Edsel

The Edsel was considered a huge failure. When I was a little kid it was the golden ticket in an I Spy type game we used to play on road trips. By that time there were hardly any on the road and the first one to spot one a scream "Edsel" had bragging rites for miles.

I love Edsels. The memory of the game, the style of the car and, of course, it's general cool factor. I've never owned an Edsel. I wasn't old enough to drive when there were still on the road in the sixties. I remember begging my dad at one time or another to get one. But, at the time, they were considered to be lemons.

Sadly, I don't recall ever taking a ride in one. They have always been the car that whisked by and disappeared. Until now.


This is the Edsel that seems to reside one street over from me. I've seen it on multiple occasions when I walk Pumpkin around the block. How sweet is that?

I am soooo tempted to put a note on the car..."Hi, I wanna take a ride in your Edsel. Call me."

L.A.

Pretty cloud?

Nope.

Smoke...from the now deadly fire in Los Angeles.

Current facts:

• 42,500 acres burned
• 5 percent contained
• Four firefighters and three people injured
• Two firefighters killed
• 18 structures destroyed in the Angeles National Forest
• 10,000 residents threatened
• 500 commercial properties are threatened
• 2,800 fire personal on scene, 290 fire engines
• Fire cost: $7,671,000

I shot those pictures yesterday. This morning the sky was a blanket of smoke and smelled apocalyptic. Late this afternoon the skies were clear and the giant plume was back. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

The top of Mt. Wilson is in danger of being engulfed. That's where all the communication towers are located along with other assets.

It's crazy.

More Boz

First let me say thanks to the person from the Official Boz Scaggs Fan Site - great looking and sounding site btw - who stopped in and IDed Les Dudek as the guitar player. I didn't have him off the top of me head and was too lazy to research it...or pay attention to the credit on the video, if there was one.

Here's one of my shots of Les Dudek...

And the bass player who I just tried to figure out but didn't...maybe David Hungate but if anyone else knows...

So, on the last Boz post I mentioned that I gave him something when I met him backstage before the show. The reason I remember it was because it was one of those terribly embarrassing moments that stick with you 'til the day you die. Embarrassing because I always like thing to be perfect. And I knew it was going to be. I thought about not giving it to him but then, for some reason, I went ahead and did it.

It was an article I wrote about the concert. I wasn't really a writer at the time and have no idea how I got this little job writing about upcoming shows in Vancouver for a little weekly rag. I took it pretty seriously though. I'd get press packets with pictures (unless I had already shot the musicians and would use my own) and any other information I could find and then write it up and turn it into the paper. I still have some of my handwritten drafts with my revisions in the margins. Maybe I should post one of those sometime.

Anyway, like I said, I wasn't a professional writer...I had not gone to college for journalism...I had absolutely no experience...other than a love for musicians blowing through town like a bunch of carnies. If you haven't guessed by now, this is my disclaimer in case you decide to click on the article and actually read it. I haven't read it since I wrote it and don't plan on reading now.

The reason I was so embarrassed to give it to Boz Scaggs was because of the fuck-up the paper did on his publicity picture. That thing that looks like a straw hanging out of his mouth was on every single copy of the paper. I was mortified. But I over-apologized to Boz as I handed him the article. And he didn't seem to mind...but then again, he was a nice guy.

Adam Goldstein

It's a damn shame that he survived a plane crash,
only to die 3 weeks shy of a year later.

Adam Goldstein
March 30, 1973 - August 28, 2009

I did not know Adam Goldstein nor did I ever photograph him. I don't know who took the above picture or I would credit them...just pulled it off the internet. I did mention him once before on my blog when he and Travis Barker were the only survivors of a horrific plane crash last September...wishing them both a speedy recovery.

And I am terribly sorry that I'm posting about him again, this time due to his final tragedy. He was found dead today in his Manhattan apartment, apparently of a drug overdose. I'm guessing that the plane crash may have played a part in his further use of drugs.

I hope that this post and the haunting article below in Adam's own words will reach someone who is struggling with issues that turn them to self medicating. I'm no expert, but I know that drug abuse is a good way to get to the grave before one's time...and there has to be a better way to deal with one's issues. If it's you, please talk to someone...ask for help...

Glamour Magazine

January 2, 2008
As told to Laurie Sandell

I was probably destined to be a drug addict. I grew up in Philadelphia with a father who seemed to hate me: The verbal abuse he subjected me to was unbelievably cruel. I would find out later that there was a good reason my father was so tortured—he was secretly gay and addicted to drugs. I remember him asking me, “Do you mind if I smoke one of my skinny cigarettes?” But throughout my childhood, I blamed myself for the horrible way my father treated me.

To deal with my anger and sadness, I ate. By the time I was 10, I was obese. My parents’ relationship continued to deteriorate: If my family went out to dinner, my father would hit on the [male] waiter right in front of my mom. Finally she’d had enough and kicked him out. Eventually my father was sent to jail for committing bank fraud; my mother packed up my sister and me and we moved to L.A. I was 14 years old and became known as “the fat kid from Philly.” I spent the next two years doing drugs every day, until I went to my mom and actually asked her to send me to rehab. I didn’t know what rehab really was; I thought it would be like summer camp.

Instead, she took me to a treatment center that specialized in “tough love.” Unbeknownst to my mother, the place was an abusive house of horrors that would eventually be shut down. The counselors beat us. They spit in our faces. They starved us. They never let us see or talk to our parents. It was 100 percent brainwashing. Four or five months into my stay, I was told my mother had come to see me. I was praying she was going to say, “I’ve come to take you home.” But she said, “Your father is dying of AIDS. I hope you can deal with that here. I’m proud of you.” And she left.

It was like a bomb went off in my head. I exploded, attacking one of the counselors and hurting him badly; I had to be restrained by several members of the staff. I was stuck there for another year and a half and didn’t get out until I turned 18. When I left rehab, I’d learned nothing about recovery—I attended a few meetings, but within five months I was back doing drugs. Then my father died. Eventually my mom kicked me out of her house, so I lived on friends’ couches and did odd jobs. But my main source of income was stealing cash and drugs from drug dealers. I acted as the middleman: I’d find out who’d gotten a shipment of drugs, then send shady people I knew over to their homes to rob them. We would all split the profits.

All along, I hated myself for being overweight. I used to stand in front of my mirror, holding rolls of flesh in my hands, wishing I could cut it off with a knife. Every time I walked into a room I thought people were saying, “There’s the fat guy.” I wouldn’t eat in front of other people, because I didn’t want anyone to see the way I ate (shoveling it in) or what I ate (fast food, supersized, with dessert).

When I was 20, I started freebasing cocaine. For the next four years, that’s about all I did—with the exception of deejaying, which I’d been obsessed with ever since I saw Herbie Hancock do the song “Rockit” at the Grammy Awards. During the night, I would scratch records, knocking back enough drinks to feel like a fun, social guy. But as soon as work ended, I would take my money, race downtown and buy crack. Soon I was doing three gigs a week—all wasted. If I made $150, I would tell myself, I’ll spend $50 on drugs and keep the rest. But I’d spend $50 that night, $40 at six the next morning, then I’d go back downtown in traffic at 11 A.M. to spend the rest of my money.

One night I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It had been at least a year since I’d really looked at myself—I’d started to avoid it because I felt so disgusting—but now I literally could not look away. I was dripping wet because I always sweated when I smoked crack. My face had a greenish sheen to it. I was hugely fat, because whenever I wasn’t high I was gorging on food. I thought about all my friends who had gone to college and now had good jobs. I thought about how I’d never had the chance to confront my father. I thought about how I promised myself every night I was going to quit, and never did. At 24 I felt like my life was over. So I went into my living room, reached into a cabinet above my TV and grabbed my gun, a loaded .22. I sat back on my heels, cocked it and put it into my mouth. Then I squinted my eyes and said, “F—k this.” I pulled the trigger.

The gun didn’t go off. I thought, Are you kidding me? I’m such a f—king failure I can’t even kill myself? I dropped the gun and broke down. For an hour I sat there sobbing, saying, “God help me. What am I supposed to do?” A friend I’d held on to from the few recovery meetings I’d attended happened to stop by my house to check on me: He took one look around my disgusting apartment, one look at me and said, “You’re coming home with me.” That was the turning point in my life.

I started going to meetings again and distanced myself from friends who were still using drugs. The hardest thing to adjust to was deejaying sober. By then, I was booking jobs at every major club and had started to gain a following. But the first night I deejayed without a drink in my hand I couldn’t think of what music to play. On Monday morning I went to a meeting and said, “I can’t deejay sober—I sucked. This is how I pay my rent, and if I can’t deejay, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” After the meeting, a guy came up to me and said, “I promise you, if you stay sober, your career will go further than you ever imagined possible.” Somehow I knew this total stranger was telling me the truth. At that moment, I began to get better. I started to work out: I’d wake up in the morning and run my ass off. Right away I lost 60 pounds and went from 270 to 210 (I’m 5’11”). I spent the rest of my time practicing deejaying. The more I practiced, the better I got, and the better I got, the more jobs I landed. I did Tom Cruise’s birthday party, Leonardo DiCaprio’s birthday party, and the jobs just started to roll in.

It might seem like I snapped my fingers and decided to recover. That couldn’t be further from the truth. After 90 days of sobriety, I relapsed and had to start all over again. Crawling back into meetings was difficult and painful, but at that point I had no choice—it was recover or die. Then something happened that I never could have anticipated: I fell in love with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life. When I met her, I froze. About a year later we ran into each other again, and the next thing you know, she was my girlfriend. All my life, I’d been the fat guy who no girl ever wanted to kiss or touch. Having her on my arm was my way of saying to friends, “Finally, I fit in—I’m one of you. I’m enough.” But the great lie of my life was that I still believed I wasn’t enough, exactly as I was. So what did I do when this girl eventually left me? I started to eat. And I ate and I ate and I ate.

As the years passed, I grew stronger in recovery, but my food issues spiraled out of control. By the time I was 30, I weighed 324 pounds and hated my body more than anything. I heard the word fat floating in my head at all times. It was so painful, particularly because I’d been there before. I went to a doctor and tried a few medically supervised diets with shakes and protein packs, but I wasn’t losing the weight. After looking at every option, I decided on gastric bypass surgery. Within a year I’d lost 100 pounds. The weight just came right off. But it was by no means the easy way out: Now I had to learn how to like myself.

In my recovery meetings, I was told the solution for low self-esteem was to do estimable acts. Whether it was letting someone over in traffic; calling a friend and saying, “How are you doing today?”; or something more serious, like feeding the homeless at a shelter, I made sure to do one selfless act per day. Then I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about it. Little by little, I gained confidence in myself. I no longer needed a trophy girlfriend or drugs to feel good about myself.

I’m 34 now, and it’s been nine and a half years since I’ve had a drink or taken drugs. But every day I have to remind myself that no matter how much time I have behind me, I’m still a drug addict. At any given moment, I’m five seconds away from walking up to someone, grabbing their drink out of their hand and downing it. And if I do that, within a week, tops, I’ll be smoking crack. So even though I have this crazy fabulous life, I have to hold on to the ground, gripping the grass with both hands.

I’m not perfect; I drift all the time. If I go to a restaurant and hear there’s a 45-minute wait, my ego wants to say the worst sentence ever: “Do you know who I am?” Which, of course, really means, “Do you know who I think I am?” That’s when I have to remind myself of just who that is: a fat crackhead who’s lucky to be alive. And believe it or not, at that moment, I feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

Boz Scaggs

No worries...he's still alive.

I figured you've had more than enough of my dog and other personal shit so I'm getting back to the rock'n'roll thing by delving into the box. And Boz was the winner of today's drawing. I'm scanning the negs for a contact sheet as I write this so I have no idea if they're going to be gold or crap.

Hmmm...the first strip is shot from the back of the stage and doesn't look anything like Boz Scaggs. Nope, definitely an opening act that I shot six frames of and only two are in focus. I will post one and see if anyone can figure out who they are...

I'll be really impressed if anyone can ID these guys by their asses and the backs of their heads.

Better results on the Boz ones...that's a relief...

I can't believe there's no backstage shots. Maybe on another sheet, although maybe not because he was on Columbia and the record rep was not into having his picture taken. But I distinctly remember talking to Boz backstage. I gave him something. Maybe if I can find a copy of it I will post it tomorrow along with the story.

Now that I've seen this video, I'm guessing that Jeff Porcaro was playing the show I shot. But I didn't shoot the drummer. Just a couple of bad shots of the keyboard player and one okay one of the bass player and a few of the guitarist. And it's the same guy as in this video. Can anyone tell me who the guitar player is?

Dog Day Afternoon

I know...you've seen enough damn pictures of the dog. But I couldn't resist what happened today. Anyway, it's more fun than rerunning the passing of Ted Kennedy last night and Dominick Dunne today...as if you didn't already know and haven't seen enough news coverage.

So, the breaking news you don't know about that happened today...Pumpkin met teeny tiny Penny...and it went something like this...

Really? You're baring your teeny tiny teeth at me?

Who the heck do you think you are Penny Pipsqueak?

I'll take you down...

And have you for my afternoon snack.

Fine, I guess we can be friends...sheesh.

Now, wasn't that more fun than the picture I took last year on this day?

And again I know where I ate one year ago today. Can you name it?

One Year Ago

When I was downloading the pictures for yesterday's post I did the search by date since I currently have 836 photos on there. The photos by date are listed by the month and therefore include whatever I shot the previous year as well. I thought it would be fun to post last year's photo or photos.

Guess where I was on this day one year ago...


Do you know what you had to eat one year ago today? I do. Mmmm...Buckhorn...

And speaking of food...here's a picture I took today...Pumpkin's leg...looking ominously like a turkey drumstick...

I think if I was to keep a diary at this point in my life, I would it photographically. Wait, maybe I've sort of done that already. And I guess this blog - at least this year - is a diary of sorts as well.

I Can't Believe It's Monday

Maybe someone played a cosmic joke on me and it's actually Tuesday...or Thursday. Because it can't be Monday. As I have written on probably more than one occasion in the past, I hate Mondays. I avoid doing anything that could have consequences on that fateful day.

So imagine my surprise today. I had tons of stuff on today's (generally having no choice in the matters at hand) and even though I was running on one cylinder every single thing I did ran as smooth as a baby's bum. From a successful morning meeting with a client to the great vibe that was running through tonight's writing group and everything in between, I have to say this Monday was a joy.

Maybe it had something to do with all the birthdays of my friends today. Last night I went to a birthday party for the Benson's. They're sisters born on the same day but three years apart. Both are bright shining lights in the Hollywood darkness. I only snapped two pictures - both with my iPhone - which was challenging considering the cramped space and dark lighting, although you wouldn't think that looking at them.

Julie is the blonde babe in the center and Shawna is behind her to the right looking like a 30' movie star in the black dress with the white flower in her hair...

I'm very happy with this next picture, lovin' it in fact...Julie whispering something in Kurt's ear...makes me wonder what she said...

Also celebrating today was Joe O who I got to birthday hug at the writer's group tonight.

And I wish a happy birthday to everyone else who is also celebrating their birthday on this best Monday.

And now it's time for me to catch up with the Sandman.

Party Pictures

It's 11:30pm. Last night I got 4 hours sleep. Been busy all day. Would love to go to sleep right now. But I can't. I still have a presentation to finish for a 9:30 meeting in the morning. No time for a long-winded post. Lucky you.

I had a great time at the party last night. Not only got to shoot a wonderful occasion but also met lots of great people and hag with some old friends. I haven't had time to edit the pictures, but as a follow-up to Friday's Photography 101 post.


Let me know what you think.

John Lee Hooker

Happy 89th Birthday to Mr. John Lee Hooker...one of the true greats. A man who accomplished a lot even though he never learned to read or write.

John Lee Hooker

8/22/20 - 6/21/01

If you don't think this is cool you're, well, you're s-t-o-o-p-i-d...







You can see lots more pictures and learn more about John Lee Hooker and the 47 other musicians in my tribute book, Everybody I Shot Is Dead.

Photography 101

Tomorrow night I will be shooting an event. I haven't seen the location yet but I know it will be outdoors and starts at 7pm. The most important thing with any shoot is preparation. Even though I can't scout the location until one hour before the event, I can still prepare.

First, I visual what I think the event will be like. Thinking up different scenarios. What I want the pictures to look like. What will be shot...the raw photographs. And what I think I can do with them in photoshop for additional artistic flair.

Once I think it through, which I have been doing for the past several days, I decide what equipment I want to use and how my work flow will work at the location. I visualize myself taking all the pictures, when to change cameras, when I'm going to download etc. I try to leave no stone unturned. I want the shoot to run smoothly. If I have to stress while I'm shooting, it will show in the pictures. And the people at the event will pick up on my stressed energy. The only way to avoid that is preparation.

First I decied that I will shoot all digital with two Nikon D300 cameras. Then I decided to rent an extra lens. I was also thinking about an attached flash for when it gets too dark to shoot available light. There was a special device I heard could attach to my on-camera flash that would diffuse the light, so I decided to get that instead of a flash. When I got it, I found out it doesn't...it attaches to an attachable flash. Oops.

Next...test shots. Both cameras. It's important to test lighting situations and also test the equipment so I know everything is working properly. I shot 94 pictures (that's an advantage of digital...no extra cost for shooting lots of pictures). Following are 16 of them with comments. On the ones taken outside I used a Nikon 17-55mm 1:2.8 DX lens. The inside shots were with Nikon 50mm 1:1.4 lens. The flash ones are all with the on-camera flash.

I like the sharpness and detail with the flash.
Although it's not red-eye, I'm not crazy about the effect the flash has on the eyes.

Switched to monochrome in the camera. Same comments as above.

Messing with distance and exposure. These are all 250 shutter speed and around an 18 f-stop.

Why we need to test.
When I wide angle on the zoom, the on-camera flash creates a shadow of the lens.
Definitely need to get another flash before the event.

Same shot zoomed in.

Flash looks better when the eyes aren't facing the camera.

This shows me that if I shoot with a downward angle
the eyes looking into the camera look fine.

Without a flash I had to put the ISO from 200 up to 1600 and
shoot 1/15 sec shutter and 2.8 f-stop. I'm good with holding
the camera steady but I can't control the subject.

Too dark.
I need to get the natural light shots early in the evening, then switch to the flash.

Although I do like the look of the natural light.
But picture quality isn't as good.
But then again it can create a certain artistic quality.

These next two are interesting...

This one is without a flash. Way better than the flash shot below.

If I'm doing longer shots the flash will definitely be off.

I shot these inside shots just in case my client wants something done indoors. They would have the same comments as the outside shots of the dog. Except the natural light ones shot inside are much better than the outdoor ones and I like the look of them better than the flash shots.




What do these test shots tell me overall? I will likely shoot one camera with the flash and one with natural light. I will try to get most of the shots with both. I may forego the fixed lens and use a zoom on both cameras. If I have lots of time to cover everything I can switch off on the lens. I will also try and switch between b/w and color on both cameras. I don't think shooting in color and converting to b/w in photoshop gives me the same quality I get if I do it in the camera.

One more thought on why it's important to shoot tests...I was able to look at the shots in high resolution so I could check the quality of the pictures at full size. You can never trust what you see on the on-camera screen, even when you enlarge it for detail.

I will take my computer to the shoot so I can download as I shoot if needed...and I will also be able to do more test shots and check them at full size in the hour I have before the event starts.

I hope my photographer readers found this post helpful and the non-photographer readers weren't completely bored.

Also, thanks to Pumpkin for being such a cooperative model.

What A Difference A Day Makes

Even though I'm still disconnected (yes, this is another post that I am phoning in), I'm managed to make forward movement today on several fronts.

The biggest one? My 2008 taxes are done. Finito. And I vow here and now that I will never fall behind like that again. The moment the clock strokes midnight on December 31 2009 I will be ready to drop my stuff off at my accountants. I'll just be waiting for any w-whatevers and the year end crap from the banks and hi ho hi ho it's off to my accountant's I go.

Also got that job I've been waiting for was confirmed and approved today...finally. It was like waiting for paint to dry. Accomplished stuf on my movie as well. Picked up chicken noodle soup from the deli to soothe an impending sore throat/cold that I am refusing. Even made chocolate chip cookies tonight. And...I somehow got Time Warner to book an appointment with me for tomorrow between 10 an 12 to get my Internet up and running. That may be the greatest feat of all.

Tomorrow, pictures will return to the blog!

P.S. The term 'phoning it in' is often used to reflect taking the easy road to doing something. Phoning it in on a blog is anything but. Please enjoy the typos, errors and ommissions. No way in hell I'm going back over this to check for mistakes.

DiSconnected

My Internet died on me today and I'm not sure when I can get it up and running.
This sadly formatted and probably error-ridden is coming to you via my iPhone. I think I did this once before and found out that time that I can manage words but can't upload pictures. But I will try to upload something off my phone...maybe it will work this time.

In the meantime, I don't have much to say other than life pretty much stinks at the moment (for me). Everything seems to be in a state of flux. I've been trying my damndest to get things moving in the direction I need them to go but without success. I've been waiting fir a graphics job to ce in that has been in discussion since early July - I think I talked about that in an earlier post - and it still hasn't arrived. I sit here in limbo doing what I can do on other projects (the non-paying variety) until that and all the AFM stuff decides to show up. It can't come soon enough.

So, how you all doing? Things going well for you? Am I the only one enjoying this whirlpool bath sans water?

I did have one good thing happen to me today. It was time for my monthly/six week visit to Starbucks today to pick up a pound o' beans. I decided to take in all the empty gift cards I had laying around just to see if there was a few cents left on any of them. I had three. The guy ran one - $0.00 - then another - $0.00 - then the last one -$15.00 - holy shit!!! I felt like I won the lottery. It covered my pound and I still have $5.05 left over. I have no idea how I could have had a totally random card with $$ on it. No idea if it was a card I loaded or someone gave it to me. I was 99% sure there was nothing on any of 'em. I'm really glad I didn't throw them out without checking them.

Okay, I am fully tired of texting this post. I'm done. I'll try a photo... If it works I don't think I can get it to the bottom though.

NOPE

My Father's Birthday

Today is my Dad's birthday.

If you want to know more about him you can read a story I wrote here.

When I was a little kid we would occasionally go out to dinner at a private club he belonged to that had an old school band. I always got to dance one song with him, my sock-feet trying not to slip off the tops of his shoes. This was always the song...



Happy Birthday, Dad.

And thanks for the dance.

What Did I Say About Mondays?

If you read yesterday (yes, sometimes my blog is like a serialized soap opera) you know I was taking my cans and bottles to the recycle depot today.

But did I mention I was walking the two large garbage bags full along with my dog two and a half blogs to get there?

Pictorial evidence...

I looked near-homeless as I switched the bags and the dog from hand to hand. All that was missing from the picture of homelessness was the shopping cart.

To add insult to injury, when I got there I found out the recycle depot is closed on Mondays. There was a guy there with his shopping cart and his bags of recycling lined up at the machine. He was sitting on a chair about six feet back in the shade.

I inanely stated the obvious, "So, they're closed on Mondays."

He responded, "Yup."

"You planning on sitting there until tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yup."

On my way home - with my garbage bags still full of cans and bottles - I passed this dude...

I expect he is working his way down the street to get in line for tomorrow's opening. I'm now wondering if the recycling people will be handing out wristbands for tickets to see Garbage...

Smoking Crack

*11:56 pm: Exactly one hour after posting this I realized I forgot to put a title on it. I had already tagged this post with "smoking crack" just to see if anybody would notice...sadly it seems to be true so I figured I might as well slap it right there up top for everyone to see.

I am oddly out of things to say. And that's dangerous when sitting down to write a blog post. Because that means I don't have a plan and the writing becomes stream of consciousness and I know nobody wants to dip their toes in those waters.

I'm thinking it might be best to post a picture and get the hell out of here while the gettin's good. Before I start spewing what's really on my mind. Wouldn't want to spoil what's left of anybody's weekend or derail anyone that's trying to get the week off to a positively optimistic start.

I generally hate Mondays. They always seem to go south on me if I try to do anything that involves other human beings. I try not to make calls where I need something. My day is planned around everything I can get done on my own. Tomorrow I plan to clean my office up, take my recycling up the street, do some editing on my location tape and work on the movie budget.

And most important on tomorrow's agenda, I'm compiling a list of potential new clients for my graphics biz that need stuff done for the upcoming film markets. I've put together an incentive that I will be sending out by email tomorrow or Tuesday (since Mondays generally suck for me). Here it is...

I took out the price 'cause it wouldn't be so special if everyone on the internet knows what it is...and as we all know everyone on the internet, and I mean every single person, reads this blog. I also took out the phone number. I like the fact that my phone never rings. I don't want that to change. Unless someone is calling to book a job. Of just throw a wad of cash at me because they can.

Please feel free to critique my little promo piece. If you were/are a potential client would you be intrigued? Should I change anything? Add something? Subtract something? (I'm big on math these days.)

Okay. This post is now officially over. Looks like I managed to keep the content moving in a positive direction. No mad rants from the chick trapped in her own personal psych ward. Phew. Faked 'em out again, didn't I. But what about tomorrow? What the fuck am I gonna write tomorrow?

Chuck E. and the Bartender

Chuck E. Weiss is the other performer I found on my Tim Weisberg negs. I knew Chuck pretty well back in the day. He was best pals with Tom Waits and was a regular (as was I) at the Troubadour and the Tropicana (home the famous Duke's) where I'm sure we ate breakfast together more times than I can remember.

You probably only know Chuck E. Weiss from this...



I really just wanted to run a live performance of Chuck E's In Love but the best one was embedding disabled. Then there was this one which is pretty much unrecognizable. I'm wondering if this is from the show I saw her at a couple of years ago at the theater on Wilshire and Orlando. Worst. Show. Ever. I swear she was high as a kite. Or drunk. Either way she couldn't sing. Sad. Anyway, check it out and you will realize why I had to post the recorded version above...



But Chuck E. Weiss is a talent in his own right as proven by this very cool video from Art Fein's show...



One other photo on the Weisberg roll was of this guy who used to ply me with alcohol...

I can't for the life of me remember his name. I have a Facebook friend who used to work at the Troub. Maybe I can get him to stop by and I.D. my bartender.

Looking For Tim Weisberg

After yesterday's post on Dan Fogelberg and watching the video I posted, I began thinking about Tim Weisberg. He is/was an amazing flute player. I googled him and found near nothing. No wikipedia page. No website. It seems he has fallen off the planet.

Anybody out there know what's going on with Tim Weisberg? Where is he? Is he still playing?

I was crazy about his music. Somewhere I still have a vinyl copy of Listen to the City. Brilliant album. And it doesn't even seem to be available on CD. I shot him at least once. I uncovered a contact sheet and sleeve of negs. Some of the negatives appear to have some water damage...this is the sleeve...

I shot these photos of him at the Troubadour...


I must have known him pretty well because I have his phone number in an old address book of mine that surfaced while I was doing my book. I would love to find out what he's up to these days.

Anyway, there were some other negs in the Tim Weisberg sleeve (but not on the contact sheet) that surprised me. Maybe I'll post a couple of them over the weekend.