PotD – Purely Surly
June 30th, 2008 ryan
Beware of This and That
Chicago Pride Parade
June 29th, 2008 ryanFew shots from the Chicago Pride Parade, rest of the set is here.
On the Parade:
This is the first one of these I’ve attended and will definitely be marking my calendar for next year’s if in the area. Much like yesterday’s comic-con this event was one of total unabashed inclusiveness, attendees need meet no prerequisite other than an open mind. Of course the parade had a lot more skin, chiseled abs, and gyrating kaleidoscopic techno-fueled enthusiasm. Total party.
Unfortunately the combination of a marshal’s alleged float-induced injury and a brief spat of rain dampened the goings on for about an hour, but for those that remained the distant thumping bass and ensuing cacophony of ululating voices quickly snapped the party vibe back where it belonged.
On the Shots:
Here’s where, as always, I’m not thrilled with the output of my squinted shutter releases. Location was the key that I couldn’t get a fix on for the duration, having neither direct access to the route itself or a primo unobstructed vantage point. Excuses excuses, I know.
For the first 45 minutes or so we had mega sunshine and I had a few captures with my new polarized filter (using the 3.5 18-200) that hinted at a promise of something nice if only I could frame a shot. Then post rain the sky went gray and I had to contrast the bejesus out of everything just to show some color. I also could find no way around not violating the “gray sky in the frame” rule. This is mostly a historical note to myself to figure out better methods for the future. THE FUTURE.
On your Mom:
….sorry
Wizard World 2008
June 28th, 2008 ryan
Ah, Wizard World. The mere mention simultaneously excites and confuses, entertains and puzzles. Yes, any event with more than one person is bound to elicit conflicting emotions. Yes, I’d be curious to see if one could lasso a celestial planetary mass with strung-together XXL black t-shirts. Yes, I fucking love the con.
Good costumes, bad – even horrid. Pressing masses, faces aglow with flickering fan films, and the shuffling walls of black silk-screened cotton are the lifeblood of this beast. Inhibitions are checked at the door and one is just likely to see a female wearing nothing but electrical tape and that one overweight guy, that I swear is at every con, dressed as Sailor Moon. Truth be told there is more skin that averts the eyes than attracts but the convention remains family friendly, it being far from uncommon to see costumed adults pushing their forcibly themed spawn. Cracks me up.
Wizard World pales in comparison with a proper comic-con, namely the one in San Diego, but this year was considerably better than last. Most of the big names hold out for San Diego and the one in Rosemont is about 90 percent vendors. Managed to meet the guys from Cyanide and Happiness (class acts the lot) and Max Brooks (Zombie Historian) was signing over at the Avatar Press booth promoting his forthcoming graphic novel. This year’s Artist Alley also impressed much more than years’ past but it always bugs me how much of artwork featured is re-drawn Marvel figures.
I took a few shots last year but actually got down to business today. Those dressed to thrill are, when approached polity, usually willing to whipcrack a pose in exchange for a Thank You, a point of protocol I took advantage of while enjoying the slalom of aisles. This has replaced my previous acquisition obsession of figures, at which I’m equally relieved and saddened.
From a technical standpoint today marked the first use of my SLR in a con environment with any degree of success. Last year I was firing from the hip with my 3.5 18-200 and it was way, way too dark for me to shoot sans flash. Strapped on the 1.8 55 and, using the point-and-shoot as a side arm, was able to capture a handful of shots I was reasonably pleased with, though shooting at 1.8-2.8 at ISO 800 is noisy and focal length awkward. Will have to look in to some noise-reduction ‘ware prior to San Diego. Also, flash with diffuser.
Not a ton of toy stuff this year, and the Rosemont con doesn’t have anywhere near the video game and movie promotion of San Diego’s.
The gentlemen of Cyanide and Happiness go the extra mile. Buy their stuff eh!?
PotD – It’s Business, Business Time
June 27th, 2008 ryan“Hey Ryan, take a picture you think represents a corporate sell out on his way back from a pointless day trip to Atlanta. In a cab. With no one else.”
…Ok
Lost and Found
June 26th, 2008 ryan“Lost” is such a downer and I prefer “temporarily misplaced” seeing that I never lost anything. Not even an argument. Snap.
[Randolph entrance to the Pedway]
What was not lost was my borrowed point-and-shoot. So here’s some sticker art.
[Randolph entrance to the Pedway]
PotD – Obey Big Brother
June 26th, 2008 ryan
Latest in the series of/from/by Obey.
Taken at the corner of Michigan and Randolph. Had seen this one a while back but the point-and-shoot was MIA. Looks like it’s thwarted a few removal attempts.
Coincides with the latest on surveillance upgrades in Chicago.
PotD – Nylon Discord
June 25th, 2008 ryan
While frequently snuggled in my man-bag it is rare that I actually remove, extend, and hold aloft pictured umbrella.
I’ll admit it does quite the job of keeping my most-of-me dry from less aggressive drizzles but in the presence of either driving sheets of torrential downpour or the off-the-lake-building-reflected wind to which this city owes its nickname said telescoping nylon is reduced to refuse. Average commuters’ umbrellas are discarded by the dozens whenever a storm passes, public waste receptacles brimming with the broken wings of cast aside color.
Then there’s the fact that the disinterested masses suddenly have greater volume on the already choked thoroughfares. While once in a great while I take part in the beauty that is a perfectly executed synchronous passing, in which strict non-verbal communication dictates the coordinated raising and lowering of umbrellas of those traveling in opposite directions allowing a brief proximity for the lightest of cheek grazes and, if you are lucky, the faintest whisper of “Well done,” the majority of umbrella related encounters are decidedly unpleasant. A brief flash and the man next to me is lanced through the eye, well dressed young professional covered in a deluge of water while waiting at a crossing, and the frail grandmother is oft lifted by a sudden upthrust of wind in to the path of a passing bus.
Yes, umbrellas are perilous objects best used for peace of mind and not on crowded city sidewalks. Carry if you must, but only if you have little regard for the lurching throngs about you.
PotD – Gutter Maples
June 21st, 2008 ryanReceived an email from my father this morning requesting assistance cleaning out the gutters on his house.
This is a job I’ve had since I hit the tender age of 10 years old, malformed muscles clinging to the hot grit of scalding roofing shingles as I shoveled handfuls of wet, decaying leaf matter in to a flimsy plastic bag 50 feet off the ground.
Their dwelling is encircled by hulking maple trees that disperse not only leaves, lots of leaves, but a veritable downpour of aerodynamic spores when the Chicago weather turns hot and moist. As you can see the wee saplings are rather hardy.
Whenever I weed their lawn/garden/gutters I always try to save some of these guys. Despite their vapid dispersion the maples somehow elude the same DESTROY category as nettles or dandelions when the agenda dictates mass horticide. I did the one-handed-ladder dance with two pots earlier to evacuate a select few but will likely end up with dozens before my historical role as Slinger of Slime resumes at dawn.
I’d Like to Talk to you about a Timeshare Oppurtunity
June 21st, 2008 ryanJust returned from my previously mentioned IRR administrative screening over at Great Lakes.
Despite the promise of a decent paycheck for 2 hours inconvenience I was not looking forward to this brief resurgence into military life, luckily such things are simplified when one’s own choice is removed from the deciding process. Ah, official orders.
Does occupation dictate personality? I don’t like to think so, but surely there are influences from particular professions that lend to personality traits or strengthen certain aspects of some that coincide with how said person spends a significant part of their waking life. The full-time blogger might be more observant, the off duty cop will do things upon entering a convenience store that a registered accountant likely won’t, and so on.
I try not to let my time spent in the military define me. I left when the opportunity arose and never looked back, discarding many of the extraneous day-to-day personality traits that were a necessity but likely keeping more than I thought. It even appears that the biggest transition of my life (getting out was more cathartic then getting in) directly led to the second because of this, and not in the good way.
Saw a cool metaphor in one of the briefs, that of two sides with unimpressive relations being drawn together by the acute angled antics of a boot lace going back and forth between – a third-party action not binding the two but facilitating ties. Perhaps for some the distance between the eyelets is further and the proportional effects from occupation related influences doesn’t produce as much feedback in non-work relations. For others the distance is not as great and they are left with a lot more boot lace at the end of the day that doesn’t really fit anywhere.
There’s a bit about gait-recognition in Little Brother that is eerily spot on. Spend 8 months sleeping 4 hours a night, operating under light discipline, and the amount of people you recognize with limited visual or aural clues will be staggering. I’m sure cops can recognize each other in civilian attire, but it’s compounded for military folk. Add to this the strictest of the branches’ standards in personal grooming and primary methodology and it’s like a bloody spotlight. Even with all of the attendees no longer sporting regulation attire or haircuts it was simple to distinguish, natural, transcending accepted values on the curve of normal recognition. Hell, I knew this one guy driving behind me on the freeway had the same destination as me.
Here’s where I bite back at any surfacing nostalgia and approach the subject as objectively as possible, distancing myself from not only the former occupation but it’s defining culture. It’s a huge granite, steam-powered thing with branching subsidiaries each defined by the former as much as themselves. Warrior culture and civilian don’t mesh well, whether you were a forward deployed motor transport technician or door-kicker. It’s nice to see the shiny public relations side of the driving force but interaction for those on the “outside” should stop there. Anything more and it’s an awkward fit that I personally don’t favor, preferring instead a steadfast barrier obstructing any possible meshing.
Hopefully I won’t have any more of these things.
PotD – The Blood is the Life
June 19th, 2008 ryan
Though its lilting commentary is currently offline and in brooding stasis via archive, I previously expounded on the frustration of discovering I was thoroughly blacklisted from donating blood in late 2006. Lifesource, the eerily efficient and all encompassing blood merchant of choice, thought nothing of my three year sentence, casually discarding another donor Unfit for Service – not unlike those who have paid for “things” prior to 1977. Or spent time in prison exceeding 72 hours.
I had worked out the amount of not-to-be-donated blood as roughly 2 gallons, 16 pounds of virile bodily fluid going to waste due to some country’s ongoing classification as a Malaria Threat. While helping to attack the shaky foundations of my “modern-day vampires” theory, Lifesource took the higher road and rejected my potential donations on, to my surprise, a disease they don’t even test for.
I was bummed. There aren’t a ton of ways that I contribute to this race we call Man that I felt were as simple, primal even, as spilling blood in at a controlled fluorescent altar. I’ve never been too keen on the idea of progeny (or any of the effects of long-term fluid swapping really) but giving blood was something I not only found appealing but was pretty good at. Like knitting tiny bandages for use in case of emergency, I was maybe possibly perhaps lending a helping hand.
As I’ve hinted, the force that is Lifesource is in it for the long haul, determination palpable on every one of the weekly messages they place lovingly in my voicemail, inbox, and subconscious mind. I finally caught one of these persistent do-gooders and mentioned my quarantine was not yet complete only to be corrected with a change in previous policy. Apparently Iraq is less malaria-riffic now than it was two years ago. I nearly opened a vein then and there I was so pleased. As if sensing my tingling anticipation the caller quickly scheduled an appointment and likely saved an uncomfortable conversation with whoever found my phone in the rapidly spreading pool, stupid grin on my quickly paling face.
This afternoon I walked in to the donation center, caffeine free (a rarity by mid afternoon) and rolled up my sleeves with great abandon, showing off my thick and supple veins. Nurses fainted, men and women alike, and I was carried on sedan chair to where these crimson crusaders could pick up what I was laying down.
At some point in the process, prior to penetration, the topic of “just whole blood?” was raised. Not to be belittled by this double dog dare I signed any and all papers thrust forth and agreed to the “double red blood cells” special of the day. If you can tear your gaze from this potent narrative for but a moment and take in the splendor my coarsely haired, iodine and tattoo marked arm above you’ll notice that it is not blood coursing but some clear, murky substance.
“My stars!” you may utter, and rightly so, for it is a precious fluid not departing but ENTERING my throbbing circulatory. Plasma, in fact, separated by the trusty ALYX machine. What times we live in.