Here.

This is from my first visit.

Today I'm wearing my "City of ChampYinz" shirt.

Cristian and I are giggling about Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion.

Two Days.

I have two days left.
This is from Chicago. From the recent color batch.
I promise the next picture will not have Claire in it. But she really is a fascinating subject.

Today at work IV

Also, to top it off, Claire and I ate sandwiches and chips in a launch while a woman was CLEARLY riding on some dude in their boat...maybe....50-70 yards away? I thought you had to come ashore for that kind of service!

C-41.

So. On Saturday I spent some fun time in the darkrooms with my friends Sally and Laura. Sally provided us with the instruction we needed to use the Jobo color processing machine. I've printed m own color many a time, but have never had the means to process film until recently. Someone donated said Jobo to pghfilmmakers, and I bought a C-41 kit of Tetanol. It was fun an typically filmmakers. The processor has two jobs. One is to keep the water bath, and chemicals at a precise temperature, for this 100 degrees. Also, it's supposed to turn the tank for you. So all you should have to do is dump in the chemistry, time, and dump it out. However, despite it working when we got in the room, when we tried ot actually use the machine with film in it, the motor stopped working. Not really too big of a deal, just a little more work than we had thought was coming. So we had to turn the tank by hand on the machine...but it still made the chemisty easy to do, and the temp was fine.

Sally and Laura both peaced once their few rolls were done. All in all I processed 11 rolls of my own. All 120mm. Some from the holga, and some from the mamiya. Only one roll came out worthless. It actually processed well, but had about two actual usable images. They were however subject wise...poor, and uninteresting, and of a time I'd rather not have around. So I had no problem sacrificing them to the photo gods. I'm going to spend some evenings this week at filmmakers scanning them. I've got about two weeks left, so I'd better use that account up as much as possible. And it'll give me something to work on on da train.

No!....NO!!!!!

This is an oldie, but I put them together today for something else. Surprise surprise...Lil made a triptych.

John Fucking Cartwright

Last night saw the dj debut of myself. I was a little unaware of the genre sort of thing that was going on, but am the bomb, and had exactly what was needed. I fucked up a little here and there, but would say it was a good night. Thanks to all who came and partied. I think it was definately the most people I've seen at a dance/music night a the brillobox in quite awhile. Off to a slow start, but got moving. More pics will be on flickr soon.
Extra thanks to Edgar for publishing my name as John Fucking Cartwright, effectively disregarding my indecisiveness over the choice between that and sticking it out with "lil" or "little john." John Fucking Cartwright.

Just a Reminder.

Don't ever forget:

Participation mystique. A term derived from anthropology and the study of primitive psychology, denoting a mystical connection, or identity, between subject and object. (See also archaic, identification and projection.)

[Participation mystique] consists in the fact that the subject cannot clearly distinguish himself from the object but is bound to it by a direct relationship which amounts to partial identity. . . . Among civilized peoples it usually occurs between persons, seldom between a person and a thing. In the first case it is a transference relationship . . . . In the second case there is a similar influence on the part of the thing, or else an identification with a thing or the idea of a thing.[Definitions," CW 6, par. 781.]

[Identity] is a characteristic of the primitive mentality and the real foundation of participation mystique, which is nothing but a relic of the original non-differentiation of subject and object, and hence of the primordial unconscious state. It is also a characteristic of the mental state of early infancy, and, finally, of the unconscious of the civilized adult.[Ibid., par. 741.]

Sometimes Life is E-see.

This photo is almost a summation of how easy Pittsburgh can be.
Sumer rolls in. You embrace the warm kisses of the sun. Lounge, swim, boat, bike, fun, frolic. Winter's angry cold sting soothes and dry tan skin emerges. It's so easy to lose yourself in it and forget the things you need to do. Daily, Weekly, or in life in general. It's nice sometimes to have something jump around in our face and be the reminder of future times and spaces. But that all said, it's still nice to go out on the river every once in awhile and loose yourself. Surrendering to this beautiful place and all of it's soft warm fingers beckoning you to stay through another winter to see another spring. Just don't forget where it all places in the world.

Next Week:

UPDATE: Our flyer/poster for the front window.

So I'll be a bit out of touch for the next week or so. I'm finishing work up for an upcoming show. I have some printing, sanding, painting, and matting to do. I've got my work cut out for me, but as always, I work best under pressure. If I didn't I would have it all done already!

The show is a small group exhibit in the downstairs gallery of the Harris Theater, 809 Liberty Ave.
Themed around the idea of space. I have posted some of the images here thus far. But please come and check out my other images as well as those of some friends.

Click below for schedule, etc.

They make me feel like....WOOO!!!!

This morning I am so thankful.
I would like to thank the past. Thank the past for that awful nightmare. Thank the past for waking me up before my alarm.
I would like to thank the future. The future for a voice message that waited for me when I woke up. A voicemail that got me moving enough to dance around my house excited for the day and the movement forward.

I've seen the future baby, it is murder.

Today at work III

Roof III

Gays.

Apparently the gay rights movement only started forty years ago, according to the leaders of the United States of America. The Mattachine Society? The Society for Human Rights? Berlin pre WWII? Anything? ...Apparently not. Stonewall is the epoch, apparently.
Jeeezzzz these people.

President Obama

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton

Idea

I worked all day yesterday.
After work, and a lovely scoot home I was abducted by friends with a car. I was taken to the strange nether-region of "Shadyside." If you're unfamiliar, this is yup yup wear your money on your country club approved outfit sleeve central. It is also therefor brings into the mix the usual (rather unusual) crowd particular to Pittsburgh that is what we might call an aspiring "Yupzer." I'm pretty pleased that I've finally come to a word for this. Basically the Yupzer is a Yinzer who aspires to a level of upper middle class consumer. A banana republic by work week, a gap on the casual weekend. No, I've never played golf, but I'm sure I'd love it. These are your typical over spending, American dream chasing young professionals. The difference between this group here in Pittsburgh and anywhere else though, is that these people are yinzers. They wouldn't know what a cocktail party was if it shit on their chest. But they've still got the air of self importance, sophistication, and arrogance all about them, if you can smell it beyond their cheap perfumes and cologne.

After spending some time in one bar, with famously boozy Greyhounds (though I think our loving bartenders at our local watering hole pour them stronger and for $3.50 cheaper, you've gotta shell out the money to prove you have it I guess) it was decided the only way to recover the night from it's dullness was to go venture to *gasp* a gay bar. We packed our bags, and made the quick little journey to one of the gay bars to go to in the area. Upon first arrival and after a rude doorman the joint looked empty. After closer inspection it appeared that the party was really in the back. On the giant outdoor patio. "There are so many terrible faggots here.." I remarked. "No," Five chimes in, weak "Sangria" in hand, "There are also so many terrible fag-hags!"

It turned out to be an alright evening. I listened to Five and our friend Alex discuss idiosyncricities of radical queer movements or their lack of actual "movement." The challenges given to homos such as Five or myself, in carving out our own place within radical queer idea's or politics given the fact that "Gay Men" have already, within a grouping and "type"ing, been assimilated into a generally accepting culture. It would seem from the discussion, that it is easy to see and understand how transgendered peoples and lesbians still can be easier and seemingly more obvious areas of radical movement and organizing because they have not been assimilated to a similar (commercially viable) extent. However, this whole notion/idea/truth completely leaves out the possibility of me. Of Five. Of Eric. Of a whole slew or men I know who, even if they aren't looking to voice or act on or even entertain radical political ideas or radical sexual/ity ideas (which really? It's not that radical, it's called living), do not belong to the assimilated black and white, top or bottom, American Eagle or Abercrombie, Martini or Cosmo, flip-flops or flip-flops, red plaid button up or pink plaid button up cultural environs that are so comfortable, privledged, and blind. And therein lies the problem, our complaints, our obstacle. An unaccepted minority within it's own (american, city, etc) societally accepted minority. It is hard to get people to listen to the "But this is why it's hard for me!" when they are cutting you off with a "No, this is why it is easy for you, so shut up and listen to why it's actually way more hard for me, you self loathing needy gay man."


Now, who has a thirty foot or so long gallery space for the mural print/install I am going to make about this? I guess 15 would be do-able.

Roof II