The Migrant Iphonographer

San Ysidro, CA - Tijuana Border crossing, Friday- 3am.

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No more drunken teens from san diego.  No more mile long lines to get into the US.  No more clusters of girls selling chic-lets.  

Tijuana has changed.   

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My Future in Amarillo

Amarillo, TX

I am on my way to Amarillo to research a new potential documentary about the upcoming mayoral elections. The election has become a free for all, with 10 candidates, ranging from a Christian Activist to a transgender mechanic and used car salesman. Its a great American story, in a great American city far off the beaten path in the high plains.

My journey into town, in the midst of a dust storm, approaching an over sized piece of farm equipment / secret weaponry for Pantex, says it all.

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Lhasa De Sela

Lhasa de Sela, one of my favorite artists, died Jan 1st of last year. Meeting her two years ago was one of my few truly star struck moments. "The Living Road", in particular, is a favorite. And this video recently popped up on youtube, putting it to footage from the space shuttle. Genius.

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Rokia Does Billie

San Francisco, CA

I just discovered Rokia Traore. Listen to her here doing Gershwin's "The Man I Love".

I spent the last two months in SF editing a feature length version of Ghetto Ballet, that picks up where the HBO version left off. I was listening to Rokia walking to and from the studio. And eventually, she worked her way into the cut.

She is irresistible.

(Stay tuned to find out when and where you can see the new version of Ghetto Ballet)

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Dirty Old Men

My grandfather loved woman. So he became an amateur photographer.

His camera was a permanent accessory, his access pass to women way outside his league. His limited mobility meant his subjects were suburban women from his neighborhood- women at the strip mall, the park, the public pool. He would make them laugh and play to their vanity- then shoot as long as they allowed, working them from playful to more suggestive poses. He was shameless and he had no limits. Meanwhile, My grandmother could be found waiting in the car.

He photographed several women from his church choir. He eroticized them (and they knew it.)  Their dresses were aways a little too short, or their blouse too tight. These "choir photos" would then be blown up, cropped, and taped to the wall in his living room.

There were thousands of these photos, all over the house. No one ever mentioned it.

All this T&A made me uncomfortable during our holiday visits. My grandmother would serve him Thanksgiving turkey surrounded by images of church friends with wardrobe malfunctions, and strangers in suggestive poses. God bless her. and him.

When grandma died, grandpa tore all these images down, and replaced them with pictures of her. The house became a memorial. By this time, he had a printer and every waking hour was spent obsessively printing photos of their life together.

He would caption them with sentimental epitaphs or quotes from the Bible, then use cheap effects from print shop- such as vignetting, and the sepia glow.

Tragedy.

A few years passed. His health declined. He had to be fed, the house had to be cleaned, he had to be reminded to take medication... Still, he woke up, stumbled to the computer in his adult diaper, and went through photos of his wife. He did this until he died.

I am thinking about him today.

I am cleaning out my closet. This has not been done in years. I am down, and the accumulation of boxes of random meaningless crap makes me feel worse.

I come across a camera I was using years ago. I click through the photos.

There are pictures from Africa, Santa Monica, Atlanta, Amsterdam, South Africa.

And there are lots of men. Shirtless men. Lonely men. Homeless men. Interesting men. Happy men. Men I find attractive.

I use my camera to lure them in. I hope they are vain and will fall for it. Then fall for me.

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I Am Diamond Medallion

Salt Lake City, UT

I am a part of the diamond medallion sky lounge club with delta. This is a privilege they offer to people who have spent time and money with delta, as I have.

It is bullshit, and I feel honored.

I walk through the frosted sliding doors with a sense of privilege and belonging. I do not need to be too kind at reception, because it is an honor to be welcomed into the club, but not one to work there.

These lounges have complimentary booze, the only real benefit of membership. Aside from this, the sky lounges feel very much like public libraries in the midwest. (Though I am not sure if the midwest still has public libraries.)

I like to sit in the corner and drink. Sometimes I do my very important work. Mostly, I just watch others.

Their dour expressions suggest a belief that their membership is a fair and appropriate compensation for the many many hours they have spent working very very hard selling things they hate to people they despise.

The sky lounge is a very quiet place. We sip our drinks in isolation. There is no shame in this. It is accepted as good and right.  And when there are raised voices, people notice... even if everyone continues to look at their laptops and sip their wine.

In Salt Lake, I over heard a phone conversation that began this way:

"God would want you to be consistent" -

30 seconds of silence - 

"Honey - God really wants you to be consistent"

more silence.

"Consistent!"  -

then a grunt.

then a groan.

then "Jesus Fucking Christ. I have to go"

and then the artificial clicking noise that suggests that the iphone is being put to sleep

He quietly packed up his briefcase and slipped past the frosted glass doors into the terminal.

I started on another plate of cheese cubes and glass of syrah.

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The Golden Hour...

Joshua Tree, CA

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A Very Good Day...

Boston MA

5 drag queens, out in Boston in broad daylight, doing the duck tour, visiting historic sights.

Staying tucked for hours on end in the cold November rain.

God bless 'em. Ive fallen for them all.

Time to pull out the canon again and put the iphone away... these girls deserve a little production value.

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The Migrant Iphonographer

Charlotte, NC

"Pretty Dresses on Lonely Girls"

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Self Portrait

Charlotte, NC - Komfort Inn

These are the final days of Production. The supervising producer has come armed with sleeping pills and pain killers. The Director of Photography, with cheap wine and Twizzlers. The Field Producer with only his anger at the world.

I love my job and I love the people I work with.

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