Animated Neon Sign: Boulder Creek

Here's some video I recently shot of Scarborough Lumber in Boulder Creek (CA). The sign had been down for a long while, but it's now working again.

Difficulty seeing the video? Point your browser here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQF62haYYqQ

Sunday at Starbucks

A few days ago I found myself recalling a line from the Gospel of Matthew: "As ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me." While I'm no expert on comparative religion, I'm certain that some version of this warning is common to all faiths: be kind to those in need. You never know...

So I'm sitting in Starbucks on Sunday. I brought my thick book and laptop and iPod for a couple hours of video editing, some writing, and a little bit of morning relaxation. This guy on the couch next to me spots my Mac and leans over.

"You an iPhone man?"

I'm not sure how to answer. "No," seems reasonable enough. I work a Mac and happily enjoy my iPod Touch, but I don't pay AT&T the requisite fees to play in the larger iWorld (not yet).

I offer some mild explanation to that effect, but the gentleman bores in further, delighted at the prospect of extolling the virtues of his phone. Seconds pass, then minutes. He tells me about the apps, the speed, the utter suckiness of comparative Verizon products. He's in full-on monologue mode. An audio-taped commercial to which I can only nod (iNod, I guess).

Problem is, I came to Starbucks for the company of buzz, but not really to chat.

He catches a breath and I catch an opportunity to interject my thanks for his advice.

I assure him I'll share his arguments with my wife when it's time to return to the family debate over how much we're willing to spend on wireless.

He seems to catch the hint, pulling back and turning his gaze away from me.

I feel vaguely guilty, but not too much.

Across the aisle, another guy - a Starbucks regular, it seems - utters greetings to the fellow who'd been chatting me up.

Ahh, I think. That'll do it.

I get back to my work, editing a video.

A few minutes later, the first fellow leans over to me again, picking up the book I'd brought with me, The Difference Engine.

"I write science fiction, myself," he announces.

Thus begins another monologue. Something about Oort Clouds and Venusian diamonds, the impossibilities of FTL travel and disparaging comments about wormholes, plans for a five-volume "hard" sci-fi epic and descriptions of the short story that'll pull it all together.

I cannot nod and "uh huh" fast enough to keep up with the growing cathedral of ideas being built verbally, brick by brick. At one point I even interject, "this is cool, but I'm having a hard time processing all this."

I figure the pseudo tech-speak will both affirm what he's saying and break the spell. Something like, dude, I grok - but cut it out.

Nope, he reviews his blueprint and returns to building his city of words, each a narrow beam that glints against the superstructure, broadening it, deepening it, driving me nuts.

At this point, only a sledgehammer will do.

I won't repeat what I said. It was sufficiently direct and contained a decent attempt at kindness. But I hate the words all the same. He knew what I meant, and he stopped talking to me.

I settled back into my editing, only occasionally noticing that a few other regulars certainly knew him. By name, they'd greet the guy, share some news, show some respect. Three or four others. Not me.

Is he lonely? Is he brilliant? Is he crazy?

I haven't a clue.

Eventually a friend of his came by and the old man picked up my book, showing it off. I removed my earphones and found myself in a brief conversation about steampunk literature. A normal conversation, with turn-taking and everything.

The two fellows wished me a happy day and left, leaving my book with me.

What happened?

Again, I haven't a clue.

But I wonder if I missed the chance to be kind, to be patient. All and all the entire interaction lasted no more than 30 minutes. I could have humored him. I could have listened to him. I might even have learned from him. But soon, he was gone.

Did I dodge a bullet, an afternoon suffering under the assault of an unending one-way conversation? Or did I miss the chance to serve another person?

Was he "the least of these?"

Or was I?

Chicago Burlington Diner

Anticipating this summer's 2009 Wood Family Diner Tour, I thought I'd share a lovely (and pricey) new addition to my postcard collection: The Burlington Diner.

Here's text from the card's reverse:

A Unique Place to Eat
The Burlington Diner
An Original Burlington R.R. Diner
4183 So. Halsted St. Chicago, ILL.
Famous for Good Food

Serving Day and Night Since 1939
For Ladies and Gentlemen
Phone: VIrginia 7-9078

Opposite Chicago Union Stock Yards
And International Amphitheatre

Clean and Quick Service
Best Coffee In Town
Air Conditioned

Alien Trespass

So I managed to talk Jenny into seeing Alien Trespass with me on opening weekend. This after getting her to sit through Invasion of the Humanoids a few days before. Needless to say, after that first swim through the depths of schlock cinema Alien Trespass was a hard sell.

Should you see it? That's a tough question to answer.

Alien Trespass attempts to recreate the look and feel of a 1950s grade-z monster flick. You know: rubber suits with zippers on the back, lame matte paintings, and cheap desert locations. Back then it seemed that all the aliens were landing in desert communities just a few miles away from Hollywood.

While a pretty funny movie, Alien Trespass doesn't play for laughs. Each goofy line is delivered with earnest pluck. Despite knowing asides to commies and Edsels (they'll be around forever, don't you know?), the movie aims for a time-capsule vibe, as if this piece of 1957 flotsam just drifted ashore. In color.

For some reason, I flashed back to Gus Van Sant's remake of Psycho. There, you find dedicated filmmakers, costumers, cinematographers, all trying to recreate that certain frisson. Color is judged a must for contemporary audiences. Otherwise the project is all about authenticity.

No surprise then that the tiny audience (maybe a dozen, mostly our age or older) laughed just as heartily at the meta-jokes as they did at the lines. Oh goodness, look at the cheesy rear projection! Wow, that shot is out of focus! Didja see that? The car stopped down the road as if caught in freeze frame, but the grass is still swaying in the breeze.

Movies like Alien Trespass and The Devil's Rejects and Grindhouse - and one presumes Robert Rodriguez's hoped-for Machete - play off that media knowledge, the ways some movies only comment on other movies. As you'd imagine, the audience for that kind of experience is pretty slim. [Follow-up: Here's my review of Machete (the movie).]

I enjoyed Alien Trespass they way I'd enjoy an evocative essay about exploitation cinema, as a kind of cultural homework, the way I enjoy photographing tropical deco architecture in South Beach. In that mindset, I'm not looking at the "text"; I'm studying the context. If you dig that process, see Alien Trespass. Otherwise, I can't promise much.

A few years ago, Jenny and I drove to Bisbee, Arizona. We stayed overnight at The Shady Dell, where you can eat in a 50s diner and sleep in an airstream trailer. We paid a premium and rented a real swell lodge for the night, watching It Came From Outer Space on a black and white TV that evening. It was a blast, sort of. But so much of the pleasure was of the "look at us, we're paying to watch black and white TV" sort. We purchased a passport to the past, but we could never quite forget where we were.

Maybe the problem is similar to both attempts: We can't close our eyes tightly enough to ignore the world we seek to depart.

I'd sure love to learn how.

Friday Fun Post: Worst Star Wars Costumes

Holytaco recently posted a fun collection entitled "The Worst Homemade Star Wars Costumes."

And yes, this boy has got a bucket on his head.

Clicky-clicky: http://www.holytaco.com/worst-homemade-star-wars-costumes

South Beach 11st Street Diner

I sure am looking forward to the 2009 Wood Family Diner Tour! As you may know, we're heading to the northeast to visit the most chromed, most greasy, most friendly, and most historic diners in New England this summer.

Anticipating that journey, I thought I'd post another pic from our recent tour of South Beach Miami. The 11th Street Diner is the only one of its kind in these parts, and it's a gem. It's open 24 hours a day, boasts a full bar (if that's your thing), and offers decent grub.

By the way: Got any hints for must-see New England diners? Please post a comment.

Deco Detail

These detail images from Miami's Art Deco District were shot last week during our return trip to the sun-drenched paradise of mojitos and mai-tais.

(Photographs by Andrew Wood)