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.

cream'd

Yuta built my first wheelset, and later helped me install my 144bcd cranks and bottom bracket. Takuya the Slinger of Yakitori was always good for a hearty 'kampai' and laugh or two. Definitely wish I'd had more time to put together something a bit more robust for the Soft Cream shop crew, but this will have to do. For now, at least.

Genuinely wish these dudes the best.



[music by Gossip and Peter Adams. please don't sue me]

signs of life

Somewhere between all the recent cleaning and packing and drinking and cleaning and packing and riding and arguing with the city's idiot sanitation crews, I've still been squeezing in quiet moments at Starbucks for a cup of coffee and a window to hammer at the photobook project. Mostly writing, and editing, organizing the photos to be used. I attach my work to emails and drop them into a narrow chute marked "Sonadei," but what happens to them on the other end, I still have no idea.

And then, just this morning--an email in a bottle, floated across the ocean; inside only a photograph, albeit one bearing the rich fruits of productivity:

Shit's getting real. 

soft cream wings

"Yo, I don't think you wanna stand there"
"It's cool, this is the angle I want. Just don't hit the spine straight on"
"You sure?"
"Yeah, it should look sick--maybe just try to stick the landing at an angle"
"Sure thing chief"


Video forthcoming.

In the meantime, somebody please sponsor the shit out of these guys.

phased out

call this number if you care

Because I came in when they'd already long since been on their way out, it's hard to imagine what these arcades used to look like. Prefer to think they were once full of life though; families shopping on weekends, couples casually strolling out of the heat on summer dates, and other equally sappy Japanese summertime leisures.
There are so many shutters now, it's something of a commonplace to see them, lost in a purgatorial search for new tenants.
Different though, when it's one of your own.

Another longtime purveyor of the Okayama street scene closes its doors for the last time at the end of the week. Spent so many Sunday afternoons at Phase with Kyou and the rest of the crew, beating the heat down on the sidewalk in front of his store. During my first few confusing months of Japanese re-orientation, it was actually Nobu who introduced me to Kyou--a dj with more than a few badass recipies for beatz and potato salad.

Sometimes he shelled us the goods from Bullet, Ten Deep, Crooks & Castles, and The Hundreds. Most other times though, we just found ourselves down there on his curb, sipping an ice coffee between Mild 7s--somebody always trying to get over the latest hangover, waiting for that one girl to call.
It was always something, but there was always Phase.

Definitely wish this dude the best.

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)

did it for the lark

By now I should have already been back to Adelaide. Back to Beppu, and then on to Tokyo. My summer should have already been filled with the pattering of little feet on foreign soil, but due to "fear of death" at the hands of the ruthless and unstoppable swine flu pandemic, every last one of my international programs met the business end of the almighty hype-beast's ax.

Fine, whatever. I can deal. All for the better anyway, I'm sure.
So thanks to this amusing myriad of cancellations, my last official month in Japan has happily opened up, giving me a chance to spend the 4th of July on a tiny spit of land in the Seto Inland Sea with the whole crew, instead.

Rucksack is more than ready to jet; slipped a fresh SD into the Canon, stenciled "Tom Collins" into the side of an aluminum Sigg, swooped a pair of blue aviators and flippy-floppies, and slashed two big red X's over this weekend's Saturday and Sunday--the first welcome amendment to our regularly scheduled programming in ages.

Musical acts, guest artists, live graffiti exhibition, and more. 

Supposedly, even the Halau hula troupe has a showing.
If you're local, jump for Jamboree event/access info.

'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...

when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro

News in Brief

More News, More Briefs

Week of June 8

* I just realized I have not done a 'briefs' since October of last year. I have missed the briefs. The briefs have missed me. But as you can see, the briefs have triumphantly returned. Rejoice. 

* With a certain degree of uncertainty, a recently released album by Paolo Nutini was purchased. It is drastically different than what was expected. However, after only the first 6 or so minutes of music, it was decided that should a record better than Sunny Side Up, be somehow found to top my year-end music list in December, I will gladly eat my own face.

* My new San Marco Regal saddle arrived at Soft Cream this afternoon. It is almost too beautiful for even my shapely buttocks. Only a few more key component changes, and the humble Langster's grand transformation will be complete.

* Found myself with nothing better to do this past Sunday for lunch, but stand in line for katsudon. Apparently, for Okayama, this particular place is famous. Unfortunately for us though, the best 'famous' can muster with numerous television appearances over 65 years of pork-frying experience is a few canned peas drowning in gallstone gravy:

* More on recent busyness keeping from blogging: someone was foolish brave enough to convince me to write my own personal "Orange County." However, unlike the film, it will be exclusively of the "word and photographic" variety, contain piles of ridiculous wheelies, and will unfortunately not be starring Schuyler Fisk. Which is rather convenient, because in the event that you completely loathe it, you'll still have an attractive hardcover to prop your feet up on. 
FYI: it will not be called "Okayama County." 

* Three fascinating tidbits about the island of Shikoku: (1) It rains there, unrelentingly, every minute of every day.  (2) All the young people there are either too young to drive across the bridge, or not strong enough to swim the inland sea to reach the mainland. As a result, everyone else has escaped, save for... (3) ...The elderly, who not only outnumber the rest of the civilian population, they also outnumber all registered vehicles, stray cats, tanuki statues, and udon huts on the entire island. No small feat, either. Several metric fucktons of udon down in Shikoku. 

* Riding down at the Symphony Hall underground the other night, I ran into an old student of mine. I taught him many valuable things, but don't remember spray paint being one of them:

* There is a block of text in my blogger draft list that I have deemed to be the final DI communique from Japan. The post has been saved there, patiently awaiting dispatch for 6 months. It's under revision again. Start the countdown. I actually mean it this time.

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.

systematic disregard for pedestrian law

Time to dust off the mankini and practice those trackstands.

'Jerks is back.

[Saturday, April 11 ~ 8pm-ish, Kita-Nagase, behind Okayama Dome]

me and you and this whole town underwater

splish splash

Much to the general amusement of a local elementary school outing, the dormant ekimae fountain has finally sputtered to life, its familiar gurgle providing a reassuring comfort amidst the early evening din for at least another six months or so.

Guess Springtime has at last, somewhat officially arrived in Okayama.

one lap

"remove before flight"

Let me show you my city.

calling all blue skies

I was gonna wait till I could get both videos up (no thanks to Vimeo's weekly limit), and for MYCTC to post more pictures of the event, but I guess the cat is officially out of the bag--just a few hours after I uploaded it to Vimeo, we got linked up on lockedcog, 3bancho, and hkfixed. So without further adieu, here is the submission TKYM and I cooked up for the Shikoku jam last weekend.

Enjoy.

We are HEADSET. Okayama sucks a little bit less behind fixie bars.

MYCYC really knows how to host

The Facebook exclusive video which is an extension of one of the scenes above will be up shortly. Stick around for that.

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.

"...tired and reckless and I can't go home..."

and what if I don't?

Barely had time to clear up space on the iLappy's weary external hard drive, as HEADSET is back on the pavement--this time shooting for local pride in a four prefecture fixie cinematic jam at the end of this month down in Shikoku. While I'll again man the editing helm, I've got help from local legend TKYM as my director of photography. Additionally, the whole crew has more than a few new tricks up its collective sleeve, plus we've added a second camera and a pursuit bike to our A/V arsenal.

a new breed of bosozoku

Hit the pavement last night to record my first ever chase sequence. But for this 'first', I found myself on the opposite side of the camera, running circles around the city and trying to outrun the chase crew. However, TKYM--the model citizen, was adamant about adhering to local traffic law--stopping at all stop signs and traffic lights, making sure our camera guy wore a helmet, and even went so far as to reprimand me for skitching a taxi down Momotaro Dori. I don't think it hampered much, because he and Frank shot some awesome shit. Even though I'd be just as excited if it were any of the other guys, I'm really stoked that it got to be me. Personal narcissism aside, I can't wait to see this up on the big screen.

say hello to mr. tube

Oh, and I shredded through my last Mondo Sport in the process. I blame the Nishiguchi overpass decent into a red light at 35mph.


Will keep you updated as the helter-skelter editing process rockets towards March 21st.
Really feels like we're going to kill it this time.

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.

break the code

I get a lot of curious onlookers and potential visitors asking about Japan--what it's like, how I've made my way, and if I've enjoyed my time here. They're all loaded questions really, and so more often than not, my respective answers are guilty of being appropriately laden with bullshit. Not the "lies" sort of bullshit one might come to expect, but bullshit of the more oversimplified nature. Mostly because in general, I think the only thing that matters less than the collective weight of my own personal experience, are the assumptions gleaned from my pithy summaries. Truth is, when we're free to stake our own course--our own naked reality (outcome notwithstanding), why would you want to just get your feet wet if you've got the whole deep end of the pool to flounder around in? In response to this metaphorical fist of ham, the DI has loaded two shells of bullshit into this old analogous rifle. 

Commencing turkey shoot:

the DI looks up "analogy" in the dictionary...

Call it a "roll." Less like a wheelie, and more like a welded ballerina in rubber tires doing pirouettes on concrete. Yuji has been trying to hit this trick for the better part of two months now. String together all the photographs I have of him mid-attempt, and pull out the ones of his crashes, flats, and busted rims, we'd probably have a full length stop-motion film of him rolling like steel on stage with the Nutcracker. The particular attempt above is no exception to the reality. He ghosted it less than a half a second after the shutter snapped. But that's the beauty of a photograph--a medium wherein the subject's outcome is nowhere near as important as the execution captured in progress; ultimately what would (hopefully) make any photograph worth looking at.

...fails to locate

And just the same--granted the shutter speed here is slower, but the effect is the same. We've got an uncharacteristically serene Okayama ekimae, and two young girls under umbrella refuge, all soaked in the surrounding neon glow. Ingredients familiar enough for anyone who's been to Japan. A snapshot. A summary, of sorts. Just as before with Yuji, at only a glimpse of the photo, the viewer is left to interpret as they see fit, the skill of the rider, or the exotic allure of the locale. We're still not privy to the full understanding--the picture behind the picture.  

Reality.

But even if you could know, would you still want to? Is a 1/60th second summary enough for you to decide? Wouldn't it be better to buy a plane ticket, or get on a bike and just start cranking wheelies to find out for yourself?

My own snapshot... Finally growing monochrome.

Fixed and the City: "el fin"

Four months in the making, "Fixed and the City" is a lot of things. It's the digital marriage of Panaracer rubber, asphalt, and sound. A moving picture mixtape. A single-speed mission statement. A dedication. A memoir. The difference between simple ownership, and unabashed love. It's less about the "scene," and more about a day in the life; fixed gears on this little concrete canvas of ours.

Oh, and it's about thirty minutes long.
Crack open a cold one, and turn the volume up.

Sorry to keep you waiting.





* Since this is just a weak sample, to hit the full version and/or download the torrent, follow this linkage to Vuze.com. And if those two clicks somehow end up giving you fits, blast me an email so I can set you up with my best Indonesian call center impersonation.

foto the system

 This little guy showed up with a note from Nobu today:

Twenty of them went out to twenty different perspectives on the city of Okayama. We've all got one month, and 27 disposable exposures ("dixposures?") to tell a story for a local art gallery event, come February. For the time being, rather than blow this golden opportunity on boring shots of this equally boring city, I've been thinking about undertaking some kind of angle or theme for my photos. At the top of the list? My own derriere--captured from 27 different angles in and around Okayama Station. Keeping it themed and local, if you catch my drift. Besides, isn't that one of the most original thrills of the disposable film generation? You never knew just what kind of hilarity (or vulgarity, I suppose depending on your own definition) could turn up on that film until the shocked and disgusted part-timer at the developer showed it to the police, who in turn called your parents to inquire about the camera's prior whereabouts.

So, yeah. Too great of an opportunity going on here--not only would I be doing Nobu a disservice, but I think I personally, would be completely remiss for not sneaking in at least one shot of my own sparkling-white backside.
It's finding subjects interesting enough to snap for the other 26 that are gonna be a pain.

In the ass.