Crab Fishing In Pacifica

Well over a hundred fisherfolk came out for crab on Tuesday morning.

With all of the hub-bub about a lack of commercially available Dungeness crab due to price disputes between wholesale buyers and fishermen, Californians from at least as far afield as Sacramento were out and about in Pacifica on Tuesday hoping to catch their own. On the Pacifica Pier, around a hundred intrepid fisherfolk ranging in age from eight to over eighty were plying the waters in search of the sometimes elusive fall catch. Armed with both crab baskets and pole-cast snares, they patiently waited for their potential meal tickets, chatting amongst each other in languages ranging from English to Spanish, Vietnamese to Mandarin.

After chatting with a couple of people fishing, I started talking with Stephen Piña of Livermore, one of those fishing on the pier. He’d brought out his daughter Jorlynn and her friend Kelly McKinney to do some crab fishing, but as of that moment had come up short. As luck would have it, Jorlynn decided to check her trap right as was chatting with her father, and she struck gold. Smiles alighted as they pulled in the trap. Not only was it a crab, but it was a big one. Jorlynn had caught a nine inch crab, and considering the legal size limit is five and three quarters, that is quite a beauty. A bystander said that a crab like that would fetch twenty dollars at market prices, not a bad return on some sardines and a little patience. Passersby were amazed at the crab she had caught, some saying it was the largest they’d seen.

The young woman created quite a buzz with her catch. People from all over the pier came to check out the monstrous crab that she’d caught. Most were impressed with the fact that a young woman caught what may well have been the largest crab of the day, and that she was poised for more. In the midst of this, I came to a realization.

The incredible diversity of the crab fisherfolk is one of the most heartening parts of the Pacifica experience. Few places in modern America have such a diverse assembly of different races, backgrounds, and ethnic groups not only occupying the same space, but actually positively interacting with each other in a place where the frequently divisive issues of race were cast aside in favor of shared experience and camaraderie. Instead of mutual suspicion, there was mutual laughter, with people cracking jokes with each other about how many crabs they’d caught and who was giving someone else some away for free. I talked with one man who said that though he was disabled and unemployed, the pier at Pacifica gave him the opportunity to stay happy every day, and a chance to escape the “riff-raff” of where he lived. Brought together with catching crabs, the Pacifica pier is a place where the idea of the American melting pot still lives, even if the pot is also full of crabs.

A Proud Young Fisherwoman

The Wait Continues

One of the Fishermen Using A Crab Snare

A passerby describes the size of the crab caught by Jorlynn

Snare Rig and Bait Knife

Jorlynn Pulling In Her Catch

Well over a hundred fisherfolk came out for crab on Tuesday morning.

The Day Has Finally Come

Marchers in San Francisco on October 15th, 2011

For the past decade, I waited. Waited for the fires of the Twin Towers to finally smolder into ashes, for the psychopomps to carry the last of the dead to their final rest. I waited for Americans to finish their grieving, to allow time to heal the wounds of the shocked and awed.

The wait is over.

What started as a simple call to arms by a few Canadian activists and overtly theatrical internet agitators finally manifested itself on September 17, 2011. At first, only a few decided that this was their calling, their time to show the world what they really thought about the way it was headed. Others heard their call. After just over a month, the Occupy Wall Street movement grew from a hashtag on Twitter into a physical occupation of well over a thousand cities worldwide in as far-flung places as New Zealand and Japan to as close to home as Sacramento, California and Providence, Rhode Island. For the first time in many of their lives, people long accustomed to merely venting their frustrations among friends, on their blogs or by deep sighs late in the night are taking to the streets; not to rally behind a savior in the form of a new hope, but to take a stand and attempt to wrest control of our world from those that would destroy it.

They call themselves many things: Occupiers, The 99%, The People. Their protest signs tally the grievances: overt monetary control of the political process, gross income inequality, bailouts for banks on the taxpayer’s tab. Their power comes from the variety of their beliefs, their own personal axes to grind. By not beseeching supplication from elected “leaders,” the Occupiers are taking a hint from a famous idea put forth by Albert Einstein: “No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it.” That powerful idea is what motivates me to join this movement.

After 28 years of careful observation of the world in which we live, it has come to my attention that in order for the great experiment known as civilization to continue its path toward the edification of humanity above that of a simple beast, we must choose, together, right now, as a species. We can choose to continue to see what happens with our current structures and worldviews, hoping that we get lucky in the eleventh hour just as the combined weight of environmental destruction, resource depletion, and bellicose individualism come to a head. We might come through that, as a species, but only through much loss and bloodshed as we unwind the last gifts of this great earth in a consumptive death spiral. We could just as easily end it all in searing fireballs and watch 10,000 years of effort be obliterated within a month’s time. The future of our species is not something I am willing to gamble with due to a simple lack of imagination and desperate clinging to outmoded patterns of thought.

I propose a different solution.

Standing at the cusp of our potential oblivion, we can choose to work together for the common dreams of humanity. We can choose to stop letting the sellers of fear get within our ears and tell us it cannot be done. We can choose to abandon the promise of quarterly profits for the promise of a future as a species. We can choose to let the whispers of our hearts drown out the doubts in our minds.

We can choose to have compassion.

Each mind that makes that choice has the power to re-create the world. Each mind that makes that choice silences those that would seek to scoff at compassion as the stuff of dreamers. Each mind that stops believing in the phantom power of those in the revolving-door gambling houses makes them less and less relevant.

Those that are afraid of this power that we all hold might try and keep themselves at bay, saying things like “That’s the way the world works,” or “You can’t get rid of all of the problems.” I don’t expect that we can get rid of all of the problems. What I propose is that we might, as a species, decide that we wish to cast aside our ancient tribal questions of us and them as an experiment to see where we can go. Replace the currently directionless Leviathan of our world with one that enshrines the rights of all to thrive. A world where our imaginations are allowed to flourish, where we no longer must bow to the dictates of simple survival and can all exist as equal players in a game of joy and wonder.

I finally decided to wake up from the nightmare. I can only hope that others will too.

The Unkown Vengeance Weapon

Hitler Didn't Find What He Wanted at Harrods

Contrary to popular belief, the V2 was not the last of Hitler’s somewhat successful “Vergeltungswaffen” or Vengeance Weapons. The “Flugkörperburrito” was successfully used to score great deals at Harrods well into the 1960′s.

I watched you in the headlights

We were at the show, I arrived separately from you
Things seemed OK, but underlying
Tension showed up in your face in fleeting
Expressions of discontent.
You got on stage, sang a song, felt better,
My shutter clicked the whole time.
It ended, unwound, we left together.
Stopped on the curb, our cars at antipodes.
Stared into each other’s eyes, I looked for meaning.
I knew you wanted me to follow,
Part of me rebelled.
We played this tit for tat for a while.
You would try to smile, first one side then the other,
Your face half-lit by the street lamps under the shadow of your hat.
Eyes wished to see some return from my half.
You started to shiver in that blue dress you loved,
Worn a year before to the day.
Misty drizzle and cold, I told you I had to build something.
You walked away to your car, told me you’d be alright.
I couldn’t move, so I just stared until startled by your headlights.
I walked away slowly, not sure at what I had done.
Then got into my car.

Spreading Cheer

 

A Happy Pedestrian on Broadway

In the middle of December, I was visited by Kelley, the owner of the condo in which I currently reside. Deciding to make her visit memorable, I took her out for a falafel and we went for a walk down Broadway. Turning the corner from 2nd Avenue on to Broadway, a short walk brought something fascinating into my view: someone dressed as Santa Claus was spreading good cheer through the streets of Nashville. As a photographer, this proved an irresistible opportunity, as it is not everyday that one is able to wander the streets with a passable facsimile of St. Nick. Catching up to the man, I asked him if I could follow him around for a while as he walked around.
“You can come for a little while if you want,” was his response, and so I did.

His effect on the throngs queuing up for the honky-tonks and bars was impressive. People smiled, cheered and reached for high-fives:

High Five For Santa

As we walked, I got to talking to “Santa.” It turns out his name is James, and his motive for doing this was one of self-preservation. He explained to me that for years he had been a bit of a “humbug” around Christmas, and that he had been sad due to the death of his father a number of years ago and the death of his mother in 2007. After years of being depressed during the holidays, James decided to go out into the world and spread good cheer. He would no longer allow his sadness to control him. He wanted to make the world a better place, in his own way.

This Is What An Endangered Species Looks Like

 

Cambarus pristinus, an endangered species of crayfish

During a recent hike at Burgess Falls State Park, I came across this little fellow in the hands of a curious fellow hiker. I talked with the young man for a second, and made sure that this little guy made it safely into my hands. There was something striking about its blue colored claws, so after a bit of searching on the internet it turns out that it is an example of Cambarus pristinus, the pristine crayfish. Although listed by the ICUN Redlist (a list of the world’s endangered and threatened species) as “Data Deficient,” more localized sources say that this is an endangered species.  Native to the Caney Fork and other rivers, it is threatened by the silting caused by the cutting down of trees for lumber. When trees are felled near rivers, the soils and sediments that their roots once held are free to wash into waterways, often choking them. Like so many species, its continued survival is dependent on human actions that are seemingly unrelated to its habitat.

Strangely enough, Tennessee is a biodiversity hot-spot for crayfish with 78 species, more than any other state in the country. By random chance, my encounter with this little guy parallels the recent discovery of a new species of crayfish in Tennessee. Idenification was made using the key found here.

This is Obie

Obie is a homeless man in Nashville, Tennsessee

This is Obie. He is a homeless man in Nashville, Tennessee. I met him one night as I was walking to a downtown convenience store to purchase a lottery ticket. As I was walking down the street, he came up to me and asked if he could have a dollar to get a coffee, as it was cold and about to snow. I explained to him that I didn’t have any more cash than the dollar that I was going to spend on a lottery ticket, so I said that if he would come to the convenience store with me I would purchase a coffee for him. I gave him a cigarette and we walked toward the store, chatting as we smoked. After arriving at the corner where the store is located, I asked him if he wanted a nip of whiskey to put in his coffee, but he declined; he opted for a banana instead, to which I cheerfully agreed. I went into the convenience store, ordered him a cappuccino (the coffee they had on tap was cold according to the guy behind the counter), and bought my ticket. The first three numbers of the ticket (a Mega Millions ticket) were 11, 22, and 33 by completely random chance. I poured in a bunch of sugar as per Obie’s request, and said goodbye to the proprietor. Handing him the coffee, I said goodbye, and we parted ways. On the way back to my condo, I was stopped by a young man who had seen me buy Obie the coffee. He said how people seldom do things like that for strangers and was impressed by my generosity. He inquired about my pea coat, which was nearly identical to the one he was wearing, as he had been on active duty in the Navy and was wondering if I had been as well. I answered in the negative, and explained to him how I had moved here to pursue my love of photography. Before we parted ways, I gave him my contact information and bid him adieu.

The next day I decided to go out and take photos as I am wont to do from time to time, and I ended up walking down 5th Avenue toward Union Street. I took a couple of shots, and upon noticing a deranged man yelling at himself across the street decided to cross and take his picture. I lost the nerve to do so, and then turned around, seeing Obie waving to me from the crosswalk. I said hello to him, and he asked me if I could get him something to eat. I explained to him that I had but 80 dollars to my name at the moment, and though I would gladly get him another coffee, I couldn’t give him cash, as I didn’t have any on me.  He thanked me for the offer, saying that he was not cold today but merely hungry. Two corporate types passed by us, completely underdressed for the weather in their short sleeve button-down shirts and slacks and walked up the set of stairs next to us. Obie asked them for help, but they didn’t respond. At this moment, I said “Fuck it.”
“Obie, here is the deal. You tell me your story, and I will buy you a sandwich over at that Subway.”
He responded in the affirmative, and we walked into the sandwich shop.

Thoughts On Heavier Than Air Flight

Written on the wing between Rhode Island and Chicago.

According to science, modern humans have existed in pretty much their current state for up to 250,000 and at least 70,000 years. As such, though considered commonplace by many, air travel on board jet aircraft represents just 1/1,400 to 1/5,000 of the entire human experience. Flying aboard a turbojet leviathan at 35,000 feet is one of the more magical experiences in the history of humanity, yet so many fail to revel in its facets beyond mere utility. When on board an airplane, I first make my peace with the universe, as once the plane lifts off my fate is no longer in my hands until I reach the ground once again. This process entails a review of my life so far, judging it to be worthwhile, and then getting on with the rest of my journey. This preparation enables me to enjoy the entire flight, even the potentially beautiful climax of death that each passenger tries to forget as they board the aircraft.


How To Land A Gig Breathing Fire and Live To Tell The Tale

(A string of fortuitous happenstance)

The Dusty Remnants of a Flaming Head

I recently had the pleasure of breathing fire for Steve-O from Jackass as part of his national “Steve-O’s Entirely Too Much Information Tour,” a hilarious stand-up and stunt show covering sobriety, misadventures, and LOTS of TMI. This is the story of how that came to be.

On a Monday night not too long ago at the not-exclusively-country Nashville musical establishment known as the Mercy Lounge Neil Young happened to saunter in. Amongst the crowd assembled for their weekly 8 off 8th (Mondays at Mercy Lounge) event was a curious cast of characters that included my friend Yvonne and her trivia team companion Kyle. Yvonne was the first to notice Neil, and her relation of this fact to Kyle sent him into swoons. Kyle was a bit afraid to go over and talk to Neil, but I cheered him on to give him the courage, citing that he might never have a chance to speak to him again.
So he did, and nearly passed out from excitement. Later I found that Neil Young was checking out the place for a memorial concert for his long-time friend and pedal steel guitarist Ben Keith. (Local Nashville artist and occasional co-conspirator Brandon Jazz happened to be tending bar that night, and had the honor of pouring shots of Patron for he and Neil and drinking them together).

Fast forward a few weeks.

A New Way of Looking at Content: Chainr

Cruising through the App Store on my iPhone, I came across a funny little app with a funny little name that might revolutionize the way in which people think about content creation on the go.  That app is Chainr.  With Chainr, users can create a stream of consciousness combination of text, audio, photos, video, and GPS coordinates capable of providing instructions, telling a story, showing the solution to a problem, or recording everyday living.  For instance, suppose I was pursuing one of my paths of fortuitous happenstance (synchronicity by another name) that I find myself on from time to time, where I follow a chain of interesting events and live life in a seemingly constant connection of one positive event to the other.  This app would allow me to record these elusive moments in real-time.  As for the features of the program, the current version allows you to both save and edit these chains as well as play them in reverse.  These chains can then be shared with other users, allowing them to re-live the sequence of events that you create without the hassle of having to switch between several programs to view all of the content.  I predict that this could create a revolutionary new form of art that has yet to be seen in the digital world: the true stream of consciousness. By utilizing several forms of media in a meaningful and sequential nature, one can alter the pace of a narrative, delineate its interaction with the real world, and offer the user targeted sensory inputs for each part of the experience.  That is an amazing feat unto itself.  Try it out.

Chainr’s development team can be contacted via Twitter (@ChainerApp).  Additionally, their YouTube Channel has a good demo video of Chainr in action.  In no way was I compensated for this blog entry.