspect and the diagnosis is verdad. The neon is still blazing, but all you'll find inside are a bunch of contractors. No word on a reopen date.

copilot

I enjoy dashboard mascots. With this set up, you have a whole army to choose from.

exercise

beltline pickup

the horror

Krispy Kreme is a guilty pleasure. God knows if I had a little less restraint I'd eat there three times a day and still find a way to justify it as a balanced meal. Sugar is a food group, right?

They have holiday flavors out and I select a pumpkin spice while waiting for a person at the diner stools. It's a quiet and cold morning. Even though the sun is out, you can see your breath. Not to be deterred, I'm wearing shorts while others are bundled up in three layers. Somehow the midwest insulation isn't out of me yet.

Then I hear it. It's unmistakeable, though I realize it's not the familiar voice of those 1940's crooners. Christmas music. Just over a week into November and the stores have already steadied themselves for the two-month onslaught of holiday madness. Suddenly my donut tastes like fruitcake and I'm picturing tinsel on every object standing more than two feet off the ground.

The thought of Christmas reminds me that I'm now more than two years into my project. Two years and I'm still only happy with a handful of images. Luckily, I still have all the opportunity in the world. No editors breathing down my neck, no ADs asking me about images sizes. Of course, no money or free time either.

Audio projects were on hold briefly as my recorder suffered an unfortunate mishap at sea. After administering CPR, I managed to save it, though it is even less reliable than before. Had it completely died, then I probably would have shelled out the cash for a decent digital recorder. Of course, our wonderful economy is keeping me using duct tape to squeeze extra mileage out of my gear.

An editor at a certain, well-known newspaper promised to kick me extra money if I would upgrade to a nicer recorder. When the check came the bonus was gone and emails to them went unanswered. I'm no longer accepting assignments from them, even though it's easy, reliable money. I cannot work with anyone I don't trust.

I'm trying to complete my first slideshow in a long time. With any luck it'll be up and I can prepare for Saturday. In response to the gay marriage ban in California, there will be a protest at City Hall East. I don't know how many will show but passionate activists make for good pictures.

election day

wickerman

uncreative title

As much as I find the annual Zombie Walk entertaining, I'm more intrigued by costumed people doing everyday things, like getting a craving for Doritos.

takeout

bet awards

The BET Hip Hop Awards were held for a third year in Atlanta, this time at the Civic Center. As much as I thought about going through the ringer trying to get a red carpet pass, I've found there are better photos to be made as a street rat.

I was wrong on that account as the security had barricaded the roads one block in every direction. There was no chance to even get remotely close to the action. I parked just off Ponce and walked the three blocks south toward downtown. At the fringes of the fence were the the wanna-be groupies and bored music fans hoping to get a glimpse of Atlanta's revered musicians.

I trotted about the perimeter and found nothing good. Guys tried to pass out their mixtapes and some girls were persuading the bouncers for a free pass. I wandered for about an hour as the crowd thinned, realizing no celebs were going to arrive at the barricades. There was a crowd but nothing really interesting.

Walking back to my car, I saw a wedding reception at St. Pauls and some women were out smoking in their dresses. One was lifting up her skirt and loudly complaining about it and for a second, I thought about reaching for my camera. The women then noticed me and gave me odd scowls and I thought better than to take a picture. It was a shame, because the image would of been ten times better than anything at the BET gates, but hell hath no fury like drunken, disgruntled bridesmaids.

perry part 2

The homeless situation escalated in the past few months. The city has tried to crackdown on panhandling, citing negative reviews from tourists, specifically downtown. In early August, APD officers dressed like tourists and made more than 40 arrests over the course of three weekends. The targets were aggressive panhandlers, described as beggars who did not take an initial no for an answer or followed people as they panhandled.

Under Atlanta law, panhandling is legal as long as it is done with one request and out of the "Tourist Triangle". In 2005, it became illegal to beg for money in the area between Marietta Street to Piedmont and MLK Dr to Ralph McGill.

On September 2, a Wanique Odwin shot and killed a Detroit man after they got into an argument. Odwin had asked the man, Kashman Avery, for money and Avery took offense to the request. He shot him in the side and fled before being apprehended. Avery was taken to Grady where he later died from his injuries.

The message to the city was that any panhandler might just shoot you if you refuse. It didn't help that it took place in Midtown, one of the city's more afflulent, if not transitioning, neighborhoods.

The answers are difficult. The leaders are concerned that homelessness and panhandling give the city a black eye. The complaints from tourists, especially those the APD claimed who were so put off by the problem they would never return to Atlanta, raised enough eyebrows to get a reaction from City Hall.

Besides the arrests, the city has implemented five donation stations around downtown. It allows people to drop money in the machine which is later distributed to local shelters. In short, it gives people who want to give a place to do so and everyone else a safe excuse.

As of yet, no stations have been installed in the Midtown or Highlands area. The city is asking businesses to pay to have them installed at their entrances.

perry part1

Perry is like most homeless people I meet.

He came up to me spouting words as quickly as possible. From living here, I estimate that there are two types of people he will cross: sympathetic and disinterested. It's important to him to pitch himself as quickly as possible. The latter type will say no or simply ignore him. If you stop to listen or acknowledge him, he will try to bend your ear.

Perry shouts at me from across the street and my eyes meet his. He realizes I am listening to him and he runs across the six lanes through traffic to greet me.

I listen to everyone on Ponce. I have the time and I enjoying talking to people. Most of them know me and do not try to hit me up or treat me like some white tourist who gives out of guilt. Every so often I meet someone new and they give me a story. Sometimes it's a broken car or injured family member. Sometimes it's bus fare. Sometimes it's just a meal.

Unfortunately, I no longer trust anyone on the street. Even the ones I've known for years have been addicted far longer than they've known me. I don't know if they will honestly buy a MARTA pass or if they'll buy a rock from the corner of Boulevard. I'm not helping anyone if my quarter goes towards a hit or a swig.

Perry starts talking twenty feet before he reaches me. I make out that he is newly released from jail. He shows me bottles of shampoo and lotion he has in a torn backpack. He offers to sell me these at a much lower cost that Walgreens sells them. I decline. He counters by throwing in some AA batteries.

I cannot buy anything from anyone. Most likely it is stolen or simply written-off overstock from a dumpster. Even if I wanted to, I never carry cash on Ponce. My wallet is at home. When people ask me to give or buy a meal, I am not lying when I tell them I have no money, just a camera.

After a couple minutes or so of haggling, Perry realizes I'm not going to buy any of his goods. He asks me for a cigarette and I oblige. Then he begins to tell me his story.

I starting carrying cigarettes because they are dirt cheap. If I give somebody a cigarette, they will talk to me for as long as they like. I have been cordial and given them something that puts them at ease. I occasionally buy meals for some people, but that's rare. If I did that for everyone I talked to on Ponce, I'd have gone broke years ago.

Perry tells me about how he spent time in jail for robbery. He tells me his city of origin and how he came to be on Ponce. He tells me about his family in College Park. He tells me about the horrible things he's seen since he arrived two days prior. I ask questions about his background and the answers get erratic. Some things sound all too familiar and others don't make sense. I'm not sure if Perry is high, but I realize this is the first second that I begin thinking about it.

I try to help people in need. Giving them a dollar or a burger is not the answer. I watch people on Ponce, mostly young white people, empty their wallets for the first sob story that walks up to them. I want to run over to those people and smack them. I want to scream in their face. "Do you feel better about yourself?" "Do you think a buck is going to save this person from poverty?"

I'm not a poster boy for virtue, but I realized long ago there had to be a better answer. When we talk I try to steer people towards the right places. I tell them about the shelters and the soups kitchens. I tell them about the work programs and the health clinics. I try to point them in the right direction. Sometimes people listen, but often, I get the sense they just want to find a person who will give in and ask no questions.

Perry slows down and I think he realizes that talking to me is wasting his time from making money. He thanks me for the cigarette and puts it out. I don't know if I'll ever see him again and I ask to take his picture. He seems proud that I consider him for this and raises his neck to show me a tattoo he got in prison. It reads "Real Nigga". He thanks me again and heads off towards Midtown, his head up high and the bottle of lotion firmly in hand.

search and rescue

shortages

This is a common site in Atlanta.

Gas stations have no gas. They designate empty status by removing the numbers from the signs and/or covering all pumps with plastic bags. When a fuel truck does arrive, there's a mad rush and lines form. Within a few hours, panic sets in and the station is back to being dry.

Weeks after the hurricanes struck the oil distribution in the gulf, we still have massive shortages. I tried to find a station to show the lines of desperate motorists, but the only one was miles away from Ponce.

I go to work and all anyone can talk about is finding a pump. They don't care about prices or wait times. They just need a little petro to get them through the next few days. Last week we were suppose to be over this and now most stations will restrict your total to $50 or less. Driving an eight-cyclinder SUV, that will buy you less than half a tank.

Our beloved Governor cites “self-induced" panic while still claiming there is ample supply with the city. The local gas magnate blames Sonny Do. The finger pointing continues while people shit themselves at the prospect of dying on the interstate. Frustrations are peaking. If it wasn't for the distraction of college football season, I'm positive Atlantans would be disemboweling each other in the streets.

My goal is no vehicle for the next three days. Run when I could walk, bike when I could drive. I keep my fingers crossed that some sanity will return next time I have to turn the ignition.

advertising

Too long since the last update. I think ahead and try to prepare but it doesn't help. By the time I have a moment to do personal work, my body aches in a thousand places. My joints are sore from lifting gear or doing chores or running and I don't have the strength to sit in front of a computer. I'm officially in corpse mode.

To make matters worse, my allergies have finally caught up with me. The south is smothered in blankets of pure pollenation. I escaped it for almost three years but through shear perseverance, they found me. The infiltratrion is nothing short of excrusiating. It chokes my airways like drowned bodies clog the Ganges.

Taking pictures during allergy season is like trying to write calligraphy with a jackhammer. You pray that for a split second, your eyes were clouded just enough to find that sweet spot where something is in focus. I set the camera to F11 when I have enough light.

The boys at the scooter shop up the street are hanging a new sign on the side of Paris on Ponce. Business at their bureau seems to be booming. The gas crisis is still crippling the city and most ITP gas stations are either out of gas or only have one type (super premium.) Cars are dying in the streets and if you're lucky enough to find a working pump, you'll fill up on credit because there's no way in hell you can afford $4.59 a gallon in cash.

The scooter owners don't care. I see nothing but smiles on their faces and even though I shouldn't, it makes me smile back. At least some people can find humor in America this week.

corners

After experimenting with a few films, I think I'm switching to Ilford Delta 100. I pushed the last roll one stop to 200 and I'm pretty content with the results. I tried to follow the recipe of correct pushing but I was using a developer that Ilford didn't condone for that practice. It still turned out better than my F4P. Now I just have to find out who will sell me a bulk roll at a good price.

Besides that, there's not much to say. It has been either overcast and breezy, or hot as hell down here. Today was the latter.

cookout

The Open Door held its annual Labor Day cookout last week. The yard was full as 500 were served burgers, beans, slaw and plenty of watermelon. The community holds these gatherings on most holidays, which are always well-attended.

I was on burger detail and occasionally helped out with serving duties. I worked alongside Athalia, who was more than capable of dishing out good insults when it seemed my hands weren't keeping up with the demand. I promised her I would think of some good comebacks next time we meet.

The morning provided many good stories and I saw a plethora of familiar faces. I also got to see Calvin, who is recovering from his foot injury. Hopefully he's feeling better this week.

warehouse fire

The warehouse across from the rear entrance of MurderKroger on North Ave. caught fire early this morning. I didn't hear the sirens and thus was late to scene. By the time I got there the blaze was out, the cops were redirecting traffic and the firefighters were cooling off and shooting the breeze with the local media.

The warehouse was abandoned and all preliminary stories I heard said no injuries. I walked up behind Ladder 15 as it was hosing the main roof collapse, trying to extinguish any hot spots. I love the fact there's a box of donuts just sitting between the two firefighters on ladder detail.

old fourth

These boys dropped by to look for work and get their picture taken. I asked them about their shirts and they said a guy up the street was selling them. He apparently also had some bootleg Obama tees but I never saw them. The Old Fourth Ward is one of several neighborhoods that spill into Ponce. Midtown, Virginia-Highlands, Poncey-Highlands, and Old Fourth comprise the bulk of the street until it reaches the city limits heading east towards Decatur.

Back in the day, Ponce was racially divided north and south. I still haven't gotten a good interview chronicaling this, but many of the streets on the south side and The Old Fourth Ward are under different names than they are on the north side heading towards Piedmont Park. Monroe becomes Boulevard. Charles Allen becomes Parkway. One man told me it was so white folks didn't have to admit they lived on the same street as black folks.

The Old Fourth has been targeted for growth in the past few years with good reason. It's practically next door to Midtown, has decent skyline views, and has a nice collection of historic homes. The fringes near I85 are a bevy for so-called loft spaces and the dilapadated houses near Dekalb Ave have been renovated and go for anywhere between 250-500 hundred thousand.

Near Ponce the neighborhood is still primarily black and suffers from crime, especially along Boulevard. However, developers have already scooped up the land and are offering condos in the 300 thousand range. They don't seem to have many takers, seeing as how one property is still undeveloped and it sits next to one of Boulevard's best crack houses. However, with the shift from suburban to city life intensifying, I envision those properties going under contract within the next year as Fulton County growth begins to swell.

keep cool

Heading west towards Midtown, trying to keep the sweat off his neck.

moving day

I photographed a young couple moving into the Ponce neighborhood after a few months outside the perimeter. For the record, most people under 35 consider the perimeter as the circle between life and banality. In the past few years, all I've heard is reprehension of the suburbs and the constant damning of their worth.

I asked the woman moving in how many times she had moved and she told me three times in the last year. They was distain in her voice when she talked about living in Sandy Springs. She seemed relived to be back near the hub of the city. Of course, she was very cautious when asking about the security of the neighborhood. When I told her our cars had been broken into five times this year, she seemed carefree until realizing that I wasn't kidding.

The end of whiteflight means more and more people (family-types) are being driven to live downtown. They want luxury and allure without the dreck of urban poverty. It's as if the luster of city life never came with the idea that sixty years after professionals fled for the cheap comforts of the sprawl, they return to the ailing heart they abandoned so long ago expecting the problem to have fixed itself.

newsie

The heat was getting to me, so I tried to stay off the streets during midday. Coincidentally, the best times for good light are early/late in the day. I tried to avoid running errands and hitting the pavement between business hours. Of course, that limits your time for other things too.

I hadn't tried the community garden in months, so I made new attempts to try and find people tending to the soil. I ran into the caretaker last year and after a few emails, he didn't give me much help. There was no set schedule for any of the gardeners and they did not hold meetings or have group events. His advice to me was basically to stop by on the weekends and keep my fingers crossed that someone would show up.

The garden was empty and untouched since my last few visits. I tried to spot new growth or vegetation, but it didn't look like much had changed. Even on Boulevard, the appearance of a man with a camera was a sight and passersby gave me odd glances. At one of the housing projects, a woman opened her door and stared at me until I left.

Down the way, a man named Eugene was hawking Sunday AJCs for a dollar. I bought a paper and asked if I could take his picture while he worked. He obliged and I spent some time quietly observing him as traffic picked up. The cars and trucks, muffled earlier by Sunday Services, began to increase as the sun rose higher. I watched them roll by and take brief notice of Eugene before heading off under the burning heat.

easy rider

Several phone calls. No one wants to talk. I go through periods of bipolar dispatches-times when you have to fight willing people off with stick and other times when people want you to pay them just to tell you their name.

I take a walk. The Wachovia down the street has closed. It's not fresh news, but it depresses me everytime I saunter by. A reminder that we are in a bad economy. Even bloodsucking banks can't make ends meet. At least there are no Starbucks on Ponce.

The assignment phone calls get less and less and suddenly you have to cut back. Less meat, less travel, less creature comforts. Film suddenly became my number one vice. Every photo lab in town raised their prices, again. I'm using digital here and there but it has no soul. I want scars in my pictures and a CMOS sensor does everything in its power to produce a pretty picture. I wish Nikon would offer discount cameras they dropped at birth. I'd be first in line.

Rain. Heat. High gas prices. Expensive food. Even the firefighters are getting laid off. Technically, as Americans, everything sounds bad. Until you're systemically hunted in the barren desert by government militias, you can't really say that we've hit rock bottom.

It's a bad time and no one has to like it. Personally, I still find optimism in the little things. It takes courage to have a sense of humor. When a man is out riding his motorcycle shirtless in skintight jeans, I figure things can't be all that shitty. A toast: to shirtless bikers.

roller girls

Atlanta Roller Derby from Too Busy To Hate on Vimeo.

familiar faces

Ponce was bustling last night and it reminded me how alive it can feel when the weather is nice. It's been awhile since I simply took an after hours stroll through the neighborhood but I think one is in order. It's not just the street people, but a variety of locals were out, lounging in front of MJQ or eating on the porches of the three patio amigos across from the library. It was reassuring to see that after sundown the crowds don't suddenly migrate to Midtown and turn this into a shell of the urban frontier.

The street has an assortment of characters, some of whom are just visiting and others who are mainstays. I know some of their names, so when we see one another, it's usually time for a quick chat.

After a long hiatus, I recently spotted Willy heading up the street at his usual pace. The recognition wasn't instant as he was wearing baggy shorts rather than his usual risque fair. I wanted to say hi, but we were headed in opposite directions. It's been a while since I saw Willy and I wondered if he'd given up his routine of hanging out on the corner, waving to folks. Willy's alternate name is Bike Shorts Man, and if you're unfamiliar with him, it will only take an online search to dig up his infamy.

Later I bumped into Stewart. He was surprised I remembered him. The last time we met he was buying booze for OTP high school students who were in town for prom. I asked him if he was clean and he avoided the question, which I took as a 'no'. He was very excited about his new celebrity status. A film crew had recently paid him five dollars to be an extra in a rap video and now the video was on BET. He then told me that his only other on camera spot was for "Crackheads Gone Wild". That crew had paid him three dollars to answer questions about being addicted to crack.

Stewart told me to take his picture. I did and he continued on about his spreading reputation. He told me he was going to move to San Diego and become a porn star. He told me to look up his video appearances on the internet. He told me he was going to be famous. After a smoke, Stewart said his farewell and waved goodbye. I had no doubt that he would turn to drugs if need be, but I saw that glimmer of hope in his eye while we talked and I secretly hoped that his aspirations would help him find stability. I wonder if I sometimes give people too much credit, but when I watch the desire in desperate men to become a better person, it's hard not to envision them in a brighter future.

rest

Taking a load off on the front stoop of The Eagle.

war on photography

Sometimes I miss office humor. If I had a skeleton model, I'd spend far too much time posing it in various, compromising positions.

I took this frame a few minutes before heading into Whole Foods with a friend. He was buying some fruit drink and as we wandered the open coolers, I raised my camera to snap an image of him making his selection. I managed one shot before an employee immediately stepped forward and told me to stop. He explained to me that they did not allow photography in their store and I would have to obtain permission from the store manager and receive a media credential if I wanted to push my shutter inside the store. I said nothing, mostly because I was waiting for him to tell me he was going to have to confiscate my camera, (he did not) and I really love telling people they are welcome to try and take it from me.

In the end, an image of my friend buying a soda is not a picture worth fighting for from a publicly traded company. I've had far worse problems with Wal-Mart and other shopping giants of that ilk to bother trying to tell some PR employee that their policy is ridiculous. I dropped my camera to my side and went on my way.

I've love my cheap rangefinder because it's almost never viewed as a threat. It's a small camera and unassuming enough to be able to grab an image without people thinking I'm on the payroll at X17. I would think no one is interested in some guy shooting slow, audio-less film in the digital age when at any given time, a store could have hundreds of customers, each packing cellular camera/video phones that are capable of transmitting the latest gossip within seconds to New York, So Cal, London, etc. While those kids are reaping the benefits of celebrity culture, broadband and direct deposit, I'm still toiling over my sink hoping that my grainy image of some local person doesn't get overexposed when I open the developing tank.

Stores have security rules for a reason, but I fail to see how preventing someone from taking a picture of something that any other customer can see with their eyes is prohibitive. In hindsight, I simply wonder what Whole Foods is trying to hide. Poorly maintained health standards? Organic price gouging? Incompetent stock boys?

An article written by Bruce Schneier in London's The Guardian asked about the increasing suspect of photographers worldwide. In short, the point he makes is that photography is far more scrutinized today as a possible security threat, though most terrorists, (the worst case scenario) are not users of photography in their research.

Even as more and more consumers drape expensive, digital SLRs around their necks, I still notice eyes wander when I head into a store packing my rangefinder. I never hesitate if I want to take a picture, but when I feel the presence of authority nearby, I generally prepare myself for a lecture when an employee steps forward to tell me I cannot press the shutter. I want to laugh it off, but it's not funny. I'm labeled sort of deviant when trying to photograph anything inside a store, even though their security team has been photographing me since I arrived in the parking lot.

rusty

The summer already feels like it's winding down, even though the sun still hovers over the city, baking the moisture out of every crack, every crevice. The few spurts of rain we get shadow the city quickly and I have to scramble in the wet darkness to get photos like this one. Most of the traditional festivals have come and gone and suddenly fall is right around the corner. I'd like to say there is plenty to see, but after missing the past week the only activity is from the noisy street crews as they operate on their asphalt patients and send charcoal clouds of cinerous dust into the air.

With the slow pace, I've spent time trying to catch up on interviews, archives, and general photo upkeep. My roll of bulk film finally ran out the other day. After the last piece rolled off the spool I realized I should have been keeping track of how many rolls can be had from 100 feet of celluloid. I've got a few left, so I'm going to shoot conservatively until I can get a new order in from New York. Bulk film comes in a box and you have to transfer it, in completed darkness, to a film loader. From there you crank out individual rolls of film, which look just like the kind at Walgreens, only cheaper. My last batch was Ilford FP4, which I loved, but sometimes was simply too slow for night shooting. One of my favorites is Kodak 320, which they do not make in bulk, and the famous Tri-X (Kodak 400) is too grainy for my tastes. I think I'm going to push a couple rolls of Ilford Delta 100 and see how they look. Otherwise it'll be more of the FP4.

where the boys are

Shortly after moving into the Ponce area, someone told me that Midtown was the unofficial gay capital of the South. I wasn't sure about that claim, but the more I walked around the more surprised I was at the honesty and well, pride of the gay community here. For all the connotations of blind conservatism, racism, and homophobia that the South seems known for, Atlanta's pretty accepting (unless of course you're homeless).

I covered Pride last year at one of the bars and got a great vision of the weekend revelry that spans from the park to downtown and all spaces in between. Due to a ill-timed family visit, I missed most of the parade Sunday, which itself was marred by a downpour. By the time I returned the rain had stopped but so had the parade. All that was left were those stragglers trying to catch a ride over to the Civic Center and the police redirecting traffic.

worsh

Back in town after a week long hiatus in the heartland. Missed far too many things, most notably the Peachtree Road Race that crossed Ponce this year due to the Piedmont Drought Relocation Program (notice to city, copyright purchase available on that acronym). Since the rainfall dysfunction that has crippled Atlanta,events that once regularly called Piedmont Park home have had to relocate to other, less attractive venues so the grass can recover its lush green color. As a result the Road Race ending was moved from the park to the Civic Center crossing Ponce and unfortunately, I just missed it.

Luckily, the AJC was kind enough to provide four months of over-the-top coverage of every piddling detail to the largest 10K in the country. With such exhausting, smiles-at-all-costs probing, one might think the newspaper was some sort of sponsor of the race.

As I try to catch up on things, I'll just throw up this image from the Cactus Car wash. Tomorrow is the annual Pride Festival Parade and from a quick glance down Piedmont & 10th, the parade should be bumping.

tagged

I didn't get a chance to eat at Louise's before it closed down. It happened so fast I didn't realize it until the locals began throwing up their tags across the roof. In any case, it seems to be under renovation. That leaves Ponce with two soul food restaurants, Mary Macs and Eats. Southern cooking is possibly the one thing I decided a while back never to take guests (a.k.a. Yankees) to on a first visit. It takes a little convincing and even then, some people just can't fathom the idea of eating homestyle meals in a restaurant. Personally I love the stuff, but lately i've been trying to keep my daily calorie intake to under 8,000, which keeps me away from the meat & threes.

sidedoor

This is just going to be a sample. The Atlanta Rollergirls have set up shop next door at the Yaarab Shrine since March and it took me three months to get a ticket to one of their roller derby matches. I finally got in (and permission) to photograph last week's bout which was the fourth straight sellout for the league. Due to the length of time between matches and the number of people I talked to, I don't think I'll be able to post this slideshow for another month. In any case, the athletes have been very approachable and great to talk to, even though they seem best known for knocking the snot out of one another on the track.

charles

I had the chance to meet Charles Knox at his home in Druid Hills. He was inviting and informative, giving me an ample background on his experience. Knox retired from teaching in 1995 after serving as a music professor at Georgia State and still composes when he has the chance. His latest piece, "In Ecclesiis" will be performed this Sunday by the choir at Druid Hills Presbyterian on Ponce. The title translates as "in congregation".

evidence

One of the hydrants near the halfway house was knocked off its moorings. It reminded me of two things. One is the utter disregard that drivers use while traveling on Ponce. The second was a curious scenario that happened earlier in the day.

I went for a jog down Charles Allen on my way to the park. On my way back I took the same route and a few blocks down from Ponce I began to hear a piercing whistle. There was a small road crew lumbering around the site and a backhoe standing inanimate near a medium-sized divot in the asphalt. The crew had blocked off the road but the sidewalks were open and I proceeded to try and slip past the construction.

When I got closer I began to inhale powerful fumes and suddenly realized the crew had hit a gas pipe. The whistle was methane blasting through some breach in the underground pipes. I was almost on top of the scene by the time I realized what was happening, but the crew gave me a primarily glance and then ignored me. They were strangely clam, stoic faced despite the toxic, flammable material filing the area and their lungs. I scooted past them and continued several yards past the leak before pausing to look back. Again the workers, mostly twenty-somethings who appeared as apathetic as high school stoners, were still milling about, as if it was no big deal.

I jogged on up the street. In the distance I could hear sirens blaring, their screeching horns gaining ground. I turned off Charles Allen as a slew of fire trucks and APD cars flew down towards the leak. I looked back over the treetops, waiting for an explosion or yelling, but nothing happened. By all accounts, the leak was fixed and no one was hurt. The relaxed look of the road crew still sticks in my mind. I wonder how often that happens in this town to make someone act so indifferent.

peters house

overexposure

My camera was originally designed to take mercury batteries. They have long since been outlawed due to their poisonous aspect and now I have to piece together a working power source from hearing aid batteries and aluminum foil. While not perfect, they usually give fairly accurate exposure meter readings. The question is, how do you know when it's time to change them?

Usually when you develop a roll and your frames are three stops overexposed.

warmth

The heat is turning from a welcome guest to scorching enemy and summer is officially in full swing. Adandoned building fires are becoming less common due to the warm temperatures. Their temporary tenants no longer have to resort to candles or open fires to stay warm.

The foreclosure market has left patches of Atlanta resembling a ghost town. We recently toured a street in Kirkwood where every house was either a foreclosure or marked for teardown. Two blocks over, houses were asking $300K. Even Midtown is affected and foreclosed properties and houses dot a landscape where the median income is nearly $50 thousand.

I walked by an affluent, unfinished apartment building just off Ponce. As I happened by, a ragged man walked up to the back door and pried the door open. It was broad daylight and he looked around before entering, noticing me. He studied me for a moment. I guessed he was evaluating if I was a threat or a narc. After a few second of eye contact he vanished into home and closed the door behind him.

majestic

I got busy with work and phone calls that I almost missed the fact a man was abducted Baghdad-style from the front of the Majestic. Parts of the street can be shady, but this was different. Thankfully, he was ok.

I'm still putting together a new audio slideshow about a building restoration. While trying to get permission to interview subjects for this upcoming piece, some phone calls were made on my behalf to a media coordinator. I didn't wait for her to get back to me and instead relied on a overseer who was onsite. He granted me access and I got a brief interview the next day. The funny part is the media coordinator returned an email five days after the interview was concluded and told me everyone was far too busy to be speaking and could not help me. I've learned that if you rely solely on intermediaries you might as well just give up.

this masquerade

One of the last Atlanta area high schools to celebrate their prom did so last week at the Fabulous Fox Theatre and it was exactly as I imagined. The boys were decked out, the girls were glitzy and the setting was majestic. Everything up to the evening was a pain in the ass.

The Fox is one of the last icons that rests on Ponce's west side before it disappears into the interstate. Built in the 1920's as the Yaarab Temple Shrine, the venue is rich in Arabian design and has the appearance of a mosque. When the Great Depression forced the Shriners into debt, movie tycoon William Fox scooped up the building with plans to open it as a movie palace. The building has since undergone several renovations and several attempts to bulldoze it (the latter has prevented a total swamping of Midtown with vacant, overpriced condos and faux lofts). While it rarely shows films anymore, with the exception of the Coke-sponsored summer movie festival, the Fox hosts a variety of musical/performance acts and is one of the premiere locales in the city.

For the past two years I've tried to gain access with no luck. I found out many high schools hold their proms in the Fox's fabled Egyptian room and decided such an event would be a great opportunity for the photo project. Last year I tried to get clearance through the theatre's management. While they were slightly helpful, they could not give me much information and essentially became a dead end. By the time the prom season surfaced, I had no leads and the management would not provide any information on prom schedules for fear of angering the schools.

The second year I tried to work with the media coordinators of Fulton & Gwinnett county schools. This was again difficult because for some reason the coordinators would not divulge who was holding proms at the Fox and when. They only agreed to pass along my photo request to the unnamed schools and get back if anyone gave me the greenlight. I had little faith in their plan and tried looking up info online and calling the schools themselves. However, with more than 50 high schools in the metro area, it was not worth the number of phone calls I would have to make. Not only that but I found that many schools would not include prom on their calenders.

I almost gave up for the second year before I received a little help. One of the local rags, and I honestly can't remember which one, published a list of schools holding their proms at prestigious Atlanta locales. The history museum, the botanical gardens and the Fox were all included. It wasn't much, but at least I knew which schools were attending and the dates.

I won't ramble too much, but the hurdles were still insane. I made countless phone calls, getting transfered from desk to desk. I got rejected from one person then accepted by another. It became a numbing cycle. Describe the project. Reassure that I was not trying to sell senior pictures. Name drop. Repeat. I was having little luck as an independent journalist and even tried to cover it for local publications, but that just got more complicated and I had to drop that idea. Deeply sighing after an ended phone call became standard procedure. When I worked for newspapers, high schools used to beg us to come photograph their events. Now it was just the opposite.

Eventually I contacted an alumni of one of the high schools. I had photographed this young woman before and had a good relationship with her. She still had friends in school and agreed to try and contact a few on my behalf. With a little persuasion, there was hope I could convince them (and their parents) that I should follow them on prom night and record the evening. Time was ticking and my contact assured me, even hours before prom started, that she was still trying to locate a couple for me.

The thought of trying to wait another year churned my stomach and I decided to simply go up to the Fox and pray that I would get the go-ahead phone call while waiting outside. In the meantime, I could photograph the students getting out of their limos and walking the red carpet. It was papparazo time.

A quick walk up to the Fox and I was in the middle of it all. Flashy suits, Hummer limos and colorful dresses in every hue. I snapped photos from the sidewalk and talked to a few parents who were also there. Eventually one of the administrators made her way over and asked about my presence. I told her about my project and that I was waiting for a phone call for a couple I was hopefully going to photograph. After almost two hours, I completely gave up hope of getting inside with a couple. At about that moment, the administrator came up to me again and pointed out her daughter walking up. She asked me to get some pictures for her. I obliged and snapped a few. She loved them and I agreed to send her a few images.

I then explained that I hadn't heard from any couples and no longer thought that they would show up. However, I told her that I did want some pictures of prom from inside and would be happy to send her copies of any good shots. She agreed and we shook hands. Suddenly I found myself inside the Fox with hundreds of students enjoying prom. From there I was allowed the freedom to do anything. With the exception of having to snap the occasional 'over here' shot, I moved freely and was able to document the evening for hours. The kids were great and gave me the chance to witness prom as an outsider.

It was almost midnight when I called it quits. I thanked the administrator and promised to send her copies within a few days. I walked out of an event I'd spent countless hours toiling over just to get in and now I had been given the right to come and go as I pleased. Inside the music still hummed while outside the limos were lining up again to take their patrons out on the town as the sun rose. I walked home, regretting nothing except that I wished I'd worn a suit.