Recently in Challenge 03 Category

Los Angeles is the city that the world watches to detect the shape of the future. There are more artists,
writers, filmmakers, actors, dancers, and musicians living and working in LA than in any other city, in
any other time in the history of civilization. Los Angeles' ethnic diversity is unparalleled, it serves as a
microcosm of the global economy and worldwide trends in immigration.

To appreciate LA you need a prying eye, we fell in love through a series of explorations that led us to
unique events and surprises. LA has taught us to pay attention to details. We invite you to uncover the
greatness of LA through these image portals. Go ahead, click on it.

the passion that moves us to make bodycity a living thing is a need to discover,
utilize and celebrate the intricacies and capacities of our own bodies.




bodycity passion face from bodycity on Vimeo.

My face is always dancing.
The upper most plane of our bodies is impossible to codify in any single term except
maybe constant motion. We look for faces everywhere and are eternally intrigued
by what they are and the conundrum of our own faces mirrored imperfectly back at
us. This is hard. I forget my face is always there looking but am also desperately
aware of this topography of features. I think myself is somewhere in this plane and
I am trying to share important stories, but sometimes all I have to do is stare.




bodycity passion arms from bodycity on Vimeo.


"You often rest your ulna on the table."
Two snakes or paired lengths of dead rope.


Arms are funny. They are like a pair of tools hung from the scaffolding
of the shoulders. The arm hangs from the body like a hose from a nail in
the wall. Where do you keep your arms? Folded with its companion tight into
your chest until you need it again? Or perhaps you keep it close to your body
sides in a place where you know you can find it again: dug into the stability of
your pockets?


Young, plump arms tethered to bodies that land often and rise quickly again.
They are in the habit of experiencing swinging walks and tumbles at the hands
of much larger arms and attached bodies, only to face a greater number of full
out poppings and dislocations. And back in you go.


The fragility of the ball and socket joint that pins the arm to the body makes it
vulnerable for slipping and dislocations. This leads experts to believe that within
the next century, arms will separate completely from their skeletons and become
a solitary subject in the atmosphere.




bodycity passion core from bodycity on Vimeo.

The human core is a ticking time bomb. A veritable capsule of beating pumping
flowing gasping growling devouring lumps and juices, all working within their
body prison. With no appendages, our bodies are basically behavioral burritos.
Many of the elements of my machine function poorly. And I wonder
to myself, is this due to a window of possible freedom? A rib on my right side
appears to be missing. It is through this gap that the ingredients inside me are
fighting to barrel through. And perhaps someday, like the crack in the bottom
of a burrito or a weak spot in the floor of a ship, it will all flood out.

Jesus walked on water... but our legs
have fallen in love with the everpresent,
everchanging dancefloor that lies beneath.
Our legs literally ground us, reminding us of regrettably human
flaws - the occasional ingrown hair,
varicose veins, cankles, the inequitable
Charlie horse, and the unfortunate
calf-hawk - a failed attempt at depilatory maintenance.
Crossed, open, closed. They signify the boundary
between propriety and impropriety, our upper and nether regions.
Legs hold us up and let us down, get entangled
in other people's parts and flee from situations that
make our knees wobble and our toes itch. Whether
they resemble chicken legs, Lincoln logs,
or look like they've been meticulously
carved on a lathe (we love you Kim
Gordon)... "the legs are the wheels
of creativity" (Albert Einstein).
So rock and roll.



bodycity passion feet from bodycity on Vimeo.

Six years ago, I jumped off of a cliff in Philadelphia and crushed two bones in my
left foot, just under the big toe. Now, the pieces of bone are held together by a
fibrous union of soft tissues that sometimes swell up and squeeze
on the nerve endings down there. And, sometimes, if I wiggle my toes just right,
it makes a sick grinding noise. I think of my feet now as something in need of consistent
consideration. This is not a new concept for many as this part of the body has been
heavily fetishized and feared across cultures and over time. But, since the general
plans of our feet correspond directly to different points throughout the rest of our bodies,
one can never be too careful. I mean, what if I'm poking at my thyroid when
I wiggle my toes?

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[ 3890 words ]

All Aboard!


After starting my day at the crack of dawn, packing super light in a single backpack (the bookbag size variety, no hockey sticks in this baby). While waiting in line I had a friendly chat with a woman in her late 50s who recently moved from Ithaca to Seattle, she explained that her family lives in Portland and talked about the manageable size of the city. She also expressed the change she's seen over the years, but interjected that the change all seems to make the overall city a more sound place. We parted ways after car assignments, myself in Car 1 and she in #2. We are boarding Amtrak. The Cascades travels between Portland's Union Station to Seattle's King Street Station nearly every day, and this train actually left a minute early at 8:29AM! The folks on the train let out a collective sigh of excitement.




I should probably start by explaining to those here on the Ultimate Blogger that this time around I am planning to submit my "Passion" entry on a subject that feels closest to my heart, travel. Oh yes, the open road, or in this case, rail. It's been years since I've been to Europe, last in '03 to Barcelona to be exact. But small getaways like this one have a special place in my life, particularly since it's a more affordable to see my region. Speaking of which, the view from this moving window is quite green, with a salt marsh, big freight containers, and the mighty Columbia River, all lit by what I call a ½ sky. That's the type that is densely dark in parts and sunny blue in others. The sort of sky that makes you start envisioning the shroud of Godzilla just behind those clouds!




As soon as I heard the theme for this week's challenge I went all cheesey and thought I would rat my hair (er a wig I guess), and do a really bad karaoke lip-synch performance to the Rod Stewart ditty of the same name (Passion, that is). But I'm going to spare you this time. I would have, could have, should have donned the cheetah lycra! Fun for me, not too pretty for you, so this will have to do.




This 'travelblogue' is an opportunity for me to really write (especially since I will be sans video camera (or cam - I have a pre-Intel G4 iBook). This I will consider a blessing because it will give me the chance to sharpen my keyboard skills a bit. And given that I just completed another assignment for Igloo Magazine of Orange, CA (doesn't that have a tart ring to it?), completing my third rendition of a column I m writing called "+/-". The intent for this column is to cover some experimental electronic music that may otherwise not be heard. It has now been over seven years writing about music, sound, noise, or whatever the kids are calling it these days. And I am considering taking some much needed time off. (Sidenote: the train stopped on the Columbia Bridge outside Vancouver, WA to let a big old tugboat pass. Riding the train has some sort of romantic time-travel thing about it). "Go By Train" says the big sign back in Portland, and though there's something quintessentially mid last century about the experience of the bounce and rock of the cabin, the bellow of the locomotive, there's a comfort in not having to anticipate one of the more icky traffic corridors, not to mention the tension on my eyes if I was behind the wheel. Being a photographer, it's one of my most sacred assets.




Where was I? Oh, no matter, I'm moving right along here....


My train car is equipped with a 120-volt input, which is great for an energy-meiser like me, especially given that this weekend will be a real adventure. You see, as far as packin' it, I have a single change of clothes, a laptop (and holstered iPhone) and not much else (I did remember my multivitamins and a few protein bars). The sun is warming the right side of my neck right now. Got greenery to the left of me and to the right, with few peeping stretches of the river, and a plank of two story condos. And we even just came side-by-side with one of those mile-long cargo trains carrying everything from lumber to mysterious liquids in big metal drums, to cars on occasion. I like contemplating what actually is inside these often sealed containers without a view. And of course it's also a traditional canvas for taggers, some stylin' old skool and some scrawling, and once in a blue moon you will see stencils and other contemporary transfigurations and modalities. The train has just picked up steam and is racing at a speedy clip. We are scheduled to arrive in the Queen City (now the "Emerald City") at 12:40PM, perfectly timed for lunch. I may even skip snacks completely on the train, not to mention that I should try and cut down on my intake. Just last night I was out at Red Robin with Paul, celebrating our paper anniversary (more on that later), with the bottomless pit o' fries and a stack of onion rings way bigger than my head. Yes, a grease pit, for sure (I loved SS's fry basket contest!).




I hate public restrooms. There, I said it. It's probably one of my biggest pet peeves. They just wreak of uncontrollable fungus of every kind, and conjure a full range of gross images. OK, I feel better. Not because I successfully went number one, but because I got that off my chest. It's also funny to leave your seat with your belongings behind, the whole 'trust factor' is a suspension of belief in our whole culture of fear when you are on the train. I came back to my seat and my laptop was still here. Could you imagine if someone stole this intellectual property?


Ahhh. I will say that this particular restroom had a cold metallic seat, and a faucet that you had to push up from underneath and touch it to get water. Hard to explain, but I guarantee you it was something from the dark ages. But my hands are clean, and I am passing by a huge field of grazing cattle. They look so peaceful, but I'm glad I'm on a moving train and the windows are sealed. The syncopated glints of light chop through the trees as we whiz by, like laser beams. The engineer toots his horn every third of fourth block, we must be traveling through a populated zone, no wait, it's another oncoming train. They must have GPS and were able to predict that. This train is just feet from my shoulder, and it's a bit of a rush when that happens as you can kind of feel the imaginary weight of the other train, the proximity to this seat and the thin column of air between the two locomotives is spare, and probably has a ton of cylindrical force, enough to din the sound of the air in a blur for a few minutes as they pass.




It would be remiss of me not to tell you why I am actually traveling. And that is to fulfill another dense passion of mine. I said passion. And I meant it. This weekend is the annual Decibel Festival, now in its fourth year I believe. The festival was brought together in my sister city to the north by one Sean Horton, a big music fanatic like me. I have been to every rendition except last year, I can't remember why I missed '06 honestly. The festival covers a range of exploratory splinter genres within the world of electronica. Having traveled to Spain, Boston and Montreal to other major music festivals it's a proud moment to have our own regional version. And this year is world class.




But before I say more let me just say aside from my past music writing, I am an avid collector of the dying out CD, a format that is slowly fading for straight digital download. It brings up the whole notion of collection (which used to be a much bigger passion of mine) and the object. I guess I grew up on the tail end of the 33 1/3 generation of crackly vinyl, and given that the CD just turned 25 years old this year, I guess technology has caught up with us. But you can't touch something on the net. You just can't. Music as virtual reality, that doesn't collect dust, well it just bugs me. I took such pride in my non fire or water damaged collection of music in boxes they refer to as 'jewel's. I never used mine as Frisbees or let them sit in the sun and fade away. My collection also probably has fewer scratches per capita than anyone else's of the same compounded assortment. I do have over 250 gigs of downloaded music, not sure in the moment how much that is in cat years, but it's a lot, and does fit in my bag weighing less than a few pounds (and there's room for more). My CD collection takes up an entire room and about 35-40 moving boxes worth. Some I probably haven't listened to in a handful of years. It's about access I guess. Maybe iTunes and Bleep have won that challenge?




As we enter Kelso/Longview, WA, as I was saying, I am headed to this music festival taking place in a handful of venues, including the Broadway Performance Hall. This year they are cranking with the inclusion of a few true daddies of the genre, Wolfgang Flür (formerly of Kraftwerk) and the duo of Harold Budd (regular collaborator of Brian Eno) with Robin Guthrie (of the seminal Cocteau Twins). If that isn't enough there is Speedy J and Biosphere of Norway (saw them a few years back, amazing silky smooth) as well as countless others. In 2005 I spoke on a panel at this fest. I don't recall what the panel was about exactly, though it dealt with audio/visual intersections and media, etc. Panels often meander as they are live and take into consideration the audience who keep things perky. I remember seeing Richard Chartier in a basement club the first year. I won't soon forget the clink of glass bottles and the rough crowd, here to see one of the contemporary gurus of click/cut minimalism? Seemed like a bad combo package, but Richard decided to turn up the heat by creating sonics that not only emulated the crunch of the crowd, but went one better. He conjured a wall of sound a few feet higher than the doe-eyed, rude, attention-challenged in da haus that fateful night. Other highlights over the years included a complete topsy turvy performance by Montreal's Akufen, and Deadbeat who is far better live than any MP3 to date. If you were so inclined you could go to igloomag.com and search on keyword "Decibel Festival".




OK, as a segue, the train has stopped prior to Centralia as it looks as though a big old tree fell upon the rails. Since I am on the first car I could see the personnel on the railside struggling to move it. We are still here, maybe they have to call an arborist? Maybe we'll be here a while? I guess I spoke too soon as the train just started with jolt ahead. Oh, nature. I tried to get shots of the splintery wreckage, but it was just too close to the train that the abstract image wouldn't have made much sense dear reader. I assume you are still with me....?




This train power to my computer is better than at home where I normally average 96-99% power. Here I have 100% in the green wilderness. It's not quite the way mother nature intended, but I'll take it. Now that we stopped I noticed a well coiffed lady, probably a septegenarian, quilting something with hearts on it. It's a scene that Norman Rockwell forgot to paint, but she maintains a smile all the while. A lanky guy eats carrot cake to the left of me, there's a young man in his early 30s who probably has some developmental disability with his dad. I'm always attracted to someone in his state of mind, odd but true. I am fascinated by the way he might think, the way life may be simpler, and for that am a bit envious. I'm not at all being facetious. The folks to my rear talk about the dangers of using debit cards. We are moving at full speed again. It's a Friday in September and all's well.




Now, with the wafting scents of coffee and other morning treats in the air I may not be able to hold out too too long without a visit to the provisions car. They make things just too damn convenient. I feel like what's his name on blue-blood Martha's Vineyard, was it Kurt Vonnegut or Rudyard Kipling writing their memoirs? I can't remember all those writers of coastal Americana. No matter, I lived in Boston and traveled 'round New England my first thirty-five years without having stepped on that particular soil. I guess I prefer the more unchartered Wild West. Perhaps it's just that turning point in my life? There's something about travel that I relish, something about the sense of movement, progression, moving quickly through space. Perhaps it's not that unlike other forms like astral projection, transcendental meditation or an psychotropic trip? My indulgence in these has been lil' to none, so I cannot compare, but only imagine as we chug by some squat farm type settlements. Watching the land pass is like a film in my mind. A moving picture, a landscape ¾ untainted, at least most of what's out this particular window. And I don't see a rose polyfilm covering anywhere.




That's it, it's nearly 10:30AM and I need caffeine. Funny thing, I never touched the stuff until I moved out to the left side of the country in '01. I know, seems hard to believe. And my dental bills have doubled, more coffee = more cleanings. I'm surprised that I opted for a healthy salad that looks pretty good with some blue cheese, cranberries and apricots, and a nasty Diet Pepsi (sorry to any potential sponsors). My friend Bryan just pinged me to say that he didn't see any story about the Ultimate Blogger in today's paper as was the rumor. Well, I guess we can keep a good thing to ourselves as I graze on my field greens, a bit early for lunch, but hey!




Mmmm, the candied, spiced hazelnuts had this sorta buttery-salty bite that did the trick. This lil "shoebox express" comes from Gretchen's and is marked with a red label emblazoned with "Farmers Market". It was the best five and a half dollars I spent on food in a while. Ah, the small pleasures. I just looked over at the lanky guy again, he has a discerning nose and is quite buff. But what I noticed most is that over his facts n' figures (I think he's playing with spreadsheets, with a pen no less) he also was focused on the DD guy (who I forgot to mention is wearing a ubiquitous Boston Red Sox cap). And, on the right we just passed a rural beauty, a crystal still pond.




I'm sitting here (feels funny to say "sitting" when I am actually moving), anticipating the music festival, being out late at some hot nightclubs. I love sitting, typing and moving all at the same time. Actually, I would like to do this more often. We are about to arrive at Washington's capital city, that's Olympia for those not in the know (I'm still in a double-seater alone - which is comfy). It brings to mind, as a non-sequitor, the recent YouTube clip with the beauty pageant queen who tried to no avail to talk about education in America. You remember the one? But as I imagine my arrival in the town made famous by a needle in the sky, a faked orgasm by Meg Ryan of all people, and one of Frank Gehry's ugliest of his uglies, I realize I don't have a solid offer of a place to stay. While, yes, my Youth Hostel card has long expired (FYI: Seattle proper no longer has one anyway), I didn't reserve at the Ace (my usual single night stopover), and the few artist friends I have in SEA either are (said cheekily) "conveniently out of town" or didn't return emails after a week plus.




I turned to Couchsurfing.com (2.0). It's a place to meet fellow regional to international travelers, willing to share space in an exchange of hosting. It's an "e"volution to me. One of those things the www has generously granted us. Brought us virtually together, then helped us realize common interests and perversions. Now this. I got three responses from absolute strangers. One was more like a dating response: "I have a small sofa that's not too comfortable, but you are welcome to share my bed". And one was from an amateur travel photographer in his 50s who sounded OK, and would have been sharing a townhouse with my own bathroom, sweet! But he's not around this weekend. It was like taking candy from a baby. So, it leaves me with one offer that is slightly out of city center, about 7 miles. He says there's public transport. I don't have a pocketful of quarters (maybe they take debit cards?...I better not let the people behind me see this screen...). So, I feel like a bit of a renegade rebel, like I was back in '97 traveling through Iceland and England, meeting up with other travelers from Turkey, Antwerp and Sao Paulo. This is different though, I know the turf, and I'm traveling lite.




My iBook still says 100% power, and it's after 11AM, so we shall carry on....




Another thing I'm going to do once I touch down on the soil of the Evergreen State (doesn't that have a nice ring to it?), I'm planning to head to Western Bridge. This is a non-profit contemporary art gallery space that's quite sizable. They present the collection of the Trues, which is most certainly in my world. Big conceptual art that is often installation-based. I loved their presentation of Christian Marclay's Quartet - a four screen large-scale video work that is synched flawlessly. This time out they have a group show with the UK's Martin Creed, whose work I have only ever seen out here in the Internets. So, it's about time, indeed. The show may be called "Insubstantial Pageant Faded" or something similarly obtuse. I am so there.


We just took a bend in the rail are now going past the most spectacular part of the trip scenic-wise, that's the big bay or channel or whatchamacallit near Tacoma, they have a new bridge going up soon. I think that's where we are. Maybe not, as I see no bridge, but we are supposed to be in Seattle in just an hour now. The light is lovely today. Water to both sides now, as we cross a small train bridge. I think that's the Tacoma Art Museum up on that hill, but I've never been. It looks like a museum. The mustached DD guy is talking to his dad about pirates now. It's weirdly heartwarming, and somehow a lil' awkwardly sad. We just went into a darkened tunnel, everything seems cooler all of a sudden. The lack of light tones everything into this noir froth of sorts.




As the train pulls into Tacoma I just realized that after I finish this passage I am going to upload some of these images I shot for you in order to illustrate this daytrip. Before I do that though I just have to say there's something magical about this lil' nook just between two bigger cities. I was watching a podcast the other night on small towns losing their sense of purpose, spirit, to the more overpopulated major city centers, and it hit home. In places like this for sure, but more in places along the road. Those dusty places Jack Kerouac once rode through in bewilderment. Long before HD MTV and ADD. A time unfettered by massive malls with their IMAX and 20-plex theaters. The places where roadside diners were home to staples serving piping hot comfort food and cherry pie, not just faded sideshow novelties (of course, most of that was before I came up).




Ooops I just started to daydream 'bout the smallest violin in the world, so I better roll on....




This entry will serve in lieu of boring you with the whole walk through of the entire music festival's goings-on. Sure, it's going to be a friggin' blast (beyond mere words), but you only have so many hours in a day. But take a minute out of your day to smell the roses (unless you're one of the millions of Americans suffering from Environmental Sensitivity Syndrome). I may report back some of my experiences of wild light shows and the like. Perhaps online in the coming weeks, or you can just ask me in person, or text message me. Though since this here, this record of my passion, is due on Sunday at noon, it just makes sense to stop here, maybe as a cliffhanger that will have you come back for more later? Just know that next time around I will probably try n' dazzle you with a gaggle of fembots in g-strings and off-the hook multimedia to the nth degree, we're talkin' full tilt boogie here. But since I am already 3600+ words in I am going to cut to the chase, and spare you the run on sentences and other reading aerobics so you can watch everybody else's stylish videos and other rad uploads.




A special call-out to my peeps Existential Media (download, reload, to the max), G-Rad (I'm still in a quagmire trying to figure that last post out with my dot matrix), Matthew Stadler (hope your basking w/the Mayans), Oh Don Piano (you got under the wire last time, and I voted against the absentee Lil' Elephant btw), and of course Bodycity (what moves!). This is pretty much an old-fashioned travelogue. Thanks for taking the time to read (or skim). It covers my three passions: music, travel, and blogging (er, writing). Oh, cheeses, the conductor just came over the intercom to say that there was a car vs. train incident up ahead. We are approx. eight minutes out. The nice man said it could take up to two hours in the worst case scenario. So much for getting an early start. D'oh! We are parked on the tracks aside Cosco, I overheard some of the seniors in the back talking with the man in the blue cap asking if they could get off here and shop while they wait. I fear our culture of convenience has gone to our heads. It's all good as I don't really have any particulars until a bit later, my belly is sated, and I am pleasuring the masses by taking my precious time to write this blog-based tome.




People a lil' fidgety, cellphones immediately pop from pockets and bags to inform business colleagues and loved ones about the potential for delay, and then click, the train revs back on track. Delay = a mere 37 minutes.


The announcer says: "Entering King Station". There's just a ring to it!


Postscript: That last picture comes from my first stop in Seattle, the Greg Kucera Gallery, to see new work by compadre, Jack Daws (who I've shown with twice), lookin' good bro! And as for any alliances, an aside, may the best blogger win the big huge grande prize, which I hear is a case of PBR (sponsorship or non)!

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