I ritualistically dedicated this past weekend to the photography gods, Luck and Bad Lighting. Over the past three days I drove, stopped, shot--usually in that order--and photo-edited my bounty.

It all began on friday. I wasn't in the mood to gather my courage and go out to a club, but I still wanted to drive around and feel the wind slap me with relief. The more I thought about it, then, the better an extended photoshoot sounded, so when the late evening came I took my three holy items to ensure a safe and sane voyage:

1) My old but reliable tripod whose camera mount doesn't stay fixed at weird angles.

2) A litre of bottled water. Usually my chaser is iced coffee, but I opted for a Red Bull later on.

3) Mom's Chevron gas card.

I was still bummed about not being able to shoot at the LA harbor and out of ideas. Mom suggested the plastic refinery plant nearby (which is different from the gas refinery or tech. plants, both of which I've scowered). She had a good point. I'd only seen it from the passenger side of her car. It was about time to get up close.

I turned onto a small side street cut between the plastics plant and a dow chemical base. Two semi-big rigs were parked on the side, lounging in a sheaf of darkness with huge plumes of foliage growing above the barbed wire fencing. I drove up, turned around, then decided that if they could park there then why the hell couldn't I? I stopped..waited..got out, looked at the guy who took a glance at me, shrugged and unsheathed my mighty metal toy.

There's an eerie sortof silence around chemical bases. The dow plant was lit in blinding whites and dim off-yellows. The checkpoint gate was sprawled out about 20 feet behind where I parked. I scanned the outside, didn't see anyone. There was a set of railroad tracks and a deep trench between me and the much more impressive looking plastics plant. I shot a few from across the way, got up close to the overgrown (and likely tick infested) plant growth around the plastics' perimiter and travelled down the track some. I need to re-shoot the track one still.

From there it was a three hour and thirty minute spree along the pacific coast. I cruised up along Lincoln Ave. past interesting looking clubs and the gay sports bar "Mr. Pockets", out into the heart of Venice Beach. I quickly found out that both Jack and Shit are in Venice at night, careening from side to side against second-rate night spots. Somehow I got lost, turned around, then lost but turned around in the direction of home. I figured it was a sign. I had 103.1 KDL on high base, listening to the trance and house music fill the car. Everything spoke of possibility. I'd begun to understand what explorers might have felt like when it came to charting this barren paradise a few centuries ago.

Ironically enough, my next stop was in the middle of some new close-to-the-beach condos and apartments. I pulled up slow like. A black guy looked at me oddly as he walked his date to the gate. It was the sortof look that I expected the natives must have given the explorers at first. The 3 story apartments were concrete stucco affairs, carved in contemporary styles with matching gardens growing like fungi at their feet. Up ahead was what smelled like the LA river basin. I looked. The LA 'river' was just as pathetic as ever. A row of squat lights paraded me down a 'fire-fighter personnel only' path that led back onto the main drag. I tried catching a few shots of a staircase, but I just didn't care about the site anymore. There were some interesting office buildings with a salmon/white wine thing going on up along a nearby hill, but by then I was getting the "someone has called security, get your ass out" feeling.

I got my ass out and passed along Lincoln Ave., checking out the same darts and billiards club with young 20 somethings. They laughed and careened, spending the morning like nervous speed addicts throwing down chips at roulette. I wondered if I'd get up the courage to ever find out what that scene was about. More, it got me to thinking if this was were I really wanted to be in life. I liked the solitude for the most part, but something felt missing. The photography kept me distracted, though, so I didn't dwell on it.

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This day was the photoshoot of photoshoots. I was tired getting up but felt hardcore. I had the whole day. I wanted some nature shots.

Mom had suggested Mulholland St. about a week ago. At first I didn't know what she was talking about. She described it as being way the hell out past Woodland Hills over near Agoura Hills (about an hour and 30, north of me, with good traffic). Finally it dawned on me. See, Agoura Hills is rolling hill (obviously) kinda ruralesque country. The 101 freeway is the urethra through which all life spittles out to the flecks and pockets of civilization at the sides.

My directions took me down into the pleasant dribble. It was almost like a desert town with the hills of bright brown death and pleasant quichey vibe to the fast food restaurants and gas stations. This was bat country. I began to recognize my surroundings and gravitated my hips to them. I was wandering near the solemn roads that lead into the weaving tracks of the great canyons. While Topanga Canyon was the nearest and most familiar to me, I'd forgotten about the half dozen others. I feverishly began to wonder what I'd find. Mulholland would take me through, within and around all of them. I had a full tank of gas (hence not needing a Chevron gas card), half a bottle of water and the tripod. I was set. I drove.

I drove a long, long time. I pressed 50 mph up until a vast crossroads, with every manner of beast and man driving vehicles in various directions. I decided left was good. Rural scenes reminiscent of the American midwest rolled past: teaming meadows of lush grass and deciduous trees, curving up onto vast hills of balding yellow underbrush and thin dirt roads. I glanced left and right, twitchy, eager. A vast stretch of mountains loomed to the right. They were erect and vast in the biblical sense. Soft airbrushes of mist passed along them and refracted the ass-hot white blinding death heat of the evil sun.

The sun wasn't the primary evil. I met many that day. My first minor evil was when I got out at a sight-seeing/rest promontory. Some dude had a classic rock station cranked out about 30 feet behind me. I scanned the horizon but noticed a cute flower bush thing. Having shot cute flower bush thing, I looked over to the side to see some burnt, gnarled young trees. Little did I know the sharp stinging nasty little bushes lining up and down the rocky inclines would hurt so damned much. They bit into me like over-eager lovers. They stuck into me just like over-eager lovers. Thankfully, though, their effect wore off just as quickly as over-eager lovers. I hopped back in the truck and moved on.

I'd somehow backtracked near the valley. I recognized this and turned onto another shoulder to go in the opposite direction. I'd noticed a nice boulder, though, about 3/4 of a mile up. I couldn't park anywhere else. I hiked to the bastard. There was some gated community thing on either side of the road. A few old women sneered in puzzlement, but fuck them, I was living. I snapped the boulder then I climbed up a steep rain gulley. Nothing. I climbed down, hiked down, nearly finished my water and drove back to the crossroads of strange men and beasts driving all manner of thing.

This time it was off to the right--and by God to the right I stayed the whole way. I stopped several times among the mountains and silence, noticing odd things like green bushes in the middle of nowhere that only a photographer would give two damns about. There was another evil afoot, though. As I began my shooting I heard buzzing. Lots of buzzing. Since the truck has no AC I was a roasty toasty sweaty bastard by then. I was a bipedal salt-lick. About a dozen gnats realized their luck and casually darted around and along me. I waved them off and shat piss and vinegar at them. It was no good, but I kept on photographing. Somehow a yellow jacket wasp thingy entered the equation. He and I would cross swords. He was too damned persistent. Finally on one hand swing I got lucky, made contact and slapped the bastard like a pimp. I saw Mr. Yellow Jacket no more.

The gnats, on the other hand, seemed to follow me. I began to understand how American tourists felt in Egyptian or middle eastern market places. It sucked. I'd snap some shots, wave my arms around, repeat the process then finally dash back to the truck, throw myself in, roll up the windows and giggle at how clever I was. Trouble is, dashing leads to sweat, sweat leads to salt and there are--apparently--a whole hell of alot of gnats in those canyons.

Finally I saw the ocean. I almost got a few shots of the ocean, but some bastard in a mini-van was doing 30 in front of me. The person who'd crept up behind me liked this about as much. I'd have no part in their sadistic speed ritual. I pulled over onto a narrow shoulder and let them fight it out. About 5 minutes later they turned right into some secluded community. All's well that isn't the fuck around me, I thought.

I'd made it all the way to Ventura County. I hadn't gone this far north since Mom and I drove up to Washington (the state) for my freshman year. I decided to keep going north for kicks. The beaches dissolved into craggy rocks and windy bend roads. Cliffs towered precariously while I went the required 10 miles over the speed limit. I couldn't take this travel to nowhere. This was too far, too remote. I turned around to find more familiar ground.

Somehow I ended up at the Pepperdine University campus. I'd seen the closs-cropped grassy slopes and weird twisted trees before. I figured a closer look was in order. Besides, they have a giant monolithic cross on the far side that stretched up for a good 120 ft./40 metres. Why the hell they built that I'll never know, but it made for a good shot. Eventually security passed by on a hill sweep. I was on one of the hills at the time. I casually sauntered down it back to the playing children and parents near the foot. I figured it couldn't be trespassing if there was a crowd. Sure enough, nothing happened and I drove back home, the techno playing continuously with small depressive breaks of clarity and hearing NIN's "Something I can never have".

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I edited pictures. I posted pictures. I ran a few errands with Mom. Sadly enough it's a giant blur. I know there was coffee involved. There's always coffee involved.

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Grettle had decided to train a few of the undergrads in taking up her experiment, rather than going through a lab meeting. I took copious notes while she breezed through the procedure. I had a feeling if I didn't write the thing up, it wouldn't get done. Grettle confirmed this assumption for me. We talked about what would be happening in the lab after she went away to Med school in New York. Ideally I'd be supervising/doing administrative work while all the undergraduates slaved away and gave me partial credit on their research.

I posted and re-posted a few photographs, ran yet more errands with Mom (like shoving giant garden wagon kits into a very small car), had more coffee (her way of paying me) and generally worried about everything in my life.

Worry and I go back real far. It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a gun. I have a checklist in my mind of things to dote over. Right now I think I have, in this order:

#1 - Why in the hell are you updating with such a large entry when you could be studying?

#2 - Why haven't you been exercising more? That's 4 days you haven't gone hiking. Oh sure you hiked some on Saturday (photoshoot of photoshoots), but was that enough?

#3 - When can you get the tooth you had surgery on checked out? When can you get enough money for this minor surgery, and that minor surgery and this surgery?

#4 - Did Grettle take offense when you didn't comment on her offer to be a portrait model?

#5 - Did The Captain take offense when you told him that arguing was the least of your worries at the time?

I border on hearing the nagging Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder voice. My father had that disease; thankfully my Mom and I might as well be twins for all we have in common. Anyway, I have to be majorly distracted to not worry. This is not your opportunity to practice your unrealistic voodoo in telling me not to worry. It's roughly equivalent to telling a nymphomaniac to keep his/her mind off of sex.

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Battle

Comment: I think this is my first "ugly" shot. Most people I've shown it to don't care for it. I like decay and degeneration myself in some ways. This shot felt right.

Tunnel Vision

Comment: This was taken at the entrance to the sewer you see in "Battle". Hopefully it isn't obvious that this shot is actually a digital negative. I liked how the darkness became light and really set apart the graffiti. I have a "dark" version of this that's very '28 days later'.

Kingdom

Comment: Remember that plastic refinery plant I mentioned at the beginning? Here's part of it. that I took across from the railroad tracks and deep trench. I thought some dow chemical guy would come by to bug me, but it was silent as the grave.

Light of the Earth

Comment: Some might disagree, but this is my favorite of the lot. Notice how the light in the sky and the light cast by the lamppost are the exact same and fade off at similar distances. From that I got the idea that the lamppost itself was giving off all that light--hence the title.

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