A Post of Arguable Substance

Welcome back, readers! What a time we're having. Are you excited to be here? I sure am. Today I'm throwing up some color photos from the ol' plastic camera. Take a gander, slip a stare, give a hoot, don't pollute. An interesting thing to note: These pictures, when held in you hand, are often very interesting, but occasionally just look like photos of an interesting size. But once you scan them, well it seems that another aesthetic slips over, a spectral film that adds to a vintage look. Sometimes I like the scan better. I am distracted and my writing is disjointed. But look! Pictures!That's Matt Costa, he performed at school a little bit ago. I am under the impression that he and I are best friends.

This is what happens when you leave the shutter open and slide the camera through the air.
I was a little dissapointed that I didn't get this one to turn out with him up close, but you know what? Instead of just a pictuer of a musician, it became an interesting photo that happened to have a musician in it.
Ah, the University. Look at that color! Fascinating. Well today I'm turning in a roll of black and white 35mm film that I jimmied into my 120 camera, so we'll see how that turned out! PEACE.

Holga'd

So I saved up and bought myself this small plastic camera called a Holga. Plastic body, plastic lens, it shoots onto 120 film and prints out square images. Before you are my favorite shots from my first roll.

 

Here's Steven in the hardware store. I like how it's blurred and unfocused, but still symmetrical.

This one's probably my favorite out of the bunch. Dogs are pretty awesome, you see.

Notice the vignetted corners there in the top

I have no idea how this image became so sharp.

Look who it is! My good friend Alex was spotted on the Ave that day! Notice the light leaks there at the bottom running up her coat. Signature Holga! 

Well I hope you enjoyed it. Tomorrow we'll have some color images from the Matt Costa concert at school and some other things. Huzzah! It is far past my bed time.

I'm dreaming of you, Kiddo.

Did you know that every time you sleep, no matter what, you dream? Of course you did, you're awfully smart.  You also know that the average dream, no matter how long it seems, lasts only a matter of seconds. Science! Crazy, right?

I had an embarrassingly trivial dream last night. It meant nothing, but it really bothered me, and got me thinking about this whole thing. Sometimes I have dreams that are not nightmares, there is nothing terribly disturbing going on, but I wake up hating them, hating that I went through it. Do you ever feel that way?

Now of course the opposite is true as well! I have dreams that can be awfully mundane, just some weird conversation or I think that I'm cooking— I don't know it doesn't matter, but I wake up desperate to sink back into it, or create it in the real world. But it's just an emotion, ecstasy, fear, whatever, laid over images in my spinning mind. 

Then of course there are the dreams that follow some chain of events, or feature my friends and family, where something really happens that I can react to in as reasonable a way as dreams allow ("You only have french fries left? THERE IS NO JUSTICE." Not an uncommon interjection for my subconscious).  Sometimes I wake up with someone on my mind, like I haven't been abel to stop thinking about them, but I didn't necessarily dream about them. Almost as if they were lingering just out of sight during the whole thing. And other times two or more people will be merged into one stranger that waltzes in. Kah-kah-kah-razy! 

I suppose what I'm really getting around to is that I never dream what I want to dream. I'll enjoy my dreams, sure! Sometimes they're much more enjoyable than anything I could come up with (which is, of course, the irony of it all, seeing as how I am coming up with it). But my subconscious, unfortunately, does not work like a day on TRL. I never get to dream that I rescue a beautiful lady-love while riding bare-backed on a Tyrannosaurus Rex while brandishing a light saber. My dreams never seem to revolve around me being the captain of my clipper ship, "The Ursalina," and its rocket engines blasting across the seven seas to an island populated by well-read women who swoon at the sight of my nautical coat as Sigor Ros plays loudly in the background. 

I think I'll try extra-hard tonight. I'll top it off with something spicy right before bed. 

Addendum: 

I had a dream the night I wrote this in which I was a member of the Law & Order SVU unit, except we caught child molesters on a Star Destroyer from Star Wars, instead of New York City. Awesome? 

I'm listening

What are you listening to? I need ideas.

Dry Spells

"April is the cruelest month..." says T.S. Eliot at the beginning of The Waste Land. I tend to agree with everything T.S. Eliot says out of blind fanboy-dom (an odd thing for a modernist poet?) but I wish to add a footnote. "April is the cruelest month, but September can suck pretty bad too." Perhaps it lacks a certain eloquence. 

What's my reasoning? Well since the start of college all those years ago, September has represented that odd purgatory in my day planner, the limbo of my calendar. For the majority of the month, while the rest of the world (okay, the states at least) is starting their routine for an exciting new year, I sit around trying to figure out what to do with myself as I wait for my quarter to start. 

A lot of people go home or squeeze in one last exciting adventure. I encourage it, but never really follow suit. Not that I don't want to, I just, say, forget, can't afford to, or simply think that I have just enough things going on to keep me here and sufficiently bored out of my skull. 

But no more! Yes, do you hear me internet? Not this mid-late September! I will NOT sit on my patoot and wish I was always somewhere else doing something else! I think I'll read. I think I'll finish my book and start another. I think I'll write. I think I'll expand on my story and churn out something else. I think I'll go to work when I don't really need to; but perhaps bring my book when nothing's going on. I will embrace the peace and quiet! I will nestle in the open days! Perhaps I'll learn how to make something other than (and cheaper than) cheesecake. Perhaps I'll build a robot. Perhaps I'll catch a chipmunk and teach it to paint, or at the very least how to match up to those other chipmunks. 

This is not a pity party. This is a call to arms. 

Bumber that shoot!

Welcome to Bumbershoot, 2008! There are a lot of pictures up and about, so let's get this going and take up as little space as possible. First thing's first: Saturday, the first day, our little crew meandered threw the early afternoon crowds and plopped ourselves down in front of the main stage to await one of the biggest draws for us all. Yes, the wonderful Neko Case.

A personal show for us, to be sure. We were feet from the stage, we watched with mouths agape and souls ready for an outpouring of alternative country. She did not disappoint. I suppose I can make a little check mark on my "people to see before I die of nuclear poison or brain tumor caused by cell phone use" list. We saw a couple of other things that day, including a fiction reading and Strange Fruit, something that can't really be explained. Surreal, beautiful, please follow the link and do yourself a service. That evening we made it over to quite the performance by Band of Horses, seen in this little photo. They're the little things on the stage. Ask about the strange cooing noises that came from the show, and also how to keep musical time with your head and floppy hair. You'll probably enjoy the description that will follow. Here's the big one for me. I was excited to see M. Ward, I bought my pass to see him and Neko Case. That was the big draw for me. He came out and began to play, and I knew it would be a great show, but I had no idea how great it would be. M. Ward is known for a sort of softer, almost southern blues/alt. folk hybrid kind of sound, but here he was with several guitars and two drummers with complete kits, rocking rather hard and playing awfully kickin' solos. Every so often, very talented musicians like to come on stage and say, "Hey, this is why you're a fan, remember? Because I'm awesome." His fingers were just... possessed by talent running up and down the neck of that guitar.

Sunday I forgot to bring my camera, so I'll just tell you quick and hope I keep your attention. Nichole, my Bumbershoot Buddy, and myself wandered around and enjoyed a good deal of the art going on that night and afternoon. It took a good deal of effort to pull us out of the poster show, which was particularly awesome. Awesome. Anyway, we eventually met up with Kelly "The Kook" and sat down at the main stage to enjoy The Black Keys. For just two men, they certainly fill that space with more sound than most people would know what to do with. It was amazing. Now afterwards, a pucked Kelly understandably headed home, but Nichole and I decided to check out Final Fantasy. We knew nothing — nothing — about this performer, only that another one of our friends would probably be there, and that doesn't give much info as to musical styling. Oh, and there might be a violin involved. Imagine our gleeful surprise. It was an amazing display of talent and imagination.
Next day— the final one, a big one.
First up, Blitzen Trapper. Solid show, very enjoyable to be sure. Next was another viewing of Strange Fruit, this time with film cameras in hand. Those colors, folks... The day progressed, and we found ourselves just in time for the Pacific Northwest Ballet. I'm in great danger of rambling on and on, so I'll just say this: fantastic. Others can fill in the rest. Next? Yes, dear readers, it was Battles. Sure I had to try and push back a sea of teenagers, but you know what? They put on an amazing show.

I was inspired. Moved. Shaken. For those interested, my band, "Skirmishes", will be releasing our first EP next month. It was a fascinating thin to watch. Again, others can give better details, I'm starting to get very tired.

Finally, I was able to see a band that I've been trying to catch for years. Death Cab for Cutie ended at the main stage. Now I love Death Cab (I don't care what you say) but I quickly realized something. Are they a great band? Yes. Are they talented? Yes. Do they perform with energy? Yes. Can they fill a stadium? Well I'm looking at a full stadium right now. Are they a stadium band? No. Not at all. They're not like Journey, U2, or even Coldplay. Their sound is more personal. Look, I'll be honest, you just shouldn't crowd surf to a track like Title and Registration, but you know what? I saw kid after kid get passed over the crowd like a piece of food being passed down by centipede legs.

All in all: Top notch, folks. I don't regret a single moment. Except when I sucker-punched that one girl in the mosh pit for The Offspring. I'm kidding, that didn't happen, I didn't go to the Offspring show.