jean's knees got holes, and there's gum on my shoe

into the blue, wild and cold

mansion on the hill

Here, at the edge of town, in the summer, all the lights would shine and the music would play. But now, those joyous melodies are muffled, their guests chilled and reaching for warmer skin. Winter's creep caught even the foliage off guard, leaving the sun unsure whether to shine or vacation in more temperate climates.

Hell, I wouldn't blame him. Assuming, of course, that the sun is indeed a 'him.'

fixed on OKY

This project started organically, and as small as could possibly be imagined. With my Canon G10 riding shotgun, I'd snap random photographs of my friends riding their bikes, and scrawling shorthand notes about their character and style, in moleskine margins. And as I sat at Starbucks in the Omote-cho, hiding from the withering summer heat outside, those notes took shape on my laptop, growing into the final photographic piece of my Japanese story. 

And now, several thousand lattés and old fashioned doughnuts  later, that story is finally ready to be both shown, and told.

as the rains come

Before and after the storm.

red sky at night

...a biker's delight. but for how long? 

"habituation"

(n): the diminishing of a physiological or emotional response to a frequently repeated stimulus 

room with a view

Moments after the above photograph was taken, I was called upon by a surly state trooper patrolling the capitol building grounds, after hours.

Stabbing a meaty, gloved finger at the small, foot-high fence my tripod stood behind, "excu--se me son, but what do you think that fence is here for?" he bellowed out.
A stupid question, asked overtly harshly, given the nature of my apparent "encroachment."

Glancing at the pathetic barrier I'd stepped over to get a clearer angle at the sky, "...um, probably to keep photographers out," I answered matter-of-factly, and without a hint of presumptuousness.
He was not amused. I will get my ass "written up" next time.

Some people have no appreciation for nature.

all other hues need not apply

Been meaning to do this for quite some time, but I finally got around to gathering all the header images I've collected over the past two years of blogging, and posted them in a single location. A Disappointed visual timeline of sorts.

Amazing, the places where only two colors can take you.

Black and Whites

give me symphonies

Here's to the new year; collecting pieces, and finding the places they belong.

Nice to be back.

we all left something behind

Every year, summer's last breath is always on a different note, and in a different color. And if I had to guess, with so many more logical hues to choose from, blue probably wouldn't be my first.

But it's been a summer of firsts.

And if you look closely, you can almost smell the winds of change. Something's coming. I'm ready.

[Check out the rest of the gallery here] 

the prosecution and the defense

"Please describe in as few words as possible, the nature of your relationship with the defendant."

flee the factory

Once home to a quarry and refinery known for its prized granite in the bustling industrial revolution of yesteryear, the island's industry has been put to quiet rest; its skeletal remains now the centerpiece for a thriving art project. And like the island's history, the people who come here, transformed as well. People I knew well in Okayama City--the construction workers, the yakitori chefs, bartenders, and storekeepers; all became dancers, musicians, and artists of every shade. Others less artistically inclined, like myself, became drunken assholes, but that's beside the point. The atmosphere was electric, but chill as the soft breezes coming off the inland sea. It wasn't so much our leaving behind the city that mattered at an event like this, but severing the rigid cultural ties and leaving behind the obligatory confines of Japanese society itself.

It really got me thinking--if this is what freedom really tastes like to all these people, what does that have to say about the kind of world we all had to return to this morning?

Here are a few photos of the night--minus the 150 or so that I hardly remember taking.

Jamboree 4 - Inujima

('full screen' option recommended)

hands down

add sliced lime, dash of kobe. serve iced

Sapphire and tonic with a lime is the quintessential summer evening nightcap. Anyone wanting to suggest otherwise, may kindly turn in their pretentious bar tab and get the fuck out.

the permanent rain

(stink) eye of the storm

I go through these sweltering afternoons where I'm just praying it would rain. Sit by my porch window with a tea sandwich or a can of coffee and watch life outside scramble for cover before getting washed away in the sudden downpour. But then there are afternoons like yesterday where I'm just praying that the same rain would just hold the fuck off--ten more minutes, just enough time for me to get home, that's it. Clearly, I was asking for too much, as the heavens belched forth watery apocalypse the moment I finished my selfish prayer. And then just to remind me of my insignificant place in this universe, the chain slipped off my shitty bike and caught itself in the rear hub, leaving me at the mercy of the torrents while I made repairs. Quite obviously, I arrived home far behind the sneering clouds--soaked to the marrow, and irritated beyond recognition of even my own face.

But the day's regular cycle--ie; 'life,' went on, even as the world swam around us. Shortly thereafter, the skies cleared momentarily, giving the sun its stage from which to set. I snapped the above picture.
Then the downpour resumed.


There's a new Langster in town. It's his first fixed-gear too. He's giddy--like a schoolgirl on the first day of summer vacation. I remember being just the same way. It hasn't been the best of years, but I still get giddy--still get the rush, racing streetlights every night of the week. Never would have expected to get so much out of two wheels and a single-speed drivetrain, but I have.
Hope he does too.

start the honeymoon

'tsun says true

the wrong foot in question

Mattsun's life on a fixie really started off on the wrong foot. Skidding face-first into a closed storefront shutter on camera will probably do that to you.

But since his admittedly hilarious debut late last year, he's tightened up his skids and dumped his brakes. Still carries that rapid-fire "yes coach" style of speech he uses on the baseball field, but has loosened up enough around us to completely quit using the irritating über-polite, über-uncomfortable keigo Japanese.

Still a long way from killing it, but his wheelies are starting to look pretty damn sharp.
God, they grow up so fast...

perils of sleeping in

Jetlag is like a miracle drug. I'm not much of a morning person, though it's always something I've secretly aspired to be. So having jetlag is great because it temporarily gives me all the satisfaction of actually attaining an aspiration without requiring any concerted effort on my part. 'Boosting' for wannabe early birds, I guess. Anyway, I don't get 'lagged much, but when I do, I never regret it. That extra hour or so in the morning means I have time to squeeze in a run, make an actual breakfast, skim the headlines, and spend more than five minutes in the shower. Obviously convenient on days when I have to work, but it sucked gorilla balls this morning, hauling me out of bed at 4:30 on my day off and expecting me to be cheerful about being productive.
Made it all the way through the sunrise, my morning routine, and even a groggy round of KZ2 before I started feeling a ride coming on. Guess it was as good a chance as any.

Threw some tools and a tuna rice ball in my mess bag, and pointed the Langster like a missile silo towards the edge of town. Took the winding Asahi River north, under the Sanyo and into the mountains. I'd almost forgotten how incredible the asphalt can feel, when completely removed of distraction; the persistent hazards and vehicular obstructions in this nigh-inescapable jungle of concrete. There's a very distinct comfort found through exertion--a slow unwind back to sanity in watching the white lines streaming beneath.

[click to enlarge]

follow the Asahi 

eastern outskirts

bamboo passage 

sense in a single

30 serendipitous kilometers and I still made it back in time for breakfast. Perfect.

I really need to fly internationally more often.

between curtains

My little G10 continues to impress--linked up with Kinash and Yuji, and took it down to the park last night to experiment a little bit with the second curtain flash / slow sync settings. Came home a few hours later with some fresh blisters, and these stunners:

[click to enlarge]

Kinash winds up...

...and delivers

H+ ghosts

this kid is in a league of his own


I won't pretend to know anything about photography, but I've had it for about four months and so far, this camera can do no wrong. Goes from full auto to full manual in just a few clicks, all the while stuffing itself with useful features (color correction/keep, stitching, audio caption, scene comp) tucked into a surprisingly intuitive UI. Probably my favorite thing about it though is its portability--can be brought to bear and ready to shoot faster than any SLR I've ever tried to take pictures with. Pint-sized for a hoodie pocket, but built like a tank. Shoots like a tank too. You know, like, if the tank had a G10 instead of a 120 millimeter barrel.

Or something.

metaphorical supernova

two lucky survivors of the evening's events

Though the star of last night's year-end party at Fura was to be Mr. Katsuragi who has decided to hang up the storied science teacher hat, his teary-eyed farewell speech was quickly upstaged by the time we reached dinner's third course. Certainly, the first two were delightful, but it was that third--a dish so tragically vile, it utterly defied description--nay, howled and spat in my bewildered face as I sputtered in vain to dare describe it. Spent the better part of the evening's remainder chugging beers, and nursing plum wine and other such fruity libations carefully mixed to chase the stench from my mouth. But the damage was done. Hours later, breath still reeking and head spinning, I realized there could be no metaphor worthy of the nightmare I'd just eaten, for it was already, the ultimate hyperbole--a metaphor so ridiculous, it would be the metaphor all other culinary nightmares would be measured against:

Your mom's eggplant scallopini was as bad as "  see below "

I'd rather eat "  see below " for a week than let you cook for me

Oh, you like Japan? Japanese food too? You should try "  see below " then we'll talk

the Japanese cornucopia from hell

Does a gathering of super villains in the Marvel canon have a specific title beyond "evil dudes invade VFW hall?" Just the same, while I don't know if the dish above has an official title or explanation, I don't think it requires one either. A photographic awareness of the content should be explanation enough.
And as if this trifecta of barf (natto, yamaimo, okura) weren't bad enough already, they had to go and crack a raw egg on top of it...

once mixed, this culinary delight should look like a St. Bernard 
with IBS threw up in a box of captain crunch

...before mashing the slimy orgy together to spoon onto a salted square of nori--a thinly veiled feint whose crunch served only to temporarily disguise the imminent gustatorial blitzkrieg betwixt. "Umami," my ass. If I were to grasp at second-rate straws, I suppose it could be like snacking on the shell of a large dung beetle amidst his own lunch, but even that feeble attempt fails to give our shiny new metaphor enough credit.

It goes without saying that the horror I unleashed upon my apartment's crapper later that night, totally looked like " see above ."

analogous

The scary thing about shooting on actual film--a feeling all too lost on the generations of today--is that you really have no idea if you got the photograph right. The juxtaposition, the exposure, the timing, and so on. Eff it up on a digital camera, and you just re-shoot. But eff it up on film, and the potential bombs. But the uncertainty of what sits on that roll builds to bigger payoffs when you see the photos as they turned out, in all their "yeah-I-totally-meant-to-do-that glory" (including the few exposures that went off in my sweatshirt).
 
Huge props/fist bump to Nobu for organizing, promoting, and putting on a successful, first-ever Photo the System. Even the local newspaper boobs showed up and were impressed by the gritty, no-tech, and stripped-down iterations of the same city they'd been shooting for eons. And then there was this guy--a local "been there, done that" codger who passed along a rare blessing to the youth of today for "finally getting it right." Amen brother. Amen.

As a whole, everybody's contributions made for a really unique showing (even the elementary school kid who took pictures of lyrics on his television screen). Really wish I could be there in the near future for when this event blows Okayama up.

chupa chupa represent

I was there for Okayama's first ever PtS though. Good enough for me.

one butz two butz red butz blue butz (hadaka reduxx)

 The party gets rolling with a hot sake/cold water-soaked march up the frozen street. Somebody smuggled in a major's whistle in their fundoshi. Like a naked conga parade. In February.

True 'hadakas' never leave a man behind. Or was it "man's behind?" Hmm. Pity the children either way. 

 If you didn't make it to the main stage before the magic hour...

...expect your "fundoshi" to seek out hibernation in warmer locations. Hope you've got a brave proctologist.

Ever wonder what happens to an arse when it's left out in the cold for too long? Wonder no more. You're welcome.

The Okayama FD takes the night off from fighting fires, to break up fights and rescue hapless and trapped hadakas from being trampled asunder.

Safest place in the game is behind one of the temple's massive wooden, skull-stopping beams.

* In case you're left wondering what the hell is going on, go here for last year's admittedly more descriptive recount of the festival.