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.