spew – spew

Tell me you’re seeing what I’m seeing

Above a vast animated roofline, you sight the top 40-50 ft of a modified city bus. Far above its open 2nd storey, just masts & slow passage either towards or away. You may never see the lower anatomy.

The beast would be heard first. What may well be a full pound of psi per blast, the hiss of two quick burps of large-tank propane is this city’s car horn.

Fortunate as you are during the day to hear it, her domain unfolds on approach of evening. The bright throw of orange produced by open flame simply has no analog beyond this city. It’s not constant but occasional. The size and elevated position of the burst can act as candle over the city, visible for miles, to 1000s of residents, rarely from the same point twice.

As you approach, yet another sense is stimulated. Its an exponential progression played out over prehistoric scales. The size of open flame versus (or in relation to) the throw of its heat. The sheer rate of temperature differential is disturbing. The scarcity of oxygen if you’re in the immediate vicinity will take your breath, making speech difficult.

You only get a finite amount of these. And like that they’re gone.

Welcome Home

SPEW :: around the world in 88 hours

created: Sometime in 1995

This was an idea i had for a contest for the wealthy. each contestant had 88 hours to travel the globe. they had to start from and end at the same airport. and they could not spend more then 20 minutes in any airport – which means they must book & purchase travel for ANY flight going their direction.

they could not ‘plan’ their routes with the assistance of travel agents. they could only book travel a la carte on whatever carrier going to whatever airports along their path around the globe. again, this is a ton of money we’re talking about – you have to purchase airfare AT THE GATE basically. And you have 88 hours to get your ass around the world.

As it stands now, the only problem he could foresee was the effects that fatigue would have on his senses. Here he was travelling along with this bizarre purpose, and would have to keep a straight manor. Sleeping on planes tends to warp the human circadian rhythm section. First: stripping you of ALL concept of home base time, and second: to make you so irritable that you long for such horrific concepts such as airport coffee shops opening up…regardless of what this country calls coffee or aspirin. And those were the times that he was even able to allow himself the luxury of coffee from strange strangers or to piss in a ground-based urinal. For this was a time-constrictive event.

[Picture this man racing thru a strange airport to find some obscure airlines’ gate for flight that leaves in 10 minutes to a destination that just might get him there in time to pick up that non-stop JAL flight to Kobe. In this event, one seeks non-stop, trans-contintental flights as if there were nuggets of gold. For it means that many fewer airports inbetween…that many fewer natives to deal with.]

What he foresaw as the biggest problem actually turned out to be one of the slippery measures of the trip. Since most corners of the world will either accept American Express Gold, or some sort of Visa/MasterCard, the next booking kinda fell into place. Chicago’s O’Hara was hard cause it was an American Friday afternoon. Jakarta was a parking ot due to a religious ceremony celebrating an overtly phallic serpent-God. But en masse, the counters were eager to make the transaction of a one-way counter-purchased fare…especially when First Class could be bought.

[Being always the shortest lines at the ticketing counters, First Class was always a priority, but sometimes a pipe-dream. First Class was such as treat in this thing, the availability of which was to be quite possibly the 2nd or 3rd question asked of at the counter. There were still rare occasions where ducking into the hull & slipping into the wide, beige-y leather seat, you felt ahead or at least as if you were having fun again]

Still, other terminals saw him running out of time and had to just buy “any fucking seat, Hun” and run on board, only seconds shy of 19:59:00. Cause that was all that was needed: to just get off the plane of the airPORT and into the seat on the airPLANE within 20 minutes.

[So it was the initial conditions of an airport that you tested when you got off a flight. Were we crowded? Were the lines going to be long? How is her English going to be? Am I going to be mistaken for a drunk or a theif again? 20 minutes was NOT a long time, even in modern airports. And the last thing he wanted to do was to have to backtrack to Boise cause that’s what was available in the time allotted. Ah to meet with those conditions he had heard mentioned at the Dinner, where one member had landed at 4am in Heathrow, a deserted British Airways clerk, and had him book her clear to Anchorage, complete with connections with nearby gates. Apparently all without devulging the plot.]

The bet was easy as far as rules were concerned: Make it around the world in 88 hours using only passenger-bought commercial airline tickets purchased at the outbound airport using whatever resources available. The rules were a soupy mess about what was allowed, but there was ONE thing that was strictly forbidden under threat of forfeiture: remaining in any one airport for longer than 20 minutes. The intent was to keep the challenger moving when he was not at travel. With the sincere hopes that the outbound airport would be a modern complex in a democratic land with multiple airline companies offering a variety of Eastbond flights with plenty of seats available, this was not always the case. At one point a challengers female companion was assaulted in a late-night abrasion with a pack of drunk Honduran teens at THEIR AIRPORT. The last challenger was forced into forfeiture when, right after reserving and purchasing a 3 continent/ 7 connection route, all flights out of Raleigh/Durham were delayed due to weather. Neither of these two parties even left the North American Continent. Over half of the parties had been forced into forfeiture for there simply were no Eastbound connections to be made. The rest made the circumnavigation, but outside the stated 88 hours.

SFO to LAX 1.5 Tom Bradly Intl Term. Untited CONNECTION to JFK.ny.
9:50am – 11:20 Connection set to leave 11:50

He sat down First Class on this second flight Eastbound to New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport. From there, he was told, a connection can be made from just about any company. He was given some excellent contact advice for the airline: PenseAvion. The airline would offer charter from Paris’ Orly International to the Suez no questions asked…if he was to connect to Orly. He tried not to think about that which he simply could not prepare for. There WERE the in-flight phones however. Perhaps some lonley pudgy Customer Service Rep at United Airline Head Quarters could wax Machiavellian and book him a few points in advance. Something to try once in the air. Right now, he was in First Class and that meant a Crown and Coke before take-off. United had the gall to call their First Class “Premium Class” for added sterling.

[“A bunch of shite,” he would always murmur under his breath when he read the United ticket jacket. Outside of the Trans-Atlantic flights on American Airlines, there simply were no outfits that could hold a candle to the Brits. If Virgin could be relied upon for the concept of world-wide connections, then he’d do whatever possible to fly Branson’s It was actually a joke amongst the Challengers that the in-flight massage would make you loose enough kill you when it came time for sprinting a strange airport at 6 am. To be sure, Virgin was unrealistic. Yet, every airline had its own brass ring. Hawaiian Airlines had its massive track record for beating its own schedule for in-bound into LAX (No doubt due to the strong jet-stream tail-winds that blew their asses faster). Singapore had the up-to-the-minute technology to ease the pain. And United? “Well,” he posed, “United does have the good Dinners served by older career Attendants.”

“I wonder how United Airlines First Class Lunch-Meals are”, he thought. All things considered thought, American was SO much better for the overall comfort of the traveler. But United would do well more than fine here and now. Hell, any airlines First Class was a chore to be abused.

As proud as we was to have been able to book a transcontinental flight upon arrival at his first counter – and JF friggin K at that, he suppressed all unnecessary emotions. He was given full instructions at San Francisco International, but it was mostly a blur to him now. He had to strain to remember the importance of the most important rule. This may be really fucking tough. He was going to have to tax his body and his psyche in ways that we was in no shape for. Staying awake for 88 hours was just not to be attempted. The trick was to book the longest Eastbound flight possible, regardless of where it was bound. As long as the bird was in the air, there was progress being made, and a hell of a fighting chance. The time in the air, it was to be far more valuable resting than to be focusing on the layout of the next terminal or other companies booking flights nearby. Some of the challengers found that they could make the circumnavigation and “keep it in the family,” by never having to go to another carrier in search for an earlier flight. Any airline can book you on a round-trip booking around the globe, but there’s usually some waiting to be done in between flights.

[And this is where it always got tricky. How frustrating is was to keep turning down flights that were so damn close to the 20 minutes envelope. “No…that wont do either!” “Are there ANY OTHER Eastbound flights leaving ANY earlier?” And when it got too tricky, you closed your eyes for a moment and saw the national-geographic hemisphere of the next airport and imagined where to go and what to say. “No flights due-East out of Orly?” he practiced, “How about to Cairo?” And when it got too tricky, you just booked a flight to the nearest majour airport. For if there was a name to the game, it was certainly something to do with keeping moving. As long as you prevented any significant Westerly travel, you were ok. As long as you avoided a scenario where you were on the ground for too long, you were ok. Apparently, there were to be some real-time rule-booking going on. It turns out that one year, a Challenger had booked a ticket and was taxiing to take-off when the plane got grounded due to faulty something or other. She claimed that should be an automatic 20 minutes or more. Council ruled it a disqualification and were the subject of some scrutiny.]

Again something to be dealt with in the air. Again, there was the in-flight phone thing. Again, there was the First Class to remember. Right now, it’s right close to Noon. Its where’s the damn stewardess with my Crown and Coke and my damn smile? I need to let this soak in.

OR WOULD IT BE MORE EFFECTIVLY REALISTIC TO HAVE THE CHALLENGOR TRAVEL IN A WESTERLY DIRECTION AROUND THE GLOBE? YOU KNOW, THE EASTERLY PATH GOES AGAINST THE TIME ZONE…YOU LOSE TIME AGAINST YOUR OWN CLOCK THE FURTHER EAST YOU GO…
[BUT ISNT THAT BETTER? MORE CHALLENGING? THE CHALLENGER IS GOING TO HAVE ALL HIS/HER INTERNAL CLOCKS SO FUCKED UP, THAT IT WONT MATTER.]

SPEW :: los angeles bike

created: Sometime mid to late 1995

Around late January of this year, I began to grow aware…again. To come aware of the fact that there is absolutley no truth to the saying that “The devil will find work for idle hands to do.” I was far from idle, mind you. But even prisinors’ are busy. Even the Govenor has some time on his hands. It’s just what you do with your free time that makes you the man that you are. Or the woman that you are.

My awareness led me to spend exactly what I had saved up from Lightworks on what I considered a completeltly, rationally, sane object. King Full Mt. Bike compliments of Gary Fisher & American Expresss. It was the top-tier of objects I’d coveted all my life.

And just when I think that this Bike will see just the boardwalk of Venice and never any single-track, I begin to notice the weather here in SoCal. Record highs and clear days drive me from venice up to Mid-City where I meet the groomsmen for a meal and a belly of tequilla compliments of El Coyote. What started as a gathering of specific clan, bled into riding further still to follow the rim of the level. I began to catch my breath as I played cue on full-size Canadian rules. I practiced my Swing-Dancing with Cricket to bootleg Frank from the George Burns Estate…no shit.

I have never been so on top of my game than ever before in my life. I realize this as I’m riding west-bound on Olympic crossing Robertson…approaching that little hill just before Century City before I get that phat decline ALL THE FUCKING WAY TO THE BOARDWALK ….14.3 miles of smiles. “You do not cry for me…I cry for you.”

I’m drunk.. I jut got home from said bike ride. I love you. I’m going to bed.
SHAMAN

SPEW :: phoenix dead show copy

created: Sometime between 1997 & 1998 for www.seanna.com for a pair of phoenix dead shows that occurred Spring 1990

See on Flickr

These are from a pair of Saturday/Sunday Dead Shows in the Spring of 90. The venue was Compton Terrace. I always said it was located North of Phoenix, but the tickets said Chandler. These were the Saturday afternoon shows. I arrived on Friday evening to me parents house and met up with Greg A. We were to be receiving a caravan late this night. I had given Jessie S what I considered to be explicitly written, door-to-door instructions on how to get from out the door & thru the yard of Linden House, 129.7 miles North to me parents house. And to be fair, they were accurate. Accurate to a fault. Concentrating on the details over here, I left out a key right turn over there. Sent 2 cars and what may have been 2 pipe-less Japanese bikes careening up into the bowl of Mummy Mountain. Jessie, Josh Z, Brian F, Matt J (plus 2 heads from USC) and Jonny H. Hours they spent up there, all 6 or so trying to make sense out of a phone-number-less direction that was missing a whole 9 syllables. Ever dealt with a Paradise Valley cop? After some clown home-owner de-evolved and started throwing river rocks at freshmen at 3 in the morning?

Meeting up with many Clan at the show, I was impressed at how territorial we all were. First, to have met up with 15+ strong within a crowd of 25 large…

Noel and SeJ came in later in the afternoon. And what I remember about them is that they kept bickering about a nonsensical issue. Noel, growing up in Connect-a-cut, had the experience that is was most certainly IL-legal to slow down on a two-lane freeway (in the fast lane mind you), turn into the median, drive across it, and wherever a window opened, pick the freeway back up in the other direction. Well, one of them forgot some essential staple of their daily routine and had to make a u-turn around Toltek. SeJ, needing to turn around, and ever so clear on the ins-and-outs of the Arizona legal System, campaigns that it is perfectly legal and somehow encouraged to make freeway u-turns. My mind cuts to Sej strongly urging Noel to believe him that she MUST be a fool for not believing him.

See on Flickr

Matt S, Margo M, Lauren ?, …..Then, to have grown a root literally in the same spot for 75% of the day. I rarely have met up with Clansmen at a show. usually just the Jettaload that brought us and maybe a pair or quintet of someone you saw in class just yesterday, but greet like long lost. Shakedown does that. Not to get sappy, but there is a tangible glee when you see someone you know amid all that dusty, smiley chaos. Sure the toxins and their various mixtures aid in this, but there are sober shows that eclipse the foggy ones.

We all managed to cling, and that’s what’s memorable about these photographs. These images, to date, are the clearest snapshots I’ve been able to capture into the emotion. Fairly odd how candids’ and semi-aware photographs capture images that are worthy of staring at.

See on Flickr

These pictures were taken undoubtedly after the First Set. And if I’m not mistaken, I believe that if you look closely into the eyes, you can distill wee blue unicorns prancing!

SPEW :: where credits due

created: March 3, 1998

note:
This was a monumentous idea i had for a coffeetable book on the then emerging art of opening credits. either a book or some other medium. remember, this was 98, before a lot of the self-publishing streams we NOW take for granted even existed. Since then, this new artform has taken a more prominent role in the majour motion picture as a whole. We’ve seen Kyle Cooper become a player. This is no longer a hot only-whispered topic. Its now old hat. But mark my words: Kyle Cooper will receive the 1st Oscar for the latest category: Best Opening Credits.

Where Credits Due…

First impressions

A duality must be recognized:
ONE:
The impression we get as we watch the credits as pure, unoppinionated viewers…swayed only by some feeling we have for the actors/directors previously viewed works. Or better yet, the blind-taste-test. Have the viewer sat down and the movie played…assuming that they’ve never heard of the film or actors before. But to be fair and nonpartial, the anticipation one feeles prior to a film is due, in part, to the presence of certain respected and genre-setting elements. A Director like Lucas or Spielberg, whose name precedes them, will cause the viewers anticipation, aghain: in some way, to be altered. At this point, we rarely, if ever (again) go into a film NOT knowing whose on the card.
DEAL WITH ANTICIPATION OF FILM DUE TO CREATIVE ELEMENTS

TWO:
The reprocessing of the information once the plot/narritive/film hase been revealed/told/viewed. A once-pass of some fine credits will, in many cases, send the viewer into the narritive with only a shread of a hint about what they’re about to see. Usually, they’re left with simply a mood or tone…like a taste in the mouth. However, once they’ve made the journey thru the film, they can go back and analyze the introduction credits for their true wieight in relationship to the whole. Jusge the narrative of the credits in relation to the narritive of the film. How much was revealed? Was it all back-story or was there simple a snap-shot of narritive-present-day…also to bring the viewer up to speed, but more to the pooint: to show a kind of “day in the life of…” Think the waking/dressing/leaving scenes in the credits of TRADING PLACES.

Judge the art/pace of the credits to that of the film. There are some that would,here, argue that films like SEVEN contained credits that very accuratly set the tone for the film to come. Yet, coming out of them, we cannot make tangible cognitive sense out of them. its only after the films narritive has been revealed…in all its detail that we remember that the fingers we saw in the credits WERE those of a compulsive…they WERE bandaged…they WERE writing in the same journals Freeman said would take 10 men years to sift thru.

Seperate entities in and of themselves.
Do they have seperate directors?
Whats the hierarchy?

What about the fact that the title-logos on the promo material dont always match the title-logo in the credits? Think RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. The promo has this fanfare, ribald font that just spews “action-adventure” film. John Williams’ horns are RIGHT there with you when you read the title afterwards. However, once into the picture, the credits are somewhat sterile-white, accompanied by a markedly video-feel to them considering the richly textured stock of the film over which they appear. NOTE: the different fascets of the afore mentioned hieracrhy…that the producers that are in charge of marketing (at Paramount in the Dr. Jones case) are in seperate offices and on seperate pages from the producers of the physical element. They all might have the same cat sign their checks, but their output suggest that they operated autonomous of EACH OTHER throughout production.

Essense, in some way, to the music video…the editing, pace, etc

How much of the story should be revealed? At what cost symbolism (SPHERE, 007)

Credits that allow you to ignore their presence, their very substance VERSUS Credits whose very description (let alone any recognition as out of the ordinary) is the credits themselves. (flaming titles, mettal ones (a la T2).

ALL films have them. So what is it about the films whose credits stand out? Whose credits are such that they wrap you into a pre-narritive…for the keen eye. Films like THE GAME gave you first: animated puzzle peices breaking appart producers and directors names to get to THE GAME..no where was there a puzzle in the film…what was this? The standard: “Its a film called THE GAME. The title-credit should reflect this.” The puzzle gave way to the vintage films showing the wealthy in daylight. A boy. Presumably his father next to him. Stoic, yet overtly impatient. This man either really cold, or is one giant nerve. We see the detatched nature of the relationship this boy has with this fatehr. Its only thru flashbacks, later in the film that we learn the significance of the 16mm films within THE GAME credits.

Consider the film whose entry has no credits or the bare, egotistical minimum. Old films used to do this. There’d be the Studio first, which inthose days, was also the production company…usually the next title in todays films. Next, there’d be the stars, usually two, four at most…the drawing factor. This would be followed by the Director, and most likely the Story credit before that..perhaps thats where we caught the trend of letting the viewers enter the narritive with the Director as the last thing they see. Perhaps its a wise idea to let ALL the credits appear AFTER the film…for the sake of the viewer. That not even in a film like the new STAR WARS prequels should there be a credit to special effects by: And speaking of STAR WARS (trillogy)…there are 3 films that dont waste a thing. Its the 20th CENTURY FOX logo and extended score…black screen…that green lettering for LUCASFILM…then the famous: “A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY…” What comes next is legendary in the annals of motion picture credits: The mighty scripture of a generation. The pure, unfettered PLOTSEED, rising forth like the stalk. The words where that which was essential for what was to come. The audince would have to know, in a nutshell, what was needed to understand the Rebellion against the Empire…the black and white. Not because the film was to change motion picture histiry…but because Lucas was broke, and the credits were placeholders for character development that he couldnt afford. Its not a cheap move…rather, its a very traditional one…to give the audience a wee written hint of the story thats to unfold. It lets them hit the ground running.

Find a film or 5 that DONT have intro-credits that include the set-dresser and craft service.

SEVEN
Music – NIN
Style – NIN
Image – Spacey writing in the journals, prepping, propping up scenes Freeman and Pitt were later to discover.
Credits Scrawled as if by Spacey himself. Minute little letters. Shifty, grainy characters. Rising and falling to screen with same tempo as score.
Edit – A frenic pace that must be compared to either the mind of Spacey or the…

SPHERE
Manipulation of credits.
Calm, slow L-R/R-L tracking of the credits, getting distorted and refracted by invisible sphere. Real-time refreaction. Credit would be rolling way small, way left-right, then go out of site behind something, only to snap on scren way large and refracted thru glass distortion of sphere…now taking up entire screen.

007, before Goldeneye
Credits that serve as function and form. Sillouhuetted women (tradmark Bond credit motif) taking sledgehammer and hammer, and sickle to Lenin. They are forcibly dismantling the very symbolistic icon of the Soviet Union…a main element of the plot to come. As always, these naked shadows are interacting in some way with the titles of the credits…as if they shared the same physical space…as if they actually had the word Broccolli tracking up and past them as they stood on Lenins nose.

ISLAND OF DR. MOREAU
Beautifully organic…yet the very antithesis of organic. Were dealing with gene-splicing and gene-manipulation in this film. But were not to know that, for we’re got to assume that the viewer is PURE. Having not been swayed into forming oppinions on the narritive before they’ve seen it. The view must remain the sequestered-jury before they hear or see anything. Back to MOREAU. The credits show the inherent beauty of our innerspace. These shots are cut with shots of the manipulation of this complexity…this order.

“The high-point of the movie is a bold display of jaw-dropping visuals during the opening credits…”
– JAMES PALMER – Daily Beacon Staff Writer

“In its favor, the film has an eye-catching opening credit sequence, lush scenery and some nice camera work.”
– Jean Oppenheimer – BoxOffice Magazine

“Except for a gripping title sequence, director John Frankenheimer (who last made the TNT movie Andersonville) can’t make heads or tails out of this mess.”
– Sean P. Means – Film.com

CONACT
Question:
Does the “credits” have to contain the credits? Cosmic/universal pull-back of Contact set pace for movie, smoothed you right over for the introduction of characters and narritive.

SPEW :: market street canadian race

created: march 30, 2003

seen & heard on Market street late saturday night:

screaming down both lanes of market, me in the stormtrooper occupying the inside lane, and 2 carloads of canadians in the outside. in some post-modern punk-rock American Grafitti cruising scene, incredibly strange music at massive volumes pouring out of all 3 vehicles, bursts of speed followed by readjustments to once again match up the windowlines. the whole time violating any posted vehicular occupancy laws, i saw one rosie driver seemingly push his entire thorax & arms out the drivers window at 40 mph. A positively glowing cindylooo – honourary canadian – repeating the same action, exposing the smiling faces & crumpled bodies in the back seat. Jimmy buzzing & darting right behind them exercising the bavarian high-fives & possibly a red-line there for a moment or two. all campaigning quite vigourously to get me to go to kellys for the night i knew i deserved but wasnt sure i could resolve. so tempting. i could see that a freaktrain of *THIS* breadth was going to be an etching of an evening. perhaps i has having too much fun waxing andretti on the SF streets that night. I caught air coming up dolores. ahh the fun we have when we are alive with “expanding and opportunity”

so… how was it? how was everyones weekend? didnt everyone get laughed at histerically as they spilt $12 of beer on themselves at the sharks game? no?

SPEW :: jared leto

created:
january 2002
back & forth between myself and (then) Heather Hamilton (dooce)

TO: DOOCE.COM (Heather B Hamilton)
JARED LETO
Krebbling up Haight street sooperbowl sunday in what can only be described as dashing punk runaway rags, complete with mis-cut locks of perhaps coloured hair. “jared leto,” anna sneaks out as she feigns another bite of our shawerma. by this time, the boy-ish faced urchin has reached a point where he, our wee table, and a well-dressed/dog-walking/non-plussed man on a mobile behind us, all culminate in a blocked artery of a sidewalk. i’m still staring at this gorgeous little punker, with these fucking eyes that could sober the rich. “oy, it sure does look like him,” i says. i cannot look away. he’s pivoting back around after putting a “30 seconds to mars” sticky on a trashcan. he’s grinning something fierce, complete with long blinks of the aforementioned eyes. he’s coming down from on high. he must have gone big last night and is now in that golden-pleasant warm-sun day-light of a psychedelic hangover. “no sean, thats him,” anna garbles under the napkin, her expression duly noted. and then, he has fixated on me, and is staring. no less then 7 feet between us. these are those moments in time, felt mostly whilst driving in severe conditions, where motion slows and thought-processes expand. he’s still staring. i cannot, and dare not look away. for it is really him now. seconds earlier a vaporish throwback – now clearly Jordan fucking Catalano. he speaks: “lookit’choo!” oh shit. “just lookitchoo, man!” aw no. “big man with your little dog! i like it!” i’m not alone in doing the cautioned turn of the head “who me?” expression. but sure enough, our man in Gap behind me has a wee dog. Mr Leto was not talking to me. by the time i turn back around, he’s gone sauntering back up the sidewalk. anna is smiling. i spend the rest of the day wondring where & why i’ve heard of “30 seconds to mars.”

From: Dooce.com – Heather B Hamilton
love your middle name, if that is your real middle name.

have to say that this is perhaps the best celebrity sighting ever submitted to dooce.com. best written, definitely. you captured him SO DEAD ON. god, this is good shit.

do you mind if i put it on the site?
TO: DOOCE.COM (Heather B Hamilton)
gurl,
i am only now fully distilling the events of this whirlwind week, and to a certain extent, month. you dont know me. nor i you. but somehow thats wholly irrellevant in the here & now. my story is not unique, you’ve heard this kind of thing thru & thru. if there’s but one thing i would seek to impart to you mizz hamilton is that, after years of batting it around like a fleshy wart, i have finally embarked upon a new course. anna would say this is a long time coming, and all digests down to sean finally doing something about it. you see, its too nebulous to offer the copious details you’re prolly expecting. but suffice to say, that upon the research expectant upon such a new blazed life-path, i have come across gems. not unlike the Stone of Romance, these shiny objects of design are beacons. they are north stars pointing me towards some far off shore. a fertile, yet welcomingly distant land to sail to, where i will revel in the burning of the boats.

the more you try to explain it, the less sense it’ll make anyway. so, at the risk of waxing even MORE obtuse, lets just say that i have throuroughly enjoyed the last 96 hours of continuous dooce.com & accompanying linkerage. again, as i mentioned upon blurbomat, i have stumbled upon something. the sight of which is alltogether fascinating & shy-inducing. as if, i’ve not right peering so jaw-gaped.

it all comes down to this: there are a lot of fucking talented people in the world when you realise how low you’ve considered the bar to have been. read that back to me. thank you. for 2 years ago, having finally accepted the web as a possible voice, ANY voice, let alone a hobby. i had a dream i had a dream about people actually being interested in a site that’d host all the 1000’s of images seanna had taken over the years. the stubborn scorpio didnt put too much a flame under’is arse, and has only come so far as www.seanna.com please be gentle…

a. hamilton is, indeed, my preferred name. the tartan i wore at me wedding to the loverly anna… she is my best friend and no less then the mirror upon which my love is bounced right back.
b. please post all & sunder with all the blessings the above text could ever provide. please see below.
c. i feel compelled to re-attend regular sessions of inspection upon dooce.com. most assuredly resulting in the obligitory submissions & long-winded missives. i hope thats ok.
d. my wordiness is a neurosis & at times, the only comfort to the brackish nature of the modern media mind. please, do not be afraid. i wish every good thing.

FOR THE ALBUM/BOOK LIST
(you’ve shown exceptional cruelty by limiting to twelve:one. the remainder 25:4 available upon request. and take note: this list’ll be massivly different had i chose merlot versus this tepid scotch. but thats another 29 paragraphs in & of itself)

sean hamilton alexander

flemenco sketches – miles davis
shawshank redemption – thomas newman/soundtrack
headphones – bjork
u-turn – solid doctor
got to get > tomorrow never – the beatles
the sherrif – fila brazillia
annanas – tosca
fallen arrow – ida
morningbell (any version) – radiohead
tracy i love you – luna
high fidelity – elvis costello

book – the proud highway – saga of a desperate southern gentleman 1955-1967 (by) Hunter s. Thompson

that is all…
love to Jon…

sean
hamilton
alexander

SPEW :: holidays

created: january 1998

Well, here it is. 1998. No matter how I slice it, I cannot begin to get into the spirit of counting off the days until the millenia. I guess I’ve grown too accustomed to seeing a 19 in front of my dates. And I’ve only been here for 27 of them! However, there is nothing I trully enjoy more than watching the years roll past. For with every year, there are new advances in one spectrum of human achievement or another. As well, with every year, I begin to more fully appreciate the fact that this one will be the best year of my life…just like last years was better than the one preceeding. And if 1998 is going to fill those big shoes, then we’re in for a doosey.

When 1997 rang in, Anna and myself had been in the Bay Area for less than 4 months, and had only moved into the “gem” 6 weeks earlier. We had heard, in triplicate, how difficult it would be to make the transition to the 3rd most expensive city in the US. Anna, coming from Arizona, would most likely have the hardest time adjusting to the increased cost of living. Los Angeles, on the other hand, “afforded” me an opportunity to get used to paying 2x as much rent as I had in Tucson. We really had no intentions of letting the doom-slingers into our heads and sack our motivation. We were determined and in love and knowledgeable and practical and a slew of other adjectives. And looking back on it all now, I dont know whether it was those attributes in US that let the pendulum swing so nicely our way, or whether it was just pure luck…OUR definition of FATE. For on almost all points, we were able to steer clear of repeating the situations of others’ who had sought to warn us that the road up to San Francisco would be treacherous. To be fair, it was those same pessimists that took us in…to MAKE us make the transition…to give us a place to stay for the transition…a quiet place to pour over the want ads and our resumes. However, Anna and I hit the ground running. I literally had one day off: the day I drove up from Venice Beach. One day I was working for the motion picture industry in Hollywood, 2 days later, I was working for the computer software industry in the Bay Area. 1997 began with me beginning to pick up speed with my new position here at Broderbund’s Quality Assurance Department. I had been hired in mid November 1996, and spent the last weeks of that year trying to get a longview of what was expected as a software tester. Surely, there was more to the position than just playing computer games and reporting inconsistancies… right? Anna also found work in the computer software industry and took that time to send out over 200 resumes. Soon afterwards, she was working in the photo design department for WIRED magazine. And in the process, that has filled her coffers of knowledge, and she has built an agressive blend of digital and traditional skill-sets that she’s about to market to her “greener pastures.” The “we” of us had never been let out to run at full speed. Grand hopes coupled with meek expectations, to be sure, enables one to be floored by their achievments… but we had no idea.

Looking for a place to live in San Francisco was described to us as some sort of Hitchcockian ordeal, (think: North by NorthWest…the airplane scene) complete with tragically long sessions of barren results, then punctuated with high-level excitement, only to be shot back down to silence by either the prices or conditions or commute. We were meant to believe that the time spent looking would be one of the most frustrating and fruitless searches to date. Once again, we set out clinching our teeth, and ended up asking ourselves to pinch one another. On our third day panning, we struck gold. We have so much for so little, that we often think that theres GOT to be a catch. Yet, nothing of mention has reared up. Ok, maybe an ant-trail or two, but thats it. We’ve got a second bedroom that I’ve got dragging around as an office/library as well as a deck upon which I’ve been testing out these green thumbs that me mum has obviously passed on to me. However, Winter in San Francisco, and more specifically: the North Bay…coupled with a North facing deck, affords little or no sun, and I’m afraid that frost has taught some lessons. This has been our second XMas/New Years at 10 Circle Drive, and I have a strange feeling that theres going to be more of them here.

Having said all this, you may be feeling like this was “supposed” to be one of those Holiday card/letters that people send out BEFORE the holidays to fill in all of your relatives and acquaintances on how things are. And perhaps it started out as that, but mutation, in my minds’ eye, is a healthy and encouraged activity. There rarely goes by a week where I dont contemplate the dearth of knowledge I have about those with whom I have not spoken with in some time. And that is usually immediately followed by the notion that, like life, this is a two-way street and that there are those “out there” that have NO idea what it is that WE are up to. It all just gets to a point where the passive becomes something that active. It IS important to just send out the smoke-signal and let others know whats up. And especially in our case, for the past 18 months have been so grand. We all assume that conditions on each others sides’ are favourable in the absense of bad news…”no news is good news.” But that only goes so far. People grow up, yes…but that is rarely a linear path…and massive change can take place. The feelings expressed here are inherent in all of us; this isn’t a kathartic message. It is, however, the expression of our desires to start a ball in motion: to keep Y’ALL present in our lives & minds by using that two way street…a situation wherein WE stay present in YOUR lives & minds…

Sean & Anna
SEANNA

SPEW :: to fortin

created: july 4, 1997

SEDGE PARKER

His day…
Light a candle for it is his day…
The man still lives. Hope that this doesn’t offend.
I’ve learned, only since to trust instinct.
I know that things ‘people’ do are sometimes awful low.
What he chose as his craft is simultaneously spooky and romantic to me.
I rarely think that I deserve oversight of what he was…what he’ll always be.
So brief a union we had. A rope woven thick as opposed to long.

I’ve looked to you. I look to friends you’ve had.
Humble as you are, you MUST know spirits.

What insight hath he passed from over there?
To you, he MUST have dropped knowledge.

The depth with which you knew this kid…this man.
His transition must have been, for the lack of a better word: Brilliant.
Brilliant as in magnitude.
Brilliant as in clarity.
Brilliant as in PALS.

I have few. I have had two or three.
They let me know. At some point, I’ve let them in.
And only recently, they’ve let me know.

I am one that has discovered that I was dangerously close.
So close to spending the rest of my life in solitude.

From one “slow-burn” spark amid a firestorm of flame…
I was seared with the definition. Her name was Anna.

She has taught me volumes.
She has taught me depth.
She has taught me magnitude.
She has taught me clarity.
She, through me, has shed light on what a best friend is.

She has, in some sort of surrogate fashion, allowed me to appreciate the partner in crime I’m not able to commune with now.
That ‘someone’ that I, like most male youths’, shared as a child, yet lost on the way up the ramp to manhood.
Something so fucking tangible when I close my eyes as a male adult: the love for me PALS.
Something so foreign to me when I open them up: those same cats at me side.

She, through my stories, ARE those boys…who are now men.
By listening to me describe with fabulous detail the shenanigans…
She has become those who I have, only recently, to begin to seek in this world:
She is the Scott E. She is the Jason M. She is the Erin W.
She IS those men…for I cannot speak to those men…
They are gone. They have moved on. Regardless of the scars we left on each other.
Why? I cannot tell you.

You have memories you want to reach back and touch.
Boys you grew up with…you know them as men. You have that.

FUCK!! There was strength in numbers back then, remember that?
We unwittingly relied on the counterparts to ourselves. Our lives in their wits.

For myself, and I trust you as well, we were to meet our ultimate weakness.

You must’ve known when you first laid eyes on her…
…at some festive occasion, as I had with Anna.

Without knowing it, this was to be the spirit we willingly told Everything.
Spilt milk, my friend. Narration of our memories.

And man, I thought that I had some stories…

I may have never said it, but I envy the lawlessness that you must have enjoyed with your crew.
Details aside, you are able to share with members of that crew to this very day.
You are able to say that you are still tight.
Something you shared with them back in KC, I dont know.

Regardless of what we may have had in common when we first shook hands on that 3rd floor of that building late in the Summer of 89′, I was to envy.

At the risk of sounding cliché, Tucson was a new beginning for me. A snake shedding skin.
I wandered for 6 fucking years wondering if the “now” was real. If I had finally started.
And if there was 1 thing I could count on, it was the reminder that I had a lot of baggage.
Empty fucking baggage.

My stories were pale compared to those of my new friends. You and All The Rest.
I was SO must more content to listen to others spin webs.
And when I saw how fake my childhood friends became only 120 mines South, I cringed.

I never really felt ‘left out.’ I never wanted to ‘one up’ someone’s experience.
All I wanted was to gain strength from a host of new friends whom I admired deeply.
And that I did. I gained so much that filled canyons left by MY advancement FROM my friends.
You and all I met and loved from that town mean more to me that I can ever express.

Some so-called sages sing. Some construct prose. Me? I bounce.
We spin wonderful cathedrals of stories. I reminisce. I bounce the stories off of her.
And, my Gods, man…I cannot be the only one who realizes that every experience had “back then” had something approaching a spiritual meaning.

I havent the slightest clue where this either was intended to go or where it’s going now.

I just wanted YOU to know that I considered him a teacher.
Anybody can teach you something either by pointing or rehashing.
This man taught by example.
He threw the lesson out there either to be followed or to be tested.
I did not have a chance to pick his brain in the final hours, and for that I am truly sorry.
But I know know that the Man was special, and that I will always remember him as the champion of Duality…the man who’d give you either side of the story…”What kinda mood j’a in?”
Whether he knew it or not, he was wiser than us all for he was able to perform at that break-neck pace and still carve a smile…

“As if, reaching a peak; reaching a perch…looking back down at the Comfy Ones who’d been watching the Monkey climb…looking back down at them and saying, “Here?” And stabbing an arm to the Northern Sky, and shouting, literally to himself, “NO! There!” His climb was his business…something he did exceptionally well. For people like myself…I am unfortunate enough to know the Man when he was humble and level with the Circle, and to NOT know him, once he had made it to the Top.”

For that will always be a curse under which I may never let myself slide:
Having ALL the knowledge of what PALS meant, AND knowing his FUCKING NUMBER,
I allowed myself to live literally 1.5 miles from that Man, and NEVER make contact.

I’ve been to one funeral. AJ Switzer. He was a good friend. Kind of a role model now that I think about all that he taught…all the stories that he told…all the bucking of the system…
At that ceremony, his brother, who was “there”, said that just 12 hours earlier, he’d been saying some prophetic statements:

“Never go to bed angry, Man. Never go to bed with friends as strangers. Cause you’re never gonna know when (your) God is gonna pull your card… And you’re never gonna get to say what you wanted: “I’m Sorry,” “Thank you,” or “See you on the other side.””

Brian, I dont know…..
I’m sorry.
I’m thinking too much…and that’s always been good for me.
It’s always something that I’ve strived to document…like here.
I think about the kid every day.
I think about the shit I’d say.
I think about how much of a baby he was and how I could say anything to him I wanted…
I think about how quick he was to point out how Whet I was and where.

He, and the rest of the friends I gained in Tucson were collectively constructive….
It’s kinda like the beauty of the movie Swingers…

Here. we have an old premise: A dumped – hurt guy, who ‘must’ endure consolation from friends.
In every other rehashing of this storyline, the “friends” jab the guy. They point out how his weakness is that upon which he dwells. They jibe and make fun. They attempt to make him strong by pointing out that which he is better off thinking irrelevant.
In Swingers, however, the friends are the champions. The friends are the saviors.
They grab the destitute by the lapels, hoist him up and complement him.
They encourage him to get back on the wagon. They squelch his anxiety.
In return, he gives them Rebirth. He moves on. He becomes as strong as they say he is.
He finds his NewSelf.
If you havent seen the film, please…do me a favor and agree with me.

Nothing to wrap up, my friend. This, like all Jeep Trails, will forever lead to other Jeep Trails.

All I’ll say, is that the Man now has 2 days. Today is one.

SPEW :: on testing riven

created: april 30, 1997

This is the biggest thing I’ve ever worked on. Everything is bigger and more important and more worthwhile. There are these feelings you get everyonce and a while where we, all of a sudden, realize that this…here and now…is the best you’ve ever done. It lends itself to a Quickening. A rush of positive energy where you know that now its all been really worth while. It has lasted all day and into the night. This wonderful lucidity. The images and worlds and ages…multitudes of terrains offering photorealistic off-world scenes. These have all been created within the human mind, but that is why I was taught to call it “suspention of Disbelief.” These scenes are ALL breathtaking. Gone are the static images of the best impression 2D can do of 3D. These worlds are alive! Grass blows in the wind. Tropical turquoise water laps up the shore of smooth, dark, igneous rock and forest islands. Stop and sit still and watch the computer generate far-off characters barely discerable as human hobble across narrow grass & rope bridges 500 above a narrow crag YOU’RE IN…you see distant cliff-side ledges and paths and tunnels, but havent the first clue which of the 4 equally inviting paths ahead of you DOWN HERE do you take. Clues are as seamless with the 3d environment as knife scratches on a tree are from a distant path. . You have to get right up on things and inspect them harder. Everything updates as you progress. Not like Doom, which has you on the dolly rolling around. This POV not only follows the terrain like a simulator, but allows you breathtaking levels if inspection. And breadth! These worlds had definitely progressed from tremendously complex 3 or 4 rooms with a couple hidden passages. this was stark and barren, almost deserted worlds where, yeah clues abound, but they’re imbedded into the terrain and fauna…BOTH of which may take on human and alien-made forms. Scenes where rainforest met white beach, there would be a lever sticking up from the sand operating…? Ornate modern-feeling temples contain even more complex “contraptions.” I could be in one world and be absoulutley enchanted with what I saw, then take a path that opens a moss covered-wood gate and get spooked by the smoothest, on-the-fly Quicktime movie I’ve ever seen. I’ve spent a total of 18 hours of hands-on the project, and I believe the numbers to be less than 5% I’ve covered. I’ve seen 3 islands and countless books going to countless others…and then others from there and back again, I’m sure. But the size of what is to become my new virtual world for the next 4 months is grander than that. I have watched this courtship of Entertainment and the 3D computer since the art was first conceived. Imposible notions of keeping abreast of it all spilt me out into the Motion Picture industry. I’ve always known what a hi- end project must feel like. Once you put aside how visible that it is that you’ve achecived this position, you begin to fathom just what it means to you. Short of Windows95/97, this project is the biggest software product to ever hit the computer market. And when I say “biggest,” I’m talking the most anticipated due the success of the first one. I cannot help myself but to draw equivilants to the size and magnatude and perstige of this project and a similar one back in Hollywood. Ironicly, the analogy would have to be drawn to a Speilberg or Lucas or Cameron picture where the bar gets raised for filming expertice, computer aided “wizardry,” and the scale or caliber of quality in increased. The same ground is being broken with this project. The most technologically encompassing for a software title…merging motion pictures absolutly seamlessly within photo-realistic 3D computer generated environments. The motion picture industry in Hollywoodhas been making more and more technologically advanced movies by inputting a little 3D CGI here and digitally tweeking the direction of this here…growing in complexity and coupled realistically. The computer industry has been keeping up roughly the same pace, but with out the wide-spread recognition. Well, with this project they may scare some people. Thy’re going to receive accolades and wows from all sides, but were going to lose some people here. It’s so deep and inviting and stimulating, that people will actually begin to create these world of their very own, populated with whatever and whomever they want…adhereing to laws of physics tweeked acordingly. We’ve all been warned about that from as far back as the 1981 Disney film Tron, and people like me began to get anncy playing the driving simulator games, wishing it would all get here quicker. And “virtual reality” is literally a catch-phrase for Congress. For anyone even near the Know, you’d know that virtual reality, as its being weilded by the entertainment industry, has got to wait many moons for the technology to catch up with the imaginations and make it START to seem realistic and fluid and nausiatingly quick. its got to start out in a calmer pool. Create 3D worlds that beg you to sit still and notice the detail and artificial inteligence. Get that dumb fucking glove out of my view and let me just stroll. Or in this case, neurologically and physically transport and teleport between dozens of islands in as many different temperate zones taking stabs in the dark of what Earthyear this would be. This project is going to offer those with a computer their first real taste of what is to come. Forget the 160 hours the product is suposed to take an “average” gamer to solve. That’s for someone who feels the NEED to search for hidden clues to extremley taxing puzzles in order to get to the grand series of puzzles and the solution. I’m sure that by just wantering around and interacting with the environment, one will stumble across more significant clues. There is so much depth to this project that one can even just leave ir running…like an open window to “some” outside.