in which i fuck up (but still have fun)

Posted on by
2

Let me first say this: I enjoy the hell out of my wee Ricoh GR3X camera. I’ve owned and used lots of cameras over the years, but I’ve never had one that suits my approach to photography so perfectly. I love that I can quickly shift between full manual control (which is a slower process but gives me control over every aspect of the exposure) and a setting that allows me choose the aperture I want and let the camera handle the rest (which is quicker and far more useful for street photography).

Last Friday I took a walk and decided to try something new. For the first hour or so, I’d shoot entirely in monochrome using the street settings AND I wouldn’t chimp the results. (For non-photographers, ‘chimping’ is reviewing the photos you just shot, which can inspire you to go “Ooh ooh” like a chimpanzee.) The second half of the walk, I’d shoot normally.

This where I fucked up. I somehow managed to change the street settings so the camera’s ISO was set to a minimum of 6400. What does that mean? ISO refers to the standardized scale that measures the sensitivity of a digital camera’s sensor to light. All you really need to know is this: the higher the ISO, the more ‘noise’ you see in the final image. In daytime, standard ISO settings are usually between 100 to 400. I was noodling around with an ISO that was at least sixteen times higher than normal. The result? Images like this:

As you can see, noisy. But because I was refusing to chimp, I was unaware of the problem. So for an hour or so, I kept wandering, kept looking at stuff, kept shooting at the wrong ISO. When I saw a pair of workmen–one prone on the sidewalk with his head inside a manhole, the other feeding some sort of conduit tubing into the hole–laboring with the golden dome of the State Capitol Building behind them, I paused long enough to shoot a photo. I was confident I composed a decent shot, and the camera did its best to find a correct exposure based on the settings…but yeah, noise.

The thing is, I’ve learned to trust the camera. I’ve learned it’s incredibly responsive, that (assuming I’ve set it up properly) it allows me to shoot quickly, reflexively, on impulse. For example, I saw this tattooed guy in a tee shirt, toting bags of groceries, and wearing a ski mask. He was at a crosswalk, waiting for the traffic light to turn (or for the traffic to ease up enough for him to jaywalk). There was no time to properly compose a shot, but with the Ricoh all I had to do was react. I simply raised the camera in his direction and pressed the shutter button. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Except, of course, for that ISO of 6400.

Noisy. Harsh. But I can’t blame the camera. I’m the one who fucked up. I’m not saying these photograph would have been great if I hadn’t fucked up, but they’d have been…well, better.

And that’s okay. Making mistakes is human, right? And I’m an avid believer in what Alfred Stieglitz called ‘practicing in public.’ He wrote,

“Some people go on the assumption that if a thing is not a hundred percent perfect it should not be given to the world… Either you feel that a thing must be perfect before you present it to the public, or you are willing to let it go out even knowing that it is not perfect, because you are striving for something even beyond what you have achieved.

I wouldn’t claim these photographs are ‘given to the world.’ More like inflicted on the world. But yeah, I’m surely ‘striving for something beyond what I’ve achieved.’ Because what I’ve achieved here is that I fucked up. I suspect I’ll continue to fuck up on (I hope) an irregular basis.

Despite fucking up, I still had a good time. I not only believe in practicing in public, I also believe any walk on a sunny day is a good walk. And I believe in the reality of the Happy Accident, of which I have some evidence: I actually rather like the final ISO-fucked photo, which happens to be a selfie.

well, shit…

Posted on by
5

It looks like Comrade President Trump is going to launch an assault on Iran. Why? Who the fuck knows? Trump certainly doesn’t.

Trump’s offered a few different reasons why he’d like to attack Iran. He’s said it’s probably necessary because of Iran’s nuclear program (which he claimed he’d obliterated just a few months ago). He’s also said an assault may be necessary to protect the right of the citizens of Iran to peacefully demonstrate (which is more than he’s willing to do for the citizens of Minnesota). He’s muttered something about regime change.

The fact is, Trump hasn’t articulated any actual cause to justify an attack on Iran. He hasn’t done any of the stuff democracy expects before a Commander-in-Chief sends troops into harm’s way. He hasn’t consulted Congress, he hasn’t tried to convince the American citizenry of any need, he hasn’t said why an assault is necessary at this particular point in time. All he’s done is make a few casual remarks when talking to reporters. Well, he’s also shifted a significant chunk of US naval military might into the region. Why? Because maybe he’ll decide he feels like launching an attack. You know, for reasons.

I mean, we know why he’s doing this really. He’s doing it because he thinks it makes him seem manly (and because Pete Hegseth has a combat stiffy). He’s doing it because he’s frustrated with the recent SCOTUS decision regarding tariffs. He’s doing it because he enjoys knowing he has the power to do it. He’s doing it because he wants the rest of the world to be afraid of him, to curry his favor. And he’s doing it because he desperately needs another distraction from the Epstein files, given the recent development with Prince Andrew Mountbatten Windsor. And given the fact that his Secretary of Commerce has been caught lying about his relationship with Epstein. And given the fact that another half dozen of Trump’s inner circle are mentioned in the Epstein files. And given the painfully obvious fact that Trump his ownself is mentioned in the files more than a million times.

But Trump is also a coward. He might NOT do it. Not for any responsible reason, but because he’s afraid of what might come next. He truly likes to think of himself–and have others think of him–as a wartime president. But Iran isn’t Venezuela. You attack Iran, and Iran hits back. Back in June of last year, when Trump launched his attack on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure, Iran launched a reprisal assault on US bases in Qatar. The next day, Trump announced a ceasefire. Back in 2020, Trump approved a drone strike against Qasem Soleimani, the leader of Iran’s Quds Force. Five days later, Iran launched a series of missile attacks on US bases in Iraq AND shot down a civilian Ukrainian airliner. Trump didn’t respond to those counter-attacks. Trump, remember, is the POTUS who shrugged when told Russia was paying bounties for US forces killed in Afghanistan.

Trump isn’t afraid to hit others, but he’s terrified of being hit in return. There’s a reason they call him TACO Don (Trump Always Chickens Out). So he might choose not to attack Iran again.

Or he might. That’s the thing about Trump. He’s not motivated by anything except money, power, and whatever stimulus is triggering his central nervous system at any given moment. There’s a very real chance he’ll launch an attack on Iran simply because he’s moved all those military resources there and thinks he might as well do something with them.

All we can do is resist. And mutter, “Well, shit…” when he does something wildly stupid and harmful. And vote. Vote in every election–federal, state, county, municipal, vote out the motherfuckers who support Trump. Vote out every motherfucker who tolerates Trump. Resist and vote until one day we can wake up and read the news and NOT mutter, “Well, shit…”

photos i didn’t take — red boots

Posted on by
3

I keep a computer equivalent of a junk drawer–a file that’s comprised of random notes, jottings, ideas, deleted story scenes, and other crap that I want to remember but will probably never use. Every so often I’ll crack open the file and rummage around in it (usually because I’m procrastinating).

This morning, in an effort to avoid working on stuff I should be working on, I opened it and came across this note dated January 2013:

There’s a young girl I see every afternoon, swinging on her backyard swing set. She’s not a child–maybe 13 or 14? Older than most kids you see on a swing. But she’s out there every day, in every sort of weather, swinging. She goes really high–as high as possible, given the limitations of Earth physics. 

I’ve never seen her face; she’s too far away. I don’t know who she is. But as I’m tapping away on my laptop at the kitchen table, I can look through the window and see her swinging. In the summer she’s out there two or three times every afternoon and evening, swinging until it gets dark. All by herself, swinging.

She’s out there right now. It’s bitter cold–23 degrees, according to the thermometer, with a 20 mph wind; the air is full of blowing snow. And she’s swinging with a passion. I want so badly to take her photograph, but it seems such a private thing, her swinging. 

She’s wearing red boots.

It’s been thirteen years and that image is still immediately vivid in my mind. The blowing snow, the motion of the swing, the way she leaned into it, the height she’d get. The red boots.

I can recall mentioning her swinging to others, most of whom had some sort of opinion about it. “You should have have taken the photo; you wouldn’t have to publish it.” “Maybe she’s out there swinging by herself because she doesn’t feel safe inside at home.” “It’s a little creepy, isn’t it, to spy on little girls.” “I used to swing like that as a child. It was wonderful and scary. I’m glad you respected her privacy.”

I’m not sure I actually respected her privacy, since I often watched her swinging. And yeah, it’s a bit creepy…or it could be. I never had the sense that she was engaged in escape swinging because she felt unsafe, but how would I know? The sense I got was that she found some wild, fierce joy in swinging. But yes, it was a private joy and wasn’t meant to be a shared experience–certainly not with some older guy a hundred yards away, sitting at his kitchen table.

Here’s an odd thing: I never saw her stop swinging. Or start, for that matter. i’d be on the computer at the kitchen table and the motion would catch my eye. I’d watch for a short while, then get on with whatever I was working on. I’d glance up later and she’d be gone.

I don’t recall the last time I saw her swinging. Must have been 10-12 years ago. Maybe she grew out of it, maybe her family moved away, I don’t know.

I never did take her photo. I sort of regret it. I’m sort of glad I didn’t. But I have that image in my head, and that’s good enough.

That blowing snow, those red boots.

cnut, hammett, and trump

Posted on by
2

I recently mentioned to a friend that, despite the ongoing horror of Minneapolis, I feel more optimistic about the future than I did a year ago. And he agreed. He said something like, “It’s that whole King Cnut thing, right? Trump may think he’s the king, but even the king can’t hold back the tide.”

I stopped myself from correcting him. For some reason, people think the Cnut versus the Tide story is about Cnut’s arrogance. It’s not. I’ve forgotten the issue at hand, but Cnut’s posse was suggesting that as king, he had godlike powers. Cnut was saying, “Nope, I’m just a guy with a good job.” When he set his throne on the beach and ordered the tide NOT to get his feet wet, he was demonstrating the fact that he couldn’t hold back the tide.

Cnut getting his shoes wet.

But aside from buggering up the analogy, my friend is (I think) correct. Trump may think he’s got godlike authority. He’s certainly acting like it. In Minneapolis, in Greenland, in courtrooms across the US, in social media. Just yesterday on his Truth Social site, he (or one of this fluffers) wrote:

In Minnesota, the Troublemakers, Agitators, and Insurrectionists are, in many cases, highly paid professionals. The Governor and Mayor don’t know what to do, they have totally lost control, and our [sic] currently being rendered, USELESS! If, and when, I’m forced to act, it will be solved, QUICKLY and EFFECTIVELY! President DJT

This is Trump distilled. Three lines–all lies–that encompass Trump’s view of the world. First, he presumes nobody ever takes a risk for any reason other than personal gain. If people demonstrate against him, somebody must be paying them. Second, he’s compelled to belittle and insult those who oppose or disagree with him. And third, he needs to assert his own superiority–to brag about his own abilities. It’s all there in three lines.

Does he actually believe all that? Maybe. I don’t know. Dashiell Hammett, in a 1923 short story, wrote, ‘If a man says a thing often enough, he is very likely to acquire some sort of faith in it sooner or later.’ Hammett was pretty astute. I assume there are moments when Trump is truly convinced he’s a superior being.

It doesn’t really matter if Trump believes his own bullshit. The tide doesn’t. And like my friend, I’m inclined to believe the tide is slowly turning against Trump. He’ll shout and threaten and bluster and bribe, but he’ll never control Greenland and he’ll never subdue Minneapolis.

The tide is an insistent sumbitch.

in fear for my life

Posted on by
6

By now, we’ve all seen the various videos of the recent horrific event in Minneapolis. TrumpCo and MAGA are pressing the view that the shooting was justified. What they want you to hear is that Jonathan Ross is a highly trained, experienced law enforcement officer who shot and killed a professional radical agitator who attempted to murder him with her car. His behavior, they claim, was justified because he was in fear for his life.

Another perspective. Renee Nicole Good was a 37-year-old mother of three (a daughter and two sons), a poet, and a stay-at-home mom married to Rebecca Good. They’d recently moved to Minneapolis from Kansas City. She volunteered to be a legal observer monitoring ICE operations in her new home. She and her wife (and dog) were surrounded by masked and uniformed armed men who were yelling at her and aggressively attempting to open her car door, She attempted to leave the scene, likely because she was in fear for her life.

There’s no doubt that fear makes people do stupid stuff. Fear makes people act on impulse rather than reason. Fear is valid.

But the law, it seems, prioritizes the fear of policing agents. The law prioritizes the fear of the only people at the scene who are carrying weapons. The law prioritizes the fear of the only people at the scene who have the legal authority to shoot people. The law prioritizes the fear of the only people at the scene who are trained when and how to use deadly force. The law prioritized the fear of the only people at the scene who have been trained NOT to give in to their fear. The law not only prioritizes their fear, it justifies it.

The law does not consider the fear of a woman surrounded by several masked armed men yelling at her and attempting to drag her and her wife from their vehicle. The law does not value the fear experienced by Renee Nicole Good.

EDITORIAL NOTE: Patriarchy must be smashed. The shattered splinters that remain must be ground into dust. That dust must be encased in lead and buried in an unmarked grave in the deepest desert.

an amazing thing

Posted on by
8

Before actually addressing the nation, Comrade President Trump called in to Fox & Friends to chat about the raid that captured/kidnapped Venezuelan president Maduro. He said this:

“I mean, I watched it literally l like I was watching a television show. If you would’ve seen the speed, the violence — it was an amazing thing.”

Like I was watching a television show. There it is. Trump and his Cabinet of Yahoo Nazgûl suffer from cinematic epistemology. Their understanding of how the world works–and more importantly, how military operations work–is based on action movies. The good guys (and, again, this is TrumpCo’s definition of ‘good guys’) swoop in quickly, there are explosions and gunfire, a few secondary characters get shot (and maybe die heroically), the bad guys are killed or captured, the good guys manage to barely escape. Once back at their base, the exhausted heroes laugh and joke and maybe weep manly tears for their lost/wounded comrades, but are nevertheless proud to have served their nation. Then the credits roll.

They don’t give much thought to what happens after the credits roll. That shit’s boring. If the film is profitable and draws an appreciative audience, they may consider a sequel. Maybe in a new setting. But basically, once the music starts and the lights go up, the movie’s over. Somebody will clean up and put stuff in order, doesn’t much matter who.

Did some Venezuelans die during this raid? Nobody’s bothered to discuss that. They’re just background actors. Non-player characters. Who cares about NPCs?

Don’t get me wrong, Maduro IS a bad guy. A very bad guy. He’s a dictator; he’s banned opposition parties, he stole Venezuela’s last election, he’d blatantly corrupt, he’s encouraged corruption among his administration and military leaders. He’s approved of torture and murder. He’s made deals with drug dealers. He’s…well, he’s a lot like Trump his ownself.

But Maduro really isn’t the issue. At least not for those of us in the US. The issue for us is that we have a corrupt, delusional president, a Cabinet that caters to his corruption and delusions, a Congress that refuses to challenge him, and a Supreme Court that shrugs off most of his depredations.

We’re not in a goddamn movie. We need leaders who understand that. We desperately need leaders who’ll at least try to hold Trump and his enablers accountable.

Editorial Note: The illustration is an 1883 wood engraving by Albert Robida for his book entitled “Le vingtième siècle” (The Twentieth Century). The original caption is “Les correspondants à la guerre” (The war correspondents).

things i’d like to see in 2026

Posted on by
12

2025 sucked, don’t even try to tell me otherwise. 2026 has the potential to be better, though it could implode at any moment. Nothing is certain. However, in a feeble attempt to be optimistic, I’ve make a list of things I’d like to see in 2026. I don’t expect to see any of them, but hey, there’s no harm in hoping.

Anyway, in no particular order, I’d like to see:

  • local municipal police officers arresting ICE agents for violating the law. These assholes are running wild in the street and ain’t nobody holding them to account. Arrest them, cuff them, give them a fair trial.
  • sensible legislation limiting e-motos. I’m talking about these stubby bastards. They’re sold as ebikes, but they’re not intended to be ridden like bikes. I don’t have anything against them as a mode of transportation, but the sad reality is a LOT of these e-motos are ridden by assholes. Assholes ruin everything.
  • speaking of bikes, I’d like to see more people dressed in normal clothes on bikes. This isn’t a dunk on folks who wear lycra and ride road bikes. I’d just like to normalize cycling as transportation, not just as a form of exercise.
  • women in US films & television shows that look like actual women wearing actual women’s clothing with sensible shoes instead of models in high heels. Give me more Sarah Lancashires, more Olivia Colmans, more Susan Wokomas, more Lesley Manvilles. Give me women who can act, not just look good. (Okay, we have Merritt Wever in the US, who is fucking amazing; give me more Merritt Wevers too.)
  • Donald J. Trump in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit…in a coffin.
  • quiet spaces. Deliberately quiet spaces, both indoors and outdoors, both public and commercial. Not silent spaces; just quiet. Spaces where you can have a conversation. Coffee shops, pubs, restaurants, and other businesses that commit to quietness should be given tax breaks.
  • Brett Kavanaugh busted for DWI.
  • a mini-series based on Ellen Kushner’s novel Swordspoint. Or any of her novels, really.
  • billionaires taxed out of existence. There’s no reason for billionaires to exist. Nobody has any real use for that much money. Every dollar somebody ‘earns’ over a billion dollars should be taxed at 100%. I mean, c’mon, if you spent US$100 thousand every single day, it would take you more than 27 years to spend a billion dollars. That’s just nuts.
  • more dedicated infrastructure for bicycles and other forms of mobility. I’m talking about bike lanes and secure bicycle parking. We should really make it safe and easy for not just cyclists to get around, but also folks in wheelchairs (and we should subsidize motorized wheelchairs to a much greater extent). We should drastically decrease car dependency (and the operative term there is ‘dependency’).
  • much much much more funding for the Arts. All sorts of arts, and especially weird esoteric arts, even if we don’t like them. Hell, we should encourage people–ordinary people–to take up any form of expression. I’d go so far as to support accordion players and mimes. It would make people happier, and lawdy, we need happier people.
  • also, Trump’s name removed from the Kennedy Cen…well, from everything.
  • capes for mail carriers. These people are fucking heroes; they deserve capes.

Okay, that’s enough. None of these things will happen (although I think there’s a decent chance Comrade Trump will go toes up in the next 12 months), but they’re still it’s nice to think about. Oh, wait. I forgot one.

I’d like to see the patriarchy smashed into tiny shards, those shards ground into the finest dust, that dust buried deep in the earth, and the earth above it salted so that nothing will grow there for a thousand years. Or so.

There. Done.

Editorial Note: By the way, the illustration is a wood engraving by Frederick Sandys from the early 1860s. It’s called ‘The Old Chartist.’ Chartism was a British working class movement that called for 1) the vote for every man aged twenty-one years and above (women, of course, were totally fucked), 2) secret ballots, 3) no property qualification to be a Member of Parliament, 4) payment for Members (so working men could temporarily leave their regular employment to work in the public interest), 5) annual elections. These were radical wishes unlikely to occur, much like my wishlist above.

punchdrunk villa

Posted on by
Reply

When you have an infantile Secretary of Defense with an inferiority complex and a desperate need to prove his manhood (yes, I’m talking about Pete Hegseth here), you have to expect a lot…and I mean a lot…of performative macho bullshit. Like murdering alleged drug runners in small craft with MQ-9 Reaper drones firing Hellfire missiles. Like inventing military medals so he and Commander-in-Chief Comrade President Trump can hand them out on stage.

I’m talking about the Mexican Border Defense Medal. It’s basically the Temu version of the Mexican Border Service Medal issued in 1918. The Mexican Border Service Medal was issued to troops who weren’t eligible for the Mexican Service Medal, which was issued in 1917.

Okay, there’s a good chance you’re saying, “Wait…what?” right about now. Here’s what you need to know (okay, you don’t actually need to know this, but it’ll help if you want to understand all this). For about eight and a half years–from 1910 to 1919–the US was involved in a low intensity (punctuated by some serious, deadly skirmishes and battles) border war with Mexico. Mexico was engaged in a civil war at the time. On top of that, Mexico was also a potential ally of Germany in World War One. Really, it was a whole thing–Germany sent a secret, encoded telegram to Mexico saying if the US entered the war against Germany, Germany would help Mexico invade the US and recapture the states of New Mexico, Texas, and Arizona. So yeah, the US had troops at the Southern border. We even invaded a few times, and at one point occupied Veracruz for half a year.

Gen. John ‘Blackjack’ Pershing during the Mexican War

The thing is, there was a shooting war with Mexico and some Mexican paramilitary elements (like Pancho Villa), and even a few German soldiers. So the troops involved in that shooting war were given a medal. The Mexican Service Medal. Some of the serious Big Hat folks in World Wars 1 and 2 earned that medal. Like ‘Blackjack’ Pershing, and Douglas MacArthur, and George Patton, and John LeJeune.

A year later, troops who weren’t involved in the shooting part of the war–the troops who provided logistics and support (without which the combat troops would go into battle with rocks and sharpened sticks)–were awarded the the Mexican Border Service Medal. They also faced danger.

Now Pete Hegseth and Comrade Trump have issued the Mexican Border Defense Medal. You’re probably wondering how a service member earns this prestigious new medal. Well, I’ll tell you. They have to be assigned, attached, or detailed for at least 30 days to a unit deployed within 100 miles of the US-Mexico border (or 24 nautical miles in adjacent US waters) as part of a designated operation supporting the Customs and Border Protection Agency.

Pete Hegseth awards the Mexican Border Defense Medal (to a woman who could probably kick his ass).

Seriously. That’s it. You didn’t have to actually DO anything. Just be assigned to a unit near the border. It’s such light duty Pete Hegseth thinks even girls can do it. And hell, he’ll hand them a medal too. That’s the kind of guy he is. I’m sure he’d rather be giving the medal to the MQ-9 Reaper drone operators, but they’re sitting in air conditioned rooms in (probably) Yuma, Arizona, which is too far away for them to get the Mexican Border Defense Medal.

But what’s important is that the medal gives Hegseth and Comrade Trump a chance to stand around with men (and a token number of women) in uniform and hand them a medal. It makes them feel important. Competent. Maybe even manly. During the ceremony in which the first 13 medals were issued, Trump noted that the troops had “endured scorching heat and bitter cold, and had given up their holidays and weekends.”

Greater love hath no man (or, possibly, woman) than to give up holidays and weekends to…to…to stop families escaping poverty and violence from crossing the Southern border of the United States?

Jesus suffering fuck…these people, I declare.