to hell with beatnik sidearm

My Favorite Photos of 2009

2009-12-04T23:16:25Z

They're not necessarily my best shots of the year, but they are the shots I hold near and dear for whatever reason. Enjoy.

December 2008

January 2009

February 2009

March 2009

April 2009

May 2009

June 2009

July 2009

August 2009 (It's my list; I'm allowed a bloody diptych)

September 2009

October 2009 (This is a stand-in only; I am contractually unable to show you my real favorite photo from this month. I took it, but signed the rights over to a friend. It's a naked lady photo, so tough luck for you, pal.)

November 2009. And I'm still working on getting that December shot.

By the way, if you like these photos or any other photos in my Flickr stream, I'll sell you an 8x10 print for $10. Three shots for $25. I need to raise money so I can go to Las Vegas to perform a monologue, which on its face sounds like such a crock of shit that it certainly must be true. Anyhow, send me a note if you want a print or three.*

*(I can't sell any rollergirl shots. If you're a rollergirl and want a print, contact me and we'll make an arrangement that covers the cost of materials only.)

Crossposted to beatnikside.com.

Story of a Shot: "Jayne and Sophia," October 2009

2009-11-23T01:13:33Z

There's really not much of a story here -- only an opportunity for me to recreate this iconic photo:

I took the above shot in a shop at Disneyland. The placement of the figures was serendipitous. The bottom photo was taken in 1957, and yes, Jayne Mansfield's nipple slipped out, much to Sophia Loren's apparent ... bemusement? Disgust? Delight? Photos are liars; appearances to the contrary, they really don't tell you everything.

Nothing much else to report today. We are drinking wine and listening to Nick Drake and David Bowie, which is precisely how we got our jollies back in the 1970s. Before Disney made Tinker Bell into a shameless FILF.

Crossposted from beatnikside.com.

I was born to love.

2009-11-05T04:00:41Z

I love Shiner Bock. It's my new go-to beer. I've had exactly two other go-to beers in my lifetime: Sam Adams and Schlitz. I ascribe this meager selection of fall-backs to my religious upbringing, and also because I never really had the college experience. I had a favorite gin before I had a favorite beer. Still, there's nothing like a beer to chase a burger, and the People's Pub -- my go-to bar -- has Shiner Bock on tap.

I love Seattle and the people who live in it, despite the fact that in the last bar I visited before this one, these assholes were cheering the Yankees.

On a related note, I love a bar that's perverse enough to blast ABBA records during the World fucking Series.

I love writing, though I've been kind of sucking at it lately.

I love Las Vegas, the city that gave me the roots I'd always wished for.

And I love quitting while I'm ahead.

Crossposted from beatnikside.com.

'That freaky dead-people Christmas'

2009-10-31T22:02:28Z

Happy Hallowe'en, fools. Before I get into ... whatever the hell it is I'm going to get into, I feel compelled to send you to my Monkey Goggles article on Halloween songs. And Gregory Crosby's wonderful Monkey Goggles piece on Halloween costumes. And this gallery of photos from a zombie dance party I attended last night. I don't know who the guy in the lucha mask is, but he's one handsome rudo.

Google-hacking aside, I don't have much to report. Publically. One of my freelance projects is pushing ever closer to a launch; another is growing in popularity by the day; yet another one is about to receive a top-to-bottom redesign. I wish I could tell you which is which, but I don't want to jinx any of them. I'm at that sensitive stage of freelance empire-building -- the stage at which just one person could lose faith or change their mind and knock one of the legs off the table. I aim to have some good news to tell you, and soon -- but I've got to keep it close to the mask right now. Er, vest.

By the way: Many thanks to Mark and Susan Shaffer for donating that wrestling mask to my wardrobe. It's become one of my most prized pieces, next to my tearaway pants. And belated thanks to Geoff Carter circa 1990, who didn't throw away that bola tie upon realizing he hadn't worn it in more than a year. That venerable accessory, older than anyone in the cast of "Twilight," really brought the whole ensemble together. Totally made up for not being able to breathe, to hear, to see or to think. Who needs to do all that dumb shit when you look this good?

Cross-posted from beatnikside.com.

You owe me a plaster of Paris bagel paperweight, so cough it up.

2009-10-17T21:23:21Z

Unmotivated to write today -- or more accurately, to write well. You're getting the autowriting I dish up whenever I feel like I should be writing something but lack the desire, and lucky bloody you.

I guess I could think about Halloween today, and I'm once again unprepared for it. I don't have a costume, or the vaguest notion of what kind of costume I'd like to wear to the Halloween party that I, in a moment of foolhardy optimism, recently committed to attend.

This happens every year. I always say "Ooh, next Halloween I'm gonna do this and that and the other," but I've yet to do this or that or anything at all. I could continue to lay down the usual excuses -- my face hates makeup; I was raised a Jehovah's Witness and never got used to celebrating Halloween; I simply don't like dressing up -- but this year, I'll come clean with you: My imagination doesn't work that way. I can write a sentence or take a picture that represents something beyond what is immediately visible, but I don't know how to make myself into something else and look like I believe it. Can't pretend, even for a moment, that I'm anyone or anything other than a friendly, olive-skinned meat sack.

I wouldn't really care about this but for the fact that two people near and dear to me -- my girl Lorien and my old friend Gregory -- can whip out Halloween costumes for themselves as if they were nothing. Gregory has shown up to Halloween parties dressed as a Ouija board or the entire Velvet Underground; Lorien has been Houdini, a zombie truck stop waitress and a picnic table. Both have offered many times to help me to come up with an All Hallows' Eve getup, but I've always refused. It has to come from me, and it has to be something so damned clever that I won't feel self-conscious about wearing it. Hasn't happened yet, and it's looking like it's not going to happen this year, either.

Maybe I'll go as autowriting.

Cross-posted from beatnikside.com.

Story of a Shot: "Flingers," August 2001

2009-10-14T21:29:34Z

I am a recovering addict. For several years, I carried a camera with me every single place I went, and shot photos of every person or thing that occupied dimensional space. I was ever concerned that something might happen out in the world, and I wouldn't be able to remember it without photos. In recent years I've scaled back; I now carry a point-and-shoot in my laptop bag instead of my full D80 rig, and on some choice occasions I've ventured forth without any camera on me at all. (The shitty camera phone doesn't count; I almost never use it.)

It works and it doesn't. I'm shifting the lens of my cognitive abilities back towards the retention of people, places and events through writing, which is what I'm supposed to be doing in the first place. (I only got into photography to give me something to do when my writing gets stuck.) Friends who never knew I that I made my living as a writer have begun to read the stuff I do for money, and the stream of requests to photograph weddings and the like is thinning out (though I still consider every request). I'm beginning to trust myself to remember things without photographing them from every angle.

And yet, if I hadn't had a camera with me on an August, 2001 trip to a Henderson, Nevada TGI Fridays franchise -- the last time I visited a TGI Fridays, I think -- I wouldn't have caught the pictured mini-monsoon at its peak. It lasted scarcely a minute, barely a drop of time in an ocean of memories. But I did bring the camera, and I can look at this photo and remember the sudden, violent fury of Las Vegas rainstorms -- the house-shaking explosions of thunder, the fingers of lightning digging into the earth, the streets and parking lots flooding within seconds. Seattle doesn't get rainstorms like that, and I do miss the destructive beauty of desert rains. They can even make the patio of a TGI Fridays look somehow romantic.

You get bonus points if you get the double-reference of the title.

Cross-posted from beatnikside.com.

The Needle and the damage (un)done

2009-10-12T19:41:16Z

I took this photo from the O Deck of the Space Needle about three weeks ago. It was fairly cold up there -- the top of the Needle being in Space and all -- but the skyward trip was worth it. That $25 annual pass to the O Deck has proven a shrewd investment, after all; cliched though it may sound, I benefit from the perspective that comes from leaving street level. I'm able to look down at the Seattle Times' 1000 Denny building, a tiny square on the map (not pictured in this photo), and to imagine myself into the even smaller space I occupied inside of it. That was my entire world for six years; for all that time I literally did all my creative thinking inside that box.

Today, almost a year after I was laid off in the Great (and continuing) Media Apocalpyse, the entire world is my entire world. I may be dirt-broke and scrambling, but I'm using my skills to pay the requisite bills. It's tough to get that into my head sometimes without the occasional trip into the Touristsphere.

Cross-posted from beatnikside.com. Yeah, I've become one of those cross-posting guys.

V I S I T I N G I S P R E T T Y .

2009-10-03T20:32:48Z

Back in my hometown of Las Vegas for a few days. Here's some of what I've seen so far, straight from the Nikon to your eyeballs with no in-betweens:

And introducing the scariest fucking Photoshop job I've ever seen:

Good to see John DeLancie got work after "Star Trek: The Next Generation."

Sometimes the universe hands me a freebie

2009-07-26T20:10:46Z

And that's Capitol Hill, ladies and gentlemen. She was wearing red leggings to match the mouse ears. A block away, some kid was holding a sign that read "Need money to buy more cardboard." Thank you! Good night! Tip your servers.

I'll post more photos this week. I've acquired quite the backlog.

Ten Things I Wish Could Send Backward Through Time to Me at Age 16

2009-07-11T20:26:00Z

I hereby entreat the Blue Angel, saint of Las Vegas' artistic community and the broad what gave me super-powers in my late 20s, to grant me the power to send the following back in time to Geoff Carter the teen-aged:

1. The internet.

2. Cheap long-distance service.

3. A better-rounded appreciation of post-punk.

4. The compulsion to perform a modicum of daily exercises -- crunches, lunges, simple fucking push-ups.

5. Grammar.

6. The iPod Nano.

7. Solace.

8. Awareness of a world larger than the suburbs, and a desire to see it.

9. The certain knowledge that the phrase "your permanent record" doesn't mean shit.

10. Sexting.

My better shots from the Fremont Solstice Parade

2009-07-06T21:46:33Z

Hey, they're only a month late. I'm very happy to say that I've been consumed with freelance and peripheral work and haven't had time to consider these shots, most of which were posted without the kiss of Photoshop. Also, I haven't had time to pick up the new Wilco record, and my head is filled with radio cures.

The other million-and-six photos are here.

I know this truth is much

2009-06-18T04:07:35Z

Nearly two years of eating salad and hitting the gym has caused my Bono-like bubble butt to winnow away to roughly half its former size. I've still got a dynamite ass, mind you, but you have to look for it.
The next three weeks will be packed solid with constant, exacting and even liberating work.
Thoughts on "The Wrestler": Its estranged-daughter subplot was cliched dogshit, the sloppiest writing since "Monster's Ball." Yes, Mickey Rourke can act -- but we knew that well before he ran off to have his face rearranged by cubists. I was much more interested in Marisa Tomei's disillusioned stripper, and I found myself wishing that Randy The Ram would have his second coronary so she could finish the movie out. Maybe she could even beat the tar outta that goon with the staple gun. Wow. That was one fucked-up scene -- and the only scene in "The Wrestler" that felt like it was directed by the Darren Aronofsky who made all those Darren Aronofsky movies.
Today I had an incredible pulled-pork sammich from a lunch truck with a snout.
I wish I'd had the good sense to discover the Durutti Column 25 years ago.
Have painted my fingernails gunmetal, but only on my left hand. I lack the coordination to do the other. Guess you know which hand I Wii with.

beatnikside @ 2009-05-27T20:19:00

2009-05-28T03:22:16Z

Somebody tell me where "The Thick of It" has been all my life.

Of Cities, and City Accessories

2009-05-27T00:09:49Z

Photos from around Ballard. The "Up" house is Edith Macefield's. By the time I got these shots, many of the balloons had popped in the wind.

I am at (name deleted) coffee in downtown Seattle, catching my breath. Today has been non-stop running from 10 a.m., when I paid a fairly unremarkable visit to the dentist, to five minutes ago, when the girl at the counter half-heartedly flirted with me. The young things who work the counters at these places generally don't talk to me, but this one asked me questions above and beyond the usual -- what'cha listening to on your iPod? Where'd you get that t-shirt? Are you a writer? -- and I have to admit I was puzzled by her interest until I remembered that I had Lorien dye my hair yesterday, leaving only the gray streak in the front and the salt-and-pepper at my temples. If I had an unruly lumberjack beard, she might even have asked my name.

Anyway, I'm doing all right. Miffed about this California bullshit, but I don't live there anymore. Work is either picking up or fixing to blow up in my face; such is the life of a freelancer. The weather in Seattle is still gorgeous, and the weather in my head is mostly sunny. And now, my dears, I'm gonna pick up my girl at her job and get her drunk.

T U R N S L I G H T L Y .

2009-04-30T00:51:55Z

By and by, we're getting a springtime.

A collection of WTF moments from my time in Wii's "Animal Crossing"

2009-04-09T18:21:09Z

"I'm in your house. Call me."

By the way: If you have a Wii, please send me your goddamn Wii number already, and one of your Miis. I've taken to jogging in Wii Fit, and it gives me a peculiar joy to run past people I know. I often pass imasage and motomotoyama in the course of my morning consitutional, and it makes me happy.

Needless to say, if you own "Animal Crossing" or "Mario Kart" for the Wii, I wanna network with yo' ass.

These Things Happened, Part 1

2009-04-05T17:52:46Z

Last week in Portland, OR., before an intra-league roller derby bout between Portland's Rose City Rollers and Seattle's Rat City Rollergirls, two Seattle rollergirls got their heads shaved to benefit cancer research and treatment. These are their stories.

That's the Derby Liberation Front's Libby Raider on the left, Grave Danger's Carmen Getsome on the right. In ten minutes' time, they'll be bald.

All the way badass. The ladies look hot, and their wind resistance is decreased.

Your kids won't believe they existed.

2009-04-01T23:55:50Z

1. Printed newspapers that aren't USA Today or the Daily Rupert.

2. Princess phones.

3. Television-show themes that describe the plot of the show (hat tip to TV's Frank).

4. Banks not owned by the Chinese.

5. Record labels that aren't Merge.

6. A home entertainment system pronounced "whee."

7. Outbursts of self-expression exceeping 140 characters.

8. Alec Baldwin.

9. Movies not in 3-D, which makes everything better and gives no one pounding headaches.

10. Privacy.

Cross-posted to Facebook, or as it will be known in the future, "The Internet."

Million-Dollar Dumb Idea of the Day

2009-03-18T23:49:45Z

Instead of making Twitter posts, I'm going to mail out Twitter postcards - 140 characters or less, banged out on a 70-year-old manual typewriter. The first batch goes out tonight.

How we love to sing along, though the words are wrong

2009-03-16T20:35:40Z

Scenes from Grave Danger's "Dead Leprechaun Karaoke Challenge," last Friday at the Rendezvous. That's LJ's own goldfischegirl at the top, belting out an award-winning rendition of "Roam," plus Swede Hurt singing something that resembled "Dancing Queen" and Sar Problem singing ... something, I don't remember what. It was late and I'd had cocktails. Earlier in the evening, I sang a version of "Love Stinks" that was so abrasive and embarassing to all that one of the hosts of the proceedings, the erstwhile Georgia O'Grief, cut off the song at the instrumental bridge.

The following night, I joined my friend Benjamen - formerly a colleague at the Las Vegas Weekly colleague, now a neighbor here in Ballard - at a live performance of Cinematic Titanic, the new movie-riffing venture by the crew of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Ben had an extra ticket, and I'm much beholden to him for letting me have it, because I haven't laughed so hard in years. I'd forgotten how good Joel Hodgson was at the effortless comic deadpan. Example: During Saturday night's movie - "Dynamite Brothers," an execreble slice of kung-fu/blaxplotation d-baggery, starring character actors from the first season of "M*A*S*H" - a character jumped into a car, which promptly exploded ... and Joel said, almost matter-of-factly, "You flooded it."

Today, it seems that all this balls-out hard living has caugfht up with me: I've got a cold, and a particularly annoying one. It hasn't helped things that the past two days have brought miserable winter weather back to Seattle - ice-cold winds, freezing rain, dogs and cats livin' together. I'm drinking my fluids and trying to keep my energy up, but it ain't easy. This morning, I woke to discover that the Seattle Post-Intelligencer publishes its last print edition tomorrow, and even though (A) I've expected this, everyone has and (B) I never actually worked at that paper, it still breaks my heart to see a 150 year-old publication cut down. Sure, you can point to the surviving online version of the PI and Clay Shirky this fucking mess all you like, but it's still a sad thing.

That's why I posted those pictures of three pretty girls singing your favorite songs, to help take the sting away. Let me know if it worked; I've got more.

'All around the cathedral the saints and apostles'

2009-03-13T01:14:17Z

Last night Jo Jo and I went to Chop Suey to see a bunch of local bands covering Disney songs. The event has apparently happened annually since 2004, but this was the first time I'd seen it. Some of the bands were very good - The Catch made the wistful "Part of Your World" into a right and proper grrrrl anthem - and some of the were, ah, unenthusiastic (if I wanted karaoke, Mr. Terry, I'd have gone to a fucking karaoke night). But for all the radical re-interpretations (The Pale Pacific grafted "I'm Wishing" onto the rhythm skeleton of MGMT's "Time to Pretend") and earnest, singer-songwriterly takes on the material, my favorite act of the evening was Noula Johnston of People Eating People, who performed two songs with accordionist Erin Rubin. Johnston was unsure of the words to "Poor Unfortunate Souls" and "Feed The Birds," and read them from a black Moleskine notebook even as she sang them.

I never heard of People Eating People before last night, but Johnston won me over from the first notes of "Feed The Birds." Her instrument, soulful and quavering, is the voice of a superstar. She reminded me of how affecting "Feed The Birds" is, and its part in making the end of "Mary Poppins" so uplifting. (The flying nanny came not to help the kids, who were simply bored and acting out, but to save the father, who was in real danger of losing his family and himself.) Over an arrangement of the song that strongly echoed Garth Hudson's lovely accordion arrangement (from Hal Willner's "Stay Awake" LP), Johnston sang "Birds" as if she didn't know it was from a Disney movie. She treated it the way it was written, as a hymn to the act of charity.

This morning I listened to People Eating People's originals on her MySpace page and yeah, Johnston's just that good. I'll buy the hell out of her record when it comes out.

For those who think young

2009-03-02T23:26:56Z

Springtime is just about to crack open in Seattle. The air tastes like a melon and the sky is back on terms with the flowers and trees. Today I shed an entire winter layer, forgoing the long sleeve undershirt for short sleeves and a light jacket. It's funny to think that the East Coast is buried in snow, and stranger still to think of the Dow Jones Industrials slowly freezing to death. The world doesn't feel like it's coming to an end. I'm going to take that as a sign that it isn't.

S P R I N G C L E A N I N G .

2009-02-24T18:37:44Z

Last Saturday, Lorien and JoJo threw me the best goddamn birthday party I've ever had. Most fellers pray to an uncaring god for a birthday party at which a girl jumps out of an ornate yet inedible cake, whereas I asked my friends in the roller derby and burlesque realm for a burlesque show featuring Disney princesses, and I got just that. I watched, with considerable joy (and rum) in my heart, as Alice, Ariel, Aurora, Belle and Cinderella did things that would have stopped Uncle Walt's heart dead. My pal DJ Soda Pop worked the decks, and I didn't pay for one of my own drinks. And I shared the glory of the evening with Rat City's referees and scorekeepers, some of the most magnificent creatures ever to tread the SportCourt. Thanks, y'all. You've spoiled me for every birthday that will follow, and every subsequent trip to Disneyland that doesn't feature pasties.

(By the way, don't get ideas about Snow White. Aimee was just dressing in the spirit of the occasion. And no, I won't post any compromising photos publicly.)

On an unrelated note, I will be suspending or severely curtailing my use of GoodReads, Twitter, MySpace and several other social web thingies in the near future. If I have something to say, I'll say it here or (briefly) in Facebook. I paid for this bl-g, and I should be using it.

So, in lieu of All That:

GOODREADS: Geoff is currently reading "The Great Upheaval" by Jay Winik. I'm halfway between the French Revolution and the birth of the abolitionist movement. Can't wait to see what happens next!

MYSPACE: My mood is: busy as fuck, considering there's no money coming in.

TWITTER: It's a cloudy day in Seattle, and a soft cool rain is falling. Spring will be here in minutes. Going to SAM and the Space Needle today for freelance assignments.

That should square the circle, I think.

beatnikside @ 2009-02-23T08:49:00

2009-02-23T17:03:50Z

Last thing I'm gonna say about it: It's pretty to think that Hollywood rewarded "Slumdog Millionaire" because it's a great movie (it is), or because Danny Boyle deserves to move up (he does). But really, it's a Hollywood effort to co-opt the last wholly successful film industry on this planet. "Slumdog" deserved many of the Oscars it won, including Best Picture, but not all of them.

I Twittered the Oscars yesterday. I would have posted those thoughts here - and some of you might have been happier if I had; I'm truly sorry that I deluged some of your mobile devices with messages - but I don't feel this forum as I once did. I'm not fan of Twitter, but everything and everyone seems to be moving over there. I'm having a tough time expressing myself these days, and I don't think 140-word blocks are the way to go.

What else? The other day I ran 3.25 miles. I've never run that far in my life - not even in high school, when some fat fuck with a clipboard and whistle made me run. It felt awfully good. 1.75 miles to go! DJ Bathrobe, getting this party started!

"How many roads must a man walk down?"

2009-02-16T17:25:14Z

"Forty-two! Excellent, excellent, that'll fox 'em."

I find myself blessed this morning, as I am every morning - but today, for a change, I recognize it. I can has a Lorien. I am surrounded by the finest collection of family and friends a man could hope for. I am in the best physical shape I've ever been. My mind is as keen and curious as it was yesterday. I enjoy writing as much as I ever have, and perhaps even more so. And my cats are pretty adorable for a pair of obnoxious, scratch-happy little fucks. It's a good life, and I wouldn't trade it.