This is a candid shot from the corner of Rancho and Craig in Las Vegas. If the people and prices are so friendly, why does "Huey" look like he would benefit from some anger management therapy? Is this the kind of duck you want to see behind the counter of your local convenience store?
As a Gen-X'r (Atari Wave, not Nintendo Wave) I have one foot firmly placed in the nostalgia of my youth: 8mm film, AM and FM radio, land-line phones, broadcast analog television . . . yet I accept and enjoy the technological progress that I have witnessed: DVD's and streaming video, mp3's, cell phones, satellite television, to name just a few. As much as I've enjoyed those "old-school" things, you won't find me comparing 45 RPM records with streaming audio and trying to convince someone of the merits of, well, historical technology.
Despite this, the film slide transparency of Kodachromes and Ektachromes have yet to be surpassed for me. Do I have any delusions that technology won't trump these images? No. Someday they will. But not yet.
Years ago, I read a novel by Steven King that he wrote under the pen-name Richard Bachman. The novel, "Rage," recounts a Columbine-esque scenario of a disturbed young man. I recall the story only because of a passing reference in the story of the main character gazing at the image of a relative in a slide image that was being projected. The colors, the luminance, the big-as-life picture hanging there in the dark . . . for a moment, you find yourself back in that place, hearing those sounds, seeing those people . . . it's almost as if you could step into the picture. How would you be received? What would you say? Could you make them understand? Would it change anything? Would they believe you? Would it matter?
If I could step back into this picture, what would the the little boy in the tan pants say to the tired-looking 40-something man who coalesced from the ether and appeared in front of the boy's father, a man roughly the same age but holding a Beseler Topcon 35mm SLR?
Could any of them hear these words? Would they want to?
"Look over your right shoulder, Jimmy. Your brother Tom is going to spend his life working with what he loves most -- cars. Engines of all kinds. He'll marry a woman named Joyce, have two sons, and live in the Catskills. He and Joyce love their horses, and they have grandchildren now. Look over your left shoulder. Your brother Dave will live what some call a colorful life. He'll marry, but he'll let the winds of change carry him where they will. From woman to woman, job to job, enjoying a sip of this, a snort of that, and a toke of this or that along the way. But he'll live without worries. He'll be gone in 24 years. Maybe it was his physiology -- a proneness to cancer, which he survived 7 years before this picture was taken. Maybe it was the Cobalt radiation that saved his life, coming back for him. The cigarettes sure as hell didn't help, but like I said, he lived without worries.
Enjoy the fun times with your brother Johnny, Jimmy-boy. You won't get along very well for, well, nearly a decade. By and large he'll kick the shit out of you for no particular reason. What you lack in physical skill and strength you will compensate with a quick wit and sharp tongue. Not that it will stop him from kicking your ass. You'll emerge relatively unscathed, though as a grown man you tend to be one moody motherfucker, although that might just be a character defect. Oh yeah, you swear a lot. Fuck yeah. I won't tell your mom if you don't. John will stop being a prick after his 18th birthday, and you'll actually get along with each other in a phenomenal way. He'll die at age 19 in a head-on collision while riding his bike home from church. Remember what I said about the swearing? Well, that is going to fuck with your head for years.
Your sister, Janie (Why is she frowning? Is the sun in her eyes?) will, after a string of boyfriends that don't seem to meet with Dad's approval, marry her high-school boyfriend Eric. No kids, but they'll have a long string of doggies that amuse them. They love each other, and are financially comfortable. They actually live in the same area they grew up in. Everyone else scatters, eventually, even your parents. Your mom, by the way, will have a severe stroke in two years, but experience a fantastic recovery. A little numbness, but she'll regain full speech, full memory, full mobility. That health scare will change your parent's eating habits. Your father will begin jogging and running long-distance, and stay with it even into his retirement. You won't see him much from this point forward, because there is very little construction work in New York for an ironworker like him. You'll see him on weekends, because all the construction work is in Massachusetts.
Strangely enough, and I don't want to give everything away, but you and your parents will eventually leave New York behind for the Southwest. Your father will pass away from complications of heart surgery in 2006 . . . and 2006 is one motherfucker of a year for you, by the way. But you'll find out soon enough. Keep an eye out for a woman in college named Joanne. You'll kiss on April Fool's Day, and celebrate many anniversaries. You named your only son John, after your brother, and you'll have two daughters. You'll pursue the career of your dreams, and find it doesn't pay shit. You'll shift gears, career-wise, and find relative contentment. And you're blessed to have some good friends."
Would I believe anything that future James might say to me, should he emerge unexpectedly?
Not a fucking word, most likely.
By the way, here's how little Jimmy reacted when I told him his father's male-pattern baldness was hereditary:
Your last moments in this life will be enjoyable indeed...hopefully. Do not fear sex. Try not to become celibate as a way of escaping death. You cannot run from destiny.
By now, most have heard the story of this kid. His name is Kevin Hart and he's a senior at Fernley High School in Nevada.
He staged a big assembly at his school, complete with local media, to announce where he would be playing college football. He chose Cal over Oregon, the problem? He was never recruited by either school.
In the end, Kevin Hart admitted the made the whole thing up. As I now look at the picture, I can see the fear in the expression on his face.
We can all think back to a time in our life...usually between the ages of 15 and 21 where we so desperately wanted something that we thought we'd do anything to make it real. My best guess is that's what happened to Kevin Hart.
Oregon coach Mike Belotti said "Whatever happens, it's a shame" and Cal coach Jeff Tedford added "It was total news to me, and it's unfortunate that that whole situation is what it is" What is evident to me is Kevin Hart planned this out...but only to the assembly.
Did he think that by holding this assembly/press conference, Cal would offer him a scholarship? Did he hope to attract interest from other schools? Only he knows the answer to that.
My best guess is he wanted this so bad that he lost all sense of perspective. As much as we'd all like to blast him for this whole farce, lets not forget that he is a troubled teenager who needs a psychologist and lots of therapy.
There has been a fair amount of talk this election about history being made, breaking down walls, a black candidate and a woman...how the country has grown.
Then I looked at the breakdown of exit polling on Super Tuesday.
59% of women voted for Hillary Clinton. She also did very well with whites over 45 years old and was dominant among Latino voters.
Barack Obama did well with young white voters and had a slight edge over Hillary Clinton in male voters. For some reason, Black voters are N/A.
People are NOT color blind...their prejudices are NOT gone...and those prejudices don't exist only in white voters.
The PR spin should soon be churning at about 7800 RPM, letting everyone know that only the facade was actually involved, and that rampant wagering will resume in a very short time.
Interesting fact: did you know that the concrete used to build the palatial casinos of Las Vegas is actually comprised of cement mix and the tear drops of bankrupt tourists? (Of course, don't forget that concrete slab where Fat Tony rests in peace. If only he had kept his mouth shut).
