I was walking around Berlin today and came across this piece of graffiti. It reads: “and when we touch we’re not really touching. if our atoms did not repel one another we’d pass through each other like galaxies, unscathed.” It’s a striking thought and I found myself thinking about the nature of love and connection for the rest of the day. How is it that we ever find anyone to fall in love with? Or they are able to find us? Does fate intervene ever? I also wonder, where did this quote come from? It sounds familiar to me. Is it original or did some famous poet or author or songwriter pen it somewhere before it was spray painted on a construction site barricade in Berlin? I did a quick internet search for this quote and came up with a short story calledThe Mighty Atomby Bill Bryson; that makes a reference to a quote by science writer Timothy Ferris that is close but not exact; other than that I didn’t come up with much. Any ideas?
Belfast was a great adventure. When I checked into the hotel I was staying at I asked the woman working the front desk if there was a window or a view point from one of the upper floors that I could have access to shoot some photos from. She immediately asked if I would access to the roof. Of course I jumped at the chance and she called a handyman to walk me up. It was incredible. I got to go on the roof, about twelve stories up and take as many photos of Belfast as my heart desired. It was such a beautiful morning with the sun shining through the clouds, the light was great and the view was unreal. I really got a unique experience thanks to the kind woman working at the front desk.
I took this photo of a mural I saw from the roof first, because the color caught my eye and second, because of the imagery it contained. I don’t pretend to completely understand the dynamic political history of Northern Ireland, I mean, I have seen some films and heard what Bono has to say now and again but I am pretty positive that in no way is a solid foundation for me to build some sort of opinion about which side of the republican and loyalist struggle I support. So I won’t even try. I took this photo, not because I support the message it contains, but because I am struck by the freshness of the paint, that it has been cared for and maintained. When I first looked at the mural I was struck by what I deemed terrorist imagery, the black hood, the AK-47, the clenched fist. I wondered if that was a mural encouraging terrorism, yet the confusing thing is, those are also the same images of revolution too. Peculiar those words, terrorism and revolution, and how those definitions change when they are used and applied by those in power and those who aren’t, that revolution is always called terrorism when it is a threat to power and that terrorists always think of their actions as a revolution when they aren’t in power. So I wondered, who painted the mural and who maintains it? A terrorist? A revolutionary? Has it been cared for because people do not want to forget a part of their history? Or because these sentiments are still alive and burning in the hearts of some portion of the Belfast citizenry? Maybe both?
I think about how a mural like this relates to my own country, how the media in the United States continues to force this divide between conservative and liberal, red state and blue state, and how collectively we live with such different views of how our country should be run. Do we have a divide in our country as deep and as the one in Northern Ireland? We had civil war but is our country really united? Should we be renamed the Collected States of America? Our media sometimes makes me feel this way, makes me suspicious of some of my fellow Americans, makes me think of them as ignorant and backwards and I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing about me. That is why ultimately I voted for Barack Obama, because I feel like he has the strength and courage and vision to unite a country that has been slowly fracturing over the past eight years.
On the train today from Belfast to Dublin I passed some graffiti spray painted on a fence that read: We are like lightning. And for some reason, that phrase just resonated with me, I felt the magnitude and solitude of that phrase and it stuck. We are like lightning. We are electric and luminous and yet, our lives are only a quick flash in the grand scheme of time. So that became the thought of the day, somehow pulling everything into perspective and making sense of everything I had been recently pondering.
John and Sarah can’t seem to muster much more than smears at this point. It’s all they’ve got to run on. McCain’s platform is as thin as Palin’s resumé; cynicism is their last, best defense. They can make a lot of noise about Obama’s great oratory skills being empty platitudes, about him being untested and risky and dangerous and the like, but they can’t do much more.
Why will we win? Because we’ve got Charles Alexander, that’s why. We’ve got heart. We will win because hope is a beautiful and simple thing. Hope is also a huge thing, not a small, trivial one, as this current crop of Republicans would like us to believe. And hope is made visceral and real and true by stories like his, told by people like him.
We need to take another step forward, as a nation, as a society. And not in a political way — not to the left or right even, nothing like that. We’ve endured a lot of grief in the last eight years: A divisive (some would say stolen) election; two horrific terrorist attacks; a pair of brutal, poorly managed and increasingly forgotten wars; a devastating storm that crippled the nerve center of American culture; the most severe economic crisis of our lives; and, perhaps most tragically, a president who didn’t seem to listen through any of it, an ideologue who valued bluster and bravado over compassion at every turn.
It’s all starting to make a little more sense to me, this groundswell of support for the unlikeliest of candidates, Barack Obama: We’re done grieving. We’re at the point where continuing to mourn our tragedies as we did when the wounds were fresh just isn’t right anymore. Of course we’ll never forget 9/11 or Katrina, nor should we try; we’ll carry those pictures privately in our hearts and minds, and discuss them publicly whenever it’s time, as we do other milestones in our history, both bad and good. But I believe we’re ready for those events to be patches in the quilt of our great and storied nation, and no longer the whole blanket. It’s time to make some new squares for the quilt - from stories of our own choosing.
There is a human tendency toward historical hyperbole. Well-to-do people my age are especially prone to this feeling that it’s never been so bad, or dire, or difficult, or whatever: It’s because our childhoods were good, our young adult years were sloppy and carefree and reasonably well-funded, and only now that we’re actually assuming some responsibilities (children, mortgages, careers) do we freak out about the world at large. It’s only in the present - often with a minimum of historical context - that we assess the state of our communities, our country, and our planet. Similarly, when a person or thing shows signs of some greatness, it’s all too easy for us to turn on the faucet of messianic praise, without the filter of history to temper us. In a nutshell, the past is never as powerful as the present, because we don’t remember those times before our own.
A lot of comparisons have been made between Barack Obama and some of the other young American political upstarts, like Abraham Lincoln and John Fitzgerald Kennedy and Bill Clinton. No living person remembers Lincoln, but his legacy is clear, both in paper policy and actual outcome. Kennedy’s mark, in policy terms, is less obvious to me, but his impact on the psyche of the nation — both in life and in passing — seems impossible to underestimate. And Bill Clinton, to me, felt pretty great, but not exactly transformative: His win in 1992 was hardly a decisive popular mandate, as Ross Perot thoroughly split the vote; and by 1994 he was battling a bratty, contrarian Congress.
In the case of Barack Obama, I have no fear of hyperbole. It’s simple: We must elect him president. I very much doubt I’ll live to see another leader who fits the zeitgeist so perfectly. I of course can’t speak to the climates in which Lincoln and Kennedy were elected, nor to the efficacy or substance of their candidacies. But I feel safe speaking of Barack Obama as a revolutionary. I don’t think, even considering the historical context I have at my disposal, that any of the aforementioned presidents possessed each and every one of the things that make Barack Obama so unique: He’s got a brilliant analytical mind; a clear, executive control of speech; a kind, open demeanor; a full and complete grasp on the technologies of the day; a photogenic presence and beautiful family; a gift to inspire and involve everyone around him; the ability to lay the groundwork for plans, both big and small, in obvious, common language; a compassionate ear; and the good fortune to have the cultural winds at his back, and the managerial know-how to capitalize on those winds in unprecedented, brilliant ways.
All of these are good things, some with more gravity than others, and every politician needs one or two of them to achieve a modicum of success. But to open a national dialogue as big and wide as the one we’re in right now requires the whole truckload, in spades, and then some. It takes a leader — and I dress that word in full literal regalia — to show the way forward, to clear the path, and to illustrate that dudes like Charles and I have quite a lot in common. I owe it to Charles, as much as anyone, to do everything I can to elect Barack Obama.
So tonight in San Diego, Ben got stung by a SCORPION. Twice. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, file this under “things that really happen on rock tours.” Ben’s okay, if not a little shaken, but we were worried for awhile because the scorpion was a little guy and when it comes to the wonderful world of scorpions, the smaller the deadlier. Here’s how it went down: As were were getting ready to go onstage to play our set, Ben changed into his show pants that were hanging in our wardrobe case. He put his pants on, and felt something stick him twice in his thigh and when he pulled them off, this guy came running out:
We all screamed. A scorpion was honestly the last thing we could imagine that would come scurrying out of his pants. Ben said that it felt like a wasp stung him and it didn’t hurt so bad, but it sure rattled all of us. We called the EMTs and they checked him out and thankfully he was fine and able to play the show, he said he had scorpion power in his veins. I’m still not convinced that he is 100% fine because nobody eliminated the possibility that it was a radioactive scorpion and that Ben will now develop super powers, so I’m keeping a close eye on him just in case.
Last night in St. Paul, Minnesota was the first show of the Death Cab for Cutie dates opening for Neil Young and I am still, today, at a complete loss for words. How can life be so long, or so short for that matter, that I would be given this opportunity, that I would be allowed this magnificent experience? Everyone on the tour, I mean EVERYONE, from the band to the crew to the drivers to the caterers have been extremely humble, nice, and gracious. I didn’t expect people to be lame, I just didn’t expect them to be so down to earth and completely wonderful. I keep pinching myself. I’m dying to talk with Neil but I am worried about being too eager, hopefully I’ll find an appropriate opening and I can say hello. Funny thing is, I’m not interested in talking to him about music, I really want to talk to him about model trains. I’ve read that Neil is an avid model train collector, builder and aficionado and I would love to talk shop from one collector to another.
As you might gather, I have been experimenting and learning about the tilt-shift miniature effect and photography recently and I made that image above of Neil’s stage set and band gear on this tour. I really hope I get a chance to share it with him, I think that it will appeal to the modeler in him. Here’s hoping.
I’m looking forward to the days ahead. I’ll keep you posted.
Here are two more Tilt-Shift fakes I made from photos I took while in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I went on a tour of Lambeau Field, home of the Green Bay Packers because I had some time to burn this afternoon before our show. The tour was fantastic and informative and it also allowed me to get high enough to get a great vantage point to shoot the right perspective for these pictures.
On October 5th at about 3:45AM on Interstate 87 the Death Cab for Cutie band bus was hit by a driver who lost control of her car (drunk? asleep? or?) hit the righthand lane guardrail and bounced back across two lanes of traffic and hit the passenger side of our bus. Despite the frightening noise that shook most of us awake, everyone on the bus is safe and fine with no injuries. The drivers of the other vehicles were not as lucky. After the first car hit us and we pulled over, four of us, Mark, Jason M., Jason Y. and I left our bus to run back to check on the car and to try and slow down traffic as to avoid a secondary collision. We weren’t successful. Even as Mark and Jason Y. were trying to slow drivers down with their flash lights, a Nissan Pathfinder who couldn’t stop in time collided with the first car. And just after that, a third car came screeching in and hit the Pathfinder at full highway speed. That was the scariest part of my night for sure. Hearing that loud POP that happens when metal and plastic meet at 60 miles an hour just resonates in your bones. You just KNOW something bad has happened. I couldn’t see Jason Y. and Mark because they had run ahead to slow down traffic but I was convinced that they may have been standing in the road trying to help the first driver when the third vehicle came crashing in. Thankfully, they were not or they would have been seriously injured or even killed.
After the third collision the chaos of everything set in. Shock set in a bit for me and everything slowed down. One car was now on fire. Another car was completely smashed. The Pathfinder had been totaled and moved thirty feet from the original accident site. Pieces of cars all over the road. Safety glass sparkling in the headlights. I see the woman driving the third car being pulled from her burning vehicle by another good samaritan as I run up. Is she alive? Yes, but hurt bad. She has compound fractures in both legs, I can see bones sticking out from both thighs and her face is crushed. Lots of blood. A man in Army fatigues tends to a woman laying on the shoulder of the road. More blood. He is yelling for a blanket. Someone get me a blanket. And a number of people are out of their cars now running around shouting for a fire extinguisher to put out the engine fire of the third car. We have to move. We have to get off of the highway. I can smell the burning car. I feel disconnected from my shoes. Finally, the flashing red and blues. Finally, some professional help. Finally, the chaos settles.
Thankfully, despite all the traumatic events and serious injuries no one died. As I sit here and reflect on the night, the thing that still sends chills up my spine, was how hushed quiet everything was. There was just this eerie silence hanging over everything and everyone throughout all of it. You could hear voices and moaning but that was all. It took me a long time afterwards to forget about that emptiness and find some sleep.
This is a scary reality of traveling as frequently as we do, but it’s something we have to accept and just hope that the stars are aligned in our favor. I try not to think of the worst case scenarios but they are always there lurking in the dark corners of my mind. Thankfully, we have a great bus driver who kept his wits about him and was mindful of our safety and security. An event like this, while horrible, could have been so much worse if our driver had panicked or over corrected.
If there is a positive in any of this, it’s that the universal countdown timer for these kinds of random moments has been reset. We should be good for a long while now.
I’m finding it more and more difficult to read the news these days, especially after such a frightening day like TODAY where the very skeletal fortitude of our American economy has been shaken, not stirred, to the core. (apologies, Mr. Fleming) The future does not look bright everyone, it’s time to take off those shades. The worst part about all of these downward pointing red arrows and photos of stressed out stock brokers is that I have no idea what really is going on. I see a photo of a guy on Wall Street with the fear of god in his eyes, pulling out his hair and looking to the heavens for mercy and it occurs to me, “Hey, wait a second, I’m not freaking out like this guy. (pause) Shit! Should I be?” I mean, I’m a reasonably intelligent citizen that understands basic economics and can balance a checkbook (though, I’ll admit that sometimes it’s fun to avoid balancing my checkbook so the simplest debit purchases can feel like a private personal game show… come on, no whammies, no whammies! APPROVED! Yessss!) I’m just not capable of understanding how it came to this. How it exactly came to me watching the collapse of the American empire in real time as I hit the refresh button on my web browser. I’m numb. And I don’t know what to do. Do I make a run on the bank? Start buying gold? Hole up in my house with a shotgun and fend off the cannibal hordes? Hang out and play xBox and pretend nothing serious is really happening? How about organize some sort of protest? Shit, what would I even write on my sign? “Stop all this money stuff!” “Make that red arrow green!” or “Hell no, we’re not Joads!” I have a fierce and definite sense that doomsday is near and zero idea what exactly to do. What I really want to do to feel better is blame someone. But, is there someone to blame for all this economic madness? I feel like there must be, or should be, one single person who wrote a law or was the first to find a nifty loophole or was the first to embrace fuzzy accounting or whatever. There has to be someone we can all blame, right? Sure, fine, okay, an event of this magnitude is a result of many colossal mistakes by many people, but I like to imagine one day long ago there was one person who had a brainstorm one night and called their boss and the next day was promoted to senior vice president and now is retired, living in a mansion on some island that they own hitting the refresh button on their web browser and laughing maniacally. Is this what Doctor Claw or Cobra Commander are up to these days? It feels like their work. Seriously, I have to admit, I’m frightened on the deepest levels because I know somewhere tonight there is some new person having a new brainstorm and calling their boss and starting the whole process all over again. An old professor of mine once told me that capitalism is like a snake eating its own tail. I have to ask, how much tail is there before the snake eats its own head? Clearly, I need to find something else to do besides click through headlines and have my spirit lose as many points as the Dow Jones Industrial Average. I should turn off my computer for a bit and do what anyone of my generation should do, hide from being an adult and all the huge worries of the world and instead embrace a time of ignorance and joy: their childhood. There were all kinds of things during the 1980’s that if I were an adult at that time would have had me running around fretting about the sky falling, but I was a kid then and blissfully happy playing G.I. Joe or building Legos listening to Motley Crue on the radio. Not a care in the world. Today is a good day to find that little me again. Some days, it’s nice to not worry about the impending apocalypse or the collapse of the American empire. Some days it’s nice to open a new Soul of Chogokin GX-40 GODMARS and call upon the Six Gods to assemble and destroy the evil tyranny plaguing the world. Hell YES. Look out Wall Street, Godmars is coming and he is so mad at you. Godmars was the penultimate toy when I was a boy living in Japan and I never owned one. I remember watching Kamen Rider Super-1 on television and sitting in stunned silence at the awesome commercials advertising the Godmars robot. Sweet Jesus he was so ultimate, six robots connect to make one HUGE robot? AWESOME! (sound of head exploding) So thanks to the kind folks over at the Bandai factory, which in my mind’s eye is like some kind of Wonka-esque dreamland dedicated to reselling my childhood back to me, I am finally able to experience the unbelievable magnificence of this coveted robot. So check it out, I took photos of the first opening and transformation of my new favorite robot, GODMARS. (click on the continue reading link to see the gallery)
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