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.'

lightning rod

Big storm tonight, rolled in fast out of the desert. Set the Nex3 up with a 30 second shutter, and sat back to wait for lighting to strike the Mormon anthill.

didn't take long

I think that one fired while I was brushing my teeth.

lot's sometimes

Bicycles are strange. And the people who ride them, even stranger. Fiercely communal, and fiercely maternal - almost to a fault. But the strangeness of the bicycle is more than a way of life; rather an extension of self-expression and freedom. And when our means to access the manifestations of those expressions are compromised - our bicycles are stolen, or our friends injured by a larger vehicular inhabitant of the roads we do our best to share, those strange instincts are provoked.

One month ago today, someone named Brynn Barton was riding her bicycle here in downtown Salt Lake and exercising her freedoms to be young and inspiring, when she was hit by a car. The driver fled.

Brynn was killed.

red sky at night

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

because a gallon of soymilk is six dollars

slcereal skyline

So you think a bicycle is the cheapest way to get around? It's not when you're shoving a box of cereal up your ass every ten hours. 

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.

finding pieces lost in the flood

The change from winter to spring is always gradual, so it's not until that first day where the mercury hits 55, where I realize I have, in my current possession, not a single pair of shorts--a conundrum quickly rectified by borrowing a pair of scissors from my devoutly religious neighbor. Anyone with a bicycle quickly realizes the sub-45 degree temperature threshold has been broken, including the city's fair-weather commuting peloton; a tour-de-force of fingerless gloves and flabby spandex that transforms the city's bike lanes into a clumsy stream of Treks, Motobecanes, and Lamonds, freshly dusted off from a purgatorial winter spent hanging on a garage wall. Though I've already been riding all winter, and through some incredibly shitty (albeit subjective) weather, donning fresh cutoffs and a v-neck, and mashing on the pedals whilst giving the pasty-white skin its first chance to rejoice the triumphant return of Spring, is a euphoria experienced only once per year. 

Spent some time at the temple yesterday, fountain-watching and Mormon-watching, and waiting for the radio to squawk out another pickup. Three weeks ago, I would have spent this standby time sucking down an expresso, and three months ago, holed up in my apartment, cursing the skies. The Mormons tell me this has been a mild winter, but they're also the ones with who built a massive concrete bunker network into my hill, and installed cellphone-jamming technologies on temple grounds, so I take their somewhat blasé meteorological conspiracy theories with a grain of salt. 

Regardless, after a day of chasing traffic and racing the clock in some actual sunshine, it feels damn near perfect to lift open a window and catch a sunset in prime time. 

gang's all here

The world is right again.

catastrophic levels of smug

pedal, damn it

Back in December of 2006, two days before I left Findlay, and just over a month before I moved to Japan, I sold my decrepit, barely street-legal Dodge Shadow for $200. From the photograph, I think you'll agree that I made off with several hundred dollars more than the jalopy was actually worth. Dirty money, maybe. But no regrets. Sometimes I wonder where the old Shadow is now. We had a lot of great memories together, and I almost miss that old car. But I can't honestly say that I miss having a car.

these streets (are paved with pico de gallo)

It's always a chore to get the keyboard clicking again. The rolling of the proverbial ball. Especially when you don't have a good reason why it even stopped rolling in the first place. Most excuses are typical internet drivel; got bored, mom canceled internet/WoW subscription, flunked out of college, forced to get job, murdered homeless man and went on the lam, etc etc. What we really need to explain my particular lengthy, and admittedly silent expanse, is a real zinger: like an unplanned sabbatical in the Amazon spent waterfall diving, tripping balls with the local natives, and researching leafy prototypes for the the world's perfect hammock.

So now that we've cleared up where I was, where is the DI now?

My new job's a far cry from the last two summers, spent corralling the rowdy offspring of bitter J-trains and plea-bargaining with Satan on whether or not I'd be expected to pull another 90 hour workweek. Rather, this feels more like a job you'd see in a mail-order employment catalog--the one where the employees are smiling and wearing sandals, they play foosball on break, and answer emails because they give a shit. It's strange to witness firsthand, people working because they want to. Everyone playing their small part in something big. I've heard some companies call this work environment phenomenon "synergy." But I had always thought that synergy was a cubical myth--bullshit PR-speak used to expound in tangible terms, something inexplicably nonexistent. And I'd be totally right. Other such examples would be the Bermuda Triangle, the Tooth Fairy, and Chupacabras.

But there's definitely something in the water here. Synergy be damned, I can now say with great confidence that I enjoy what I do.

The remainder of my free time is spent riding my bicycle to and from the office in frigid temperatures. Every now and then, I stop and put a burrito in my mouth-hole.

It's the Salt Lake City dream--a taco cart on every corner, and a Mormon evangelist on every doorstep. Thank god I live on the second floor.