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.