Last Minute Shopping

Out on the town I feel it. At parties and walking in the streets of The City I love, I see it. Window displays beckon invitingly, while panhandlers and street musicians double their efforts trying to take advantage of the season of sharing. I feel the elusive Christmas spirit.

I am doing my usual last minute shopping for an image that I can turn into a holiday card. Shopping means cruising, trolling and fantasizing; meandering around city streets shooting random stuff and wishing the light was better. I picture Mary Ellen Mark’s photo of Santa Claus on break, eating a bowl of soup. I think maybe I can find him today, on Muni with a latte. Instead of a cigarette he’ll be chomping on some Nicorette and plugged in to his iPod, oblivious to the rest of humanity.

It’s my birthday and all my friends are with me in spirit. They keep calling, sending cards and taking me out to lunch. My best friend Jen sings to me and sends me a parcel of toys to brighten my day. My boss buys me a cake. I get gifts from people I haven’t seen in years. This is my best birthday ever and its Christmas time in The City. I make a good photo of City Hall and as usual, last minute shopping pays off.

Being There

It’s hard to know when to say no. I don’t like saying it when it comes to my job. I tend to think nothing is impossible, but the reality is I oftentimes take on more work than I should.

My day starts with a speedy drive to the San Mateo Superior Court, where I photograph a judge that loves talking shop with me. I wind my way though traffic back to San Francisco and when I walk in, the editors are asking if I can run over and shoot a section of the Aids Memorial Quilt at the law firm Heller Ehrman. My thoughts are no, I say everything but, “I am too busy.” The truth is, I am really too busy. I am backed up from days of neglecting non-time sensitive stuff and it has piled up—literally. I begrudgingly grab my camera and head out.

I hustle over to the firm and travel up 34 floors to reception. I didn’t bother to call ahead. I’m feeling edgy as I say, “I am with the Recorder, and I am here to shoot some photos of the quilt.” Surprisingly, the receptionist doesn’t immediately say yes. When you have been doing journalism for a while you know that there are two kinds of stories; ones that they bend over backwards to have you cover and ones they try to stop you from reporting on. This one seems like a ringer for back-bending acrobatics. She is calling the dude in charge of the quilt, which is roped off in the center of the lobby and I am really starting to squirm.

My impatience is growing as I imagine more notes, work orders and photo requests stacking up on my chair. Seconds seem like hours. The receptionist asks me if I want to get started and I jump at the chance.

The dude shows up. I talk to him for a while. He tells me he was at the firm 15 years ago when the quilt was first stitched together and that he remembers all 15 people listed on it. He explains how they have since quilted a new section for additional people that have died. I suddenly realize how important this is. I feel like dropping to my knees. I almost said no to being here and I am so unbelievably glad that I didn’t. Now, I just wish I could have gotten a better photo.

Long View

So Thanksgiving technically isn’t an assignment, but I have my camera anyway and I am in Nevada, the birthplace of all things Jason Doiy. Seriously, I was born on the darkest night of the year, in the desert of the now fastest growing city in the United States—Las Vegas.

I’m up north though in Carson City, although I was born in Vegas we moved early on, probably before the next summer started.

Big Box stores are all that remain of a once vast high desert landscape surrounded by sage and low property rates. I drive around new tract homes and behind the Home Depot right off of Highway 395. I can almost hear someone say, “If you build it, they will come” as I pass empty lots in between fully developed homes.

I used to ride my bike down this hill before there was even a road. It was a washed out, rutted dirt trail that led down to the only place a kid could buy candy in the whole area. Now its a paved road.

I remember riding my dirt bike with a pocket full of Atomic Fireball jawbreakers and Big League Chewing gum past where these two vistas meet.

Been There Done That

I am in the Haight, walking towards 96 Delmar Street and I notice this old meets new, yuppie vs. hippie picture.



I remember the first time I meandered up the street made famous by the Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead. I was in awe that such a place of counter culture existed on the planet. Today, I find homeless kids and gawking brats from Concord crawling up the block. Been there done that seems like an understatement for shops hawking bongs, tye-dye shirts, hemp stuff, and the dreams of a past generation turned into marketable products. Maybe I am jaded and just too old (never trust anyone over 30), but more likely it is because the “times they are a changing.”

I meet a couple in there ballroom apartment. I am not kidding; it’s rumored to be a former San Francisco hang-out for Hollywoodites of the late 40’s. Supposedly, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe once danced the night away. Of course my subjects remind me that it’s all just gossip and lore.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Depending on who you ask Autumn or Fall officially begins on September 23. No matter who you ask in the Bay Area it is really hard to tell when Summer ends and Fall begins. The lack of noticeable changes in seasons make for an easy, comfortable, almost climate controlled life. What could be better right?

In Mountain View, CA where there is actually no view of or from any mountains I notice, out of the corner of my eye, cheap gas and quickly pull into the station. While the car is filling, I look up and see a glorious elm that has reluctantly let go of some of its leaves. They are scattered around the 20 foot wide grassy planter that separates the asphalt from the sidewalk from the asphalt again. I think this is it. I think this is my own private Autumn, in November and I am not even wearing a jacket. California dreaming?

Stretching the Truth

In Newark, I am giving two presentations, one on ethics in photojournalism and one on creating photo illustrations. I am in love with the complete dichotomy of the two topics and how they almost counteract each other.

What I discover is that everyone in the room is willing to stretch their own personal ethics to fit individual scenarios that may come up. Pictures are extended horizontally to accommodate typography and layout constraints and objects are removed to make cleaner photos. I am slightly shocked to find out how untrustworthy a room full of hungry photographers can be. However, my presentations are a success based on the dialogue and discussions that ensued. At the very least people started talking about what they are doing and I made a good, truthful pigeon photo on the way back to the hotel.

The Color of Fear

I am traveling light; 1 carry-on, 1 check-in and a camera dangling from my neck. The shuttle picks my sleepy ass up after only 4 hours sleep and one cup of coffee. It's 5:18 am and still dark outside. We make one other stop, a couple climbs aboard dressed in shorts and Looney Tunes t-shirts. They are excruciatingly chipper and I bet Anaheim is their final destination or maybe even Florida, either way I wonder how cold it is going to be in Newark, NJ when I land.

The ticket lines are light and before I know it I am stripping in front of security, taking off my shoes, belt and jacket. I empty my pockets filling up dull, grey plastic bins with my junk. The intercom sedately announces that we are at “threat level orange,” and I am terrified for a minute, even more so because I don’t know what orange means. I guess red would be worse and something cool, soothing like blue or green would be safer, but how safe? I drift off and start to daydream about lying on my back, in a pool of clear blue water, staring up at the sky on a nice sunny day. I am picking out cumulus shapes that look like elephants and Barry Bonds when suddenly it’s my turn at the x-ray machine. I am standing there with no shoes, holding my boarding pass and an apple. The TSA employee stops me and motions at my apple. I say “I have to scan my apple?” and she nods. I ask how a piece of fruit can be dangerous. She doesn’t respond. I throw my apple in the trash. Oh well breakfast can wait.

It's the People

I thought I was on an M Train, but it turned out to be a train that doesn't go where I need to be. So I get off at Church Street Station, a stop early and start hiking up towards 21st and Castro. It's a hike, straight up a big hill--a San Francisco hill. I am enjoying it though and when I arrive I see my subject sitting on the steps, wearing his bike gear and holding his road bike. I wave and instantly start shooting photos. I am talking the whole time. I ask him about his trip. How long did it take to ride 2,979 miles across the United States? I ask him about tires, weather, camping and fatigue.

When I finish the shoot, I start to break down my lighting gear and he says "I want to show you something." He walks upstairs and then reappears with a triptych of his grandfather, his father, himself and his son, all with bicycles. I ask to shoot some more photos and he is thrilled that I asked. I love these shoots. The walk down the hill is much easier and I am practically skipping.

Junkies, Dealers and Psychos! Oh My!

My office is located in one of the worst neighborhoods in San Francisco. On an average day it's not uncommon to see someone smoking crack, shooting up, dealing drugs, drinking booze, going to the bathroom or getting arrested.

On the sidewalk you can peruse an assortment of items for sale from desperate souls. Stolen bicycles, packs of cigarettes, batteries, cases of Ensure and pornography. Every once in a while the police roll by in a paddy wagon van. The driver, wearing blue surgical gloves (I assume to keep the filth off his hands) leans out the window and slowly drives by before turning onto the sidewalk. It's a warning signal. The coherent ones scatter like roaches. Others don’t notice or don’t care and the police make a few arrests, leave and then 10 minutes later the leftovers scurry back and resume operations.

I am heading through the cesspool to my car. I need to run an errand. I need to pick up a modeling light for a flash. I step out into the street and while walking towards my car I stumble across something. I turn around and look at the ground and see that I just tripped on a yellow flip-flop sandal. I look back up just in time, as a full bag of clothing hits me in the chest. I then see a crazed woman cursing at me, "mother!#$!@ don’t step on my stuff bitch." She continues calling me names and generally howling at the moon. I rush past her as she goes to collect her bag and clothing. I hustle to my car and drive away; just another day in paradise.

Making the Call

I pick up the phone and punch in the numbers for a last minute assignment. A pleasant and cheerful receptionist’s voice greets me and I asked to be transferred. Seconds later I hear a serious and subdued “Hello?” I do my usual spiel and he agrees to be photographed in about an hour. While I am confirming the address the reporter left me, he stops me and says, “Its right above Absinthe.” I respond with a chuckle “That’s convenient.” Dead silence. I then quickly add “I was just kidding.” Again the line is dead silent. I say, “I’ll see you at 4 pm.” After a delay he replies, “Ok,” and hangs up. I am a little worried now. I hope he doesn’t call back and cancel or refuse to meet me when I arrive.

The Absinthe Brasserie and Bar, opened in 1998 and plays an odd homage to the obscure but famous French drink, distilled from aniseed and wormwood. The Absinthe liquor, dubbed “The Green Fairy” is claimed to be wildly addictive and psychoactive. It is banned in several countries including the US. While there is no proof that Absinthe is hallucinogenic, there is however the undisputed fact that thujone (the chemical extract found in wormwood) is toxic and can cause renal failure and death in large doses.

When I arrive, I realize the address can’t possibly be right and I discover that the reporter is dyslexic and transposed the numbers. I stomp up the steps above the bar and meet my subject; he is really just reserved and like the bar below, a bit quirky and unconventional. I was worried for nothing, definitely paranoid, perhaps I was even hallucinating.

A Picture is Worth at Least a Couple of Drinks

I am helping a friend shoot the Lit Crawl in the Mission. Tonight, I am the lighting wizard. I have a radio slave that triggers my friend’s flash and I position myself about 30 degrees to her right or left at each grouping of literary guru's. It is off-camera lighting at its finest.

Before this though, I spend about an hour driving around the mission looking for parking and by the time I pull into a spot I have made 4 illegal u-turns, burnt through ¼ tank of gas, and have been flipped off by one zealot of a bicyclist. The streets are packed with program toting, literary groupies. They are dressed in the usual Mission attire, which consists of a heightened sense of self awareness, no makeup, a concern for the environment, vegan sensibilities and a general aura of coolness.

The Lit Crawl is a series of free literary readings spread out across the Mission, all happening simultaneously. It’s like the beat generation never left San Francisco and for one night everyone participates in a glorious orgy of word play, a massive boggle festival with no timers.

We finish our venue hopping and head over to the after-party, an exclusive $250.00 per person event that culminates the evening in a celebration of all things par’tay. I don’t have a ticket and we end up having to crash the venue; I somehow manage to get admitted on a “he’s with the band” ticket.

With my hand stamped, I head upstairs and meet some real local’s local authors. We do some “grip and grins” (photospeak for cheesy group photo) and afterwards I get some free drink tokens, which somehow leads to more free drink tokens and then even more free drinks! It’s really cool to have a camera sometimes. People think you’re important.

Digital Castles in the Sand

Sometimes being lost is good and you can find something along the way.

Today it's Sunnyvale, to a company called SonicWall. I have some poorly written directions that I think will suffice. After exiting the freeway and being unable to find the place, I realized I forgot the subject’s phone number.

I check the directions a few more times and I start to make a sweeping, sector-based grid search, block by block. Just when I am ready to shamefully sacrifice my pride and pull into a gas station, I stumble across the right street. Scanning the addresses, I instantly recognize that I have somehow passed it. Turning the car around I notice the sign. I laugh.

It’s not a spectacular photo by any means, it’s pretty straight forward, boring even; but it does show how Silicon Valley isn’t the juggernaut it used to be. How realtors wanting to move large, empty business parks will try to entice the salivating entrepreneur with his name in lights.

Love Sister

A senior in-house counsel tells me she is the sister of a celebrity while I am photographing her and of course I have to ask who. Courtney Love she says; I’m stunned. She makes me promise that it won’t appear in the article. I promise, adding if it shows up, it’s not my doing.

I ask her what it was like growing up with Courtney Michelle Harrison and she says, slightly dysfunctional. I never would have guessed that I tell her. We laugh.

The photo shoot goes quickly and I have to work really hard at making her feel at ease. I like her a lot and keep my promise.

Ethical Montage

A guy leans across a couple empty seats on a Muni J train and asks me if I am a professional photographer. I nondescriptly nod and say yes.

He asks if my digital camera falsifies images automatically and says he can't trust pictures since digital photography. I tell him no and I try to explain to him that photo manipulation isn't anything new. I explain, photomontages were being created as early as 1857 and that the only thing that has changed is the technology has become more accessible and much more precise. I add that ethics are taught and the person behind the camera is ultimately the one responsible, not the technology or medium.

Unfortunately, he then begins to tell me a story about how the City of San Francisco is screwing him out of a patent and has contracted someone else to build his invention. He accuses practically every city official of being corrupt and out to get him. I try listening politely and when it's my stop I wish him good luck and he says "Good luck to you too." I wonder why I’m the one that needs luck.

The Angry Ambulance Chasers

So I meet some trial attorneys on a deserted road on the outskirts of Fairfield. Their client, driving down this empty road was suddenly struck by a vehicle careening across Interstate 80, crashing through a flimsy fence separating the frontage road from the interstate highway.

One of them curses Caltrans, theatrically kicking the ground, for just replacing the fence and not putting in a guard rail and he quickly follows that he doesn't want to stand here too long because a car could crash through at any moment.

I shoot some photos and they keep asking if I am getting the road in. I am yelling "YES!" over the top of the roar from the interstate. I finish the shoot and start to break down my equipment while they climb back in their shinny, silver BWM with the license plate "9 Jurors" and peel out.

Flies and Cow Pies

Today I find myself driving up into the Los Buellis Hills, East of Milpitas. I meet a retired doctor who drives me around his 2,000 plus acres of land. We careen around the mountainside through gutted, washed out roadways right next to steep drop-offs. We're not wearing seat belts and he turns to me and says, "Jason, there is one thing you need to do up here no matter what; if I say jump you need to do it." I picture our 4x4 plummeting down the canyon, maybe taking out a few trees along the way and me trying to jump or maybe not. It isn't an image I want to dwell on.

I shoot photos of the Doc near some of his cattle, while flies are buzzing around us both. I step in a fresh cow pie. He laughs. This is a great assignment.

Manufacturing the Moment

Another day and another photo, but this time the assignment is interesting and I am excited about shooting the president of the American Wind Energy Association.

The name "Altamont" is probably more famous for the tragic Rolling Stones concert in 1969 where a black man was stabbed to death by a gang of white thugs, but the windy Altamont Pass is home to thousands of turbines that dot the hillsides, catching the cool-costal, marine gush before it evaporates into the Central Valley. The pass is said to be the largest collection of wind turbines in the world and my subject is a betting man. He's betting his legal practice on renewable alternative energy as a source of new revenue for his law firm.

I know this is could be a great photo, but I have to massage the moment. I ask him if he has any sunglasses. He shrugs and searches his suitcase (he just flew into Oakland from L.A.). I tell him it'll make a fantastic photo and after some "wrong moments" I create an image that sums it all up.

You Look Marvelous!

So picture yourself having a baby being delivered and at the same time working a $400 million dollar deal.

I find myself driving down Page Mill once again, the Mecca of Silicon Valley and once again pulling into the law firm of Pillsbury Winthrop. I do my meet and greet with the perp and he’s a little heavy in the middle and although it doesn’t need to be pointed out it’s one of the first things he mentions. I go through the motions and tell him he looks marvelous. I show him a photo and I can tell he is surprised, in a good way.

I leave and head back to SF. I wonder about his kid, I wonder about his wife, I wonder what it would be like if I made as much money as him. I know I wouldn’t want to leave my wife during delivery, even if it meant more money than I could imagine and $400 million is more than I can fathom. Think about it. What would that much money look like in one room?

Hyper Drive

I did 4 assignments in one day and they were spaced out all over the peninsula. I logged about 200 miles that day and still managed to get all my work done. Skipping lunch, driving fast and praying for no traffic you realize that there are not many people cut out for this job. I can meet strangers and make them my best friend in 5 minutes with a camera, but without it I stumble over every word and feel awkward.

On the River

I am photographing an attorney that had once won $26,840 on Jeopardy and has now returned from playing in the World Poker Tour. He won his original $10,000 back, but was already on a sponsored satellite program so he was ahead about $9,800. I start talking poker with him and he recommends I read Phil Gordon's "Little Green Book." He jots it down on a post-it note and I leave the building thinking I wish I could win money and not even care.

Snapshots on a Train

Coming back from an assignment downtown I am tired and feeling burned-out. I notice a small old lady staring at me. She is wearing a berkeleyesque outfit and upon taking a second glance I notice a Leica M6 dangling from her neck. In case you don’t know, a Leica isn’t cheap, in fact it was considered the best 35mm rangefinder on the planet and probably still is. We exchange looks back and forth and I try to smile at her, but she doesn’t return the gesture. I think maybe she might be an older, famous photographer and I should go talk with her, but since she didn’t appear to be friendly I don’t.

Before my stop, I stand up to let elderly people have my seat and I go stand by the door. My sunglasses are on my head and my camera is hanging on my shoulder. I notice Old Lady Leica trying to pre-focus on me without putting the camera to her face. She looks up at me and I smile knowingly and she realizes she’s been caught and her face turns sour. I exit the train thinking I should of told her it was OK to shoot my photo.

Bringing up the Baby

The new executive director of the LCAV has a 4-week-old baby and I am driving up into the Albany Hills to photograph the new director, not the baby. I wind and weave through streets, barely big enough to pass one vehicle and a couple of times; I need to pull over to allow a more enthusiastic motorist through. She isn't terribly fond of her baby and it’s pretty apparent. She actually says being a mother is "kinda boring," and she is ready to go back to work. She says, “Well maybe when they get older, but not right now all they do is this,” meaning cry. I tell her maybe she has to learn to enjoy the Oprah show and other stuff like that; she turns up her nose and laughs.

Modesto

I am a photographer. This is a blog about strange events that happen to me when I am on assignment.

I have about 40 minutes to kill before I meet an environmental circuit prosecutor for the State of California. I stop at a McDonalds near downtown Modesto, after passing through an arch that says “Modesto—Water, Wealth, Contentment, Health.” I don’t have much of a choice in restaurants, when I am short on time and a stranger in a strange land.

The security guard saunters over to a woman wearing a red wig and speaks under her breath, while the woman in the red wig continues to eye-ball me, popping her dentures up and down, up and down.

I try to eat my fries but they are cold and lifeless and what little appetite I have is fading fast. I open up the burger and the bun is as hard as the stares I'm getting from denture face and rent-a-cop. I toss the food in the trash and walk outside, take a deep breath and say I’ll just head to the assignment early. Being a photographer isn’t easy in more ways than one.