Art Auction

If you're feeling generous this season, please consider donating to the Patrick O'Brien Foundation, or taking part in the art auction. (Please Note: Now through the end of the year, 100% of the revenues for my book, Things Kept Burning, will go towards this worthy cause. There are also many other amazing items up for bid.)

Just think, you can put your money to good use, and get some cool art. How can you beat that at the end of the day?

Happy Holidays

I've never been more stoked on a project than I have been these past few days, and I think you'll understand why when you see these photos. Monika was truly inspiring, and I can't stress this enough. It was hard to pick which ones to include here, as she didn't take a bad picture, and everything is so varied. We spent most of the evening laughing, and yet a few of these shots look quite the opposite, and really, it's all due to her versatility, which is so subtle, and natural. The great thing is we still have three more rolls to pick up at the lab tomorrow, and I'm like a little kid, all nervous with excitement.

I'm off to Sacramento on Sunday. Hope you all have a nice, and safe, holiday.

Monika

Three shots from last night, with more on the way soon.

Lunch

I just walked by the St. Francis Hotel on the way to grab some lunch. Near the corner of Powell and Post, twenty feet from Victoria's Secret, there were these three little kids playing Christmas songs on their violins. All of them were white and from well-to-do homes, as evidenced by their clothes and grooming (the girls even had little bows in their hair), and each had their instrument cases open - so the onlookers could tip them. In fact, they caused quite a scene, with shoppers stopping to hear them play, clearly seduced by their "cuteness", and offering money that would have been better suited for the homeless in the area, only "they are too repugnant" to ever get the tourists to take notice of their situation. Two of the kids - a boy and a girl, perhaps siblings, maybe just friends - were basking in their notoriety, and played up their newfound attention with bright smiles. They loved the attention, not to mention the money they were earning. However, the third kid, this adorable little girl probably no older their eight-years-old, had the most frightened expression on her face. Her eyes were brown, and full of fear, and even though it was so obvious, her mother - who was taking photographs of the group - encouraged her to keep playing, and then chastised her when she wouldn't smile. This caused the little girl to go even deeper into her shell. I mean, she looked so scared. When I passed by she glanced at me, seconds away from crying, and it's weird how moved I was. I mean, it's been so long since I felt this overwhelming sense of love for a complete stranger, not in the perverted sense, of course, just in how sad I felt for her. After grabbing a salad, I decided to take the same route, because I wanted to see if my initial take was accurate, and of course when I passed there was an even bigger crowd there, and again this little girl looked in my eyes, like, please, get all these people to stop staring at me so I can go home, I don't want to do this anymore.

It's weird how sometimes you see a person in the street, or at a public place like the BART station, and you feel drawn to them for some mysterious reason. Ultimately, it's hard to feel truly bad for someone who comes from a wealthy home, and who never has to worry about being warm or having enough to eat, and who knows what was really going on in her head, but there was something in her expression that made me feel so bad, another lonely soul who hates the spotlight and wants no part of all this holiday cheer.

At least that's what I told myself as I walked back to work.

City Life

JapantownBroadway and Columbus

Union Square

Still Underwater

I read this beautiful story on the train last night to Oakland. Packed tight with the commuter rush, and delayed because of a medical emergency in West Oakland that prevented all East Bay-bound trains from leaving the station, I just sat down on the floor and busted out Amy Hempel's "Tonight is a Favor to Holly". Now let me pull back for a minute to explain that, in addition to all my other neurosises, claustrophobia is a real issue for me, especially on BART, because when it's packed like this, there's literally no place to move, and people are leaning on you, and if they have bags they inadvertently smack into your shoulder, and if they've had garlic at lunch you can smell in it in the air - particularly when you can feel that same breath crashing down on your neck, and you turn around and it's some suited chap with a mustache that would make Tom Selleck proud, and you just look at him like, hey man, if you blow on my neck one more time I'm going to snap your vertebrae, that is when there's enough space to move.

Anyway, I was close to a freak out on the train, which was stalled, and I couldn't get off because there was no room to navigate the aisles, and suddenly, as my face was cherry red with disgust, I just felt this sense of calm around me, this order within the chaos, and I just decided, in that moment, to sit down on the floor. By doing this I created the necessary room to get into my bag and grab my book, and man, this story was just so lovely, and poignant, especially the following line:

"What you forget, living here, is that just because you have stopped sinking doesn't mean you're not still underwater."

which fit the scene on the BART, and the sense of going through the motions at my job, and my latest projects, and the women I spend time with, and it's hard not to get excited when you read something so profound, and relevant, to your whole existence.

Anyway, I hope you guys all have a nice weekend. I'm gearing up for a photo shoot Tuesday night, hammering out this disturbing new short story in my head, reading a friend's novel in hopes of giving some helpful feedback, and watching the sixth season of The Sopranos now that it's out on DVD.

If you're bored at some point, or holed up in your apartment because of the weather, here are a few interesting videos:

Aphex Twin _ Nannou (the perfect soundtrack)

Aphex Twin - Come to Daddy

Boards of Canada - Dayvan Cowboy Music Video

Explosions in the Sky (Texas Indie band)

It's Real Now

Well, for those who have contacted me the last four days, I'm sorry I've been missing-in-action. Just as I was beginning to feel pretty good about things, I caught a little cold Friday evening, and have been in the cave recuperating, slamming Airbourne every two hours, and catching up on some bad TV. The good news is that I kicked it in three days, faster than any virus I've ever had. The bad news is I have a lot of things I need to catch up on, particularly projects at work, as well as this new collaboration I'm trying to put together.

Unfortunately, yesterday I received an email from my favorite student ever, informing me that she was going to Iraq in January. I knew she was in the military and this was a remote possibility, but to get confirmation just left me bummed. Prior to this, even as I became sickened everytime I watched the evening news and saw all the casualties - on both sides, the war was this distant thing, and it was easy for me to express my feelings about what was going on, armchair-quarterbacking a war that has little effect on my day-to-day life. Now there's something real at stake, a person I care for, a brilliant mind who could do a lot of special things in this world. Perhaps she still will. I just am regretting having to compose a note that says, essentially, come back alive, especially since it was just two years ago that we were reading Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, and were discussing the Vietnam War in a little portable classroom on the back side of campus.

Hopefully, everything will work out for the best.

Inspiration?

A few cool design links for the weekend:
Living My Life Faster
Section Seven, Inc.
Car Parts

A New Kind of Sick

I always loved the beauty of San Francisco - the architecture, the craziness of the streets, the weather - and yet, after being here for six months now, it's weird how you start to take things for granted. Since it got cold, I stopped exploring different parts of the city, content to embrace the daily things that were familiar to me - particularly the walk up Mason to work, and then down Polk Street in the evenings on my way home, past all the tweakers in the different doorways, stopping a few times a week at Nick's Crispy Tacos, but not interested in branching out anymore.

Wednesday night though, I hiked over to the Fillmore. I have a bunch of new stories running through my head, and as I try and work through the particulars, going on long walks are the perfect remedy. At first it seemed like a journey, but once I got moving, it was a piece of cake. Just like Polk from Broadway to Chestnutt, and Union Street down in the Marina, Fillmore is filled with all kinds of cool cafes, restaurants, and boutiques - not to mention interesting people, and the further along I went, the more my adrenaline kicked in, and I just had this surge of feelings take over me, a catharsis really, and I haven't felt this good in weeks.

This morning, it looked like it was going to rain, even though it's back to being warm again, and yet, when I started up Mason, past the Fairmont and the Mark Hopkins, as I turned to the downtown area, and saw the Transamerica Building and the Bay Bridge and the ocean in the horizon, I was struck with this tingle down my spine, and was just overwhelmed with the physical beauty of the city. The maroon and purple in the sky, the architecture of the different hotels and apartment buildings, the women going to work with their scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, the Academy of Art students rushing by with their portfolios under their arms, hell, even the German tourists with their Umlauts riding the cable cars were less annoying this morning.

It's weird how you become complacent with your life once you begin to develop a routine. You work all day, then come home and have to deal with laundry, going to the supermarket, picking up prescriptions, and all the other bullshit that occupies a disproportionate amount of our time. But then when you least expect it, you notice all these little things that make it worthwhile again - or at least you tell yourself this in the moment just to feel the beauty of the world for a few seconds - and well, this morning was just so lovely.

Last night I watched Naked for the first time since 1993. This was a period when I really began to get into cinema, and my friend Greasy and I saw this film in the theatre. It was one of those classic moviehouses in Sacramento, where they only show art films and foreign stuff, and when we were ordered drinks - which I had to pay for because Greasy was so broke, the guy behind the counter asked if we'd rather have one large drink - with two straws, instead of the two separate cokes we had ordered. The suggestion was that, since it was a Saturday night, and two guys were there together watching a British film, we had to be a couple. I remember pausing for a minute and then laying into the guy, but I was loaded too, and self-conscious about making a scene, so I ended up letting him off easy. Now I look back and think how funny the comment was. Of course I was 19 then, and I'd like to think I've grown up some since then, and I'm definitely more comfortable with who I am, and have just learned to embrace the absurdity of the world. But still, the guy deserved a backhand just for being a fuckwit.

Anyway, Naked was disturbing and funny and brilliant, just like I remembered it, and yet I'm struck wondering why it took me so long to watch it again? Did I just have a negative association because of that dumb kid at the counter? Was it because the main character was so loathesome? Who knows, really, it's just weird remembering a time that doesn't seem that long ago, and then reminding myself, dear lord, it's been thirteen fucking years.

Yesterday a package arrived from my mother, which, along with various Parade Magazine articles about how to avoid the flu, as well as these pieces about "laughter" being the perfect anecdote to cure depression and ensure that we live long, healthy lives (which always strikes me as odd, considering a sharp sense of humor is one of the few things I do have), there was this article on the Sacramento rap scene, and how popular several artists were across the country. Five of the eight rappers featured in the story I know well, I mean most of these guys I grew up with, played high school basketball with, did dirt with, and it was amazing to see how famous they now are. Of course these guys are gangsters, but it was hard for me to not see through the facade of the pictures and quotes and say, dude, this guy I've known since junior high, this one was on my 4th grade soccer team, this guy used to drive me to speech and debate tournaments in his old Cutlass, this guy once saved me from getting my ass kicked at an Asian basketball league dance.

Tonight I might go see Dead Meadow at The Independent, that is if Casey comes to town as promised. If not, well, we'll figure something out. Tomorrow, I'm working on a new story, and then going to the East Bay in the afternoon. (I might even check out the Bill Viola show at the Oakland Museum, if I'm really motivated.) Sunday, well Sunday I'm sure I'll be watching a lot of football, and getting some new prints framed, and perhaps even finishing the roll of film that's been in my LC-A since the Stones concert.

That is all for now.

Time Flies

This is a cool performance by TV on the Radio, which, for obvious reasons, reminds me of seeing Living Colour down in San Diego in the summer of 2001. It's crazy to think that's it's already been five years since that road trip.

1:35 a.m.

Finally, the long overdue Rolling Stones concert photos.

Also, look out for the December/January issue of XFuns - a design magazine from Taiwann. I did an interview with them a few weeks back, and they're going to feature over 20 of my photographs. Should be cool.