Over on my Facebook I've posted an album of 116 Polaroids that I took in 1987:

1987 Cleveland scene yearbook, incomplete

It was a series of simple head-and-shoulder portrait shots, done during one of the periods where I was obsessed with photography. I've made copy shots with my spiffy Canon G10.

The album is dedicated to the late Tim Shaw, who passed away this week. God rest his soul; it was one of the friendliest souls on Earth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uv6qmvxoos

A large photocollage from around 1992 or 1993... I used to work nights at a supermarket in suburban Ohio; my boss was a serious astronomer, having traveled the world to see eclipses and comets. He owned a larger telescope than any area university. His stellar photography was excellent.

Probably the first photocollage I ever shot, circa 1986. I was attending Cuyahoga Community College at the time, mostly taking photography classes. One of my instructors, Gary Crawford, had David Hockney's "Cameraworks," which would have a huge influence on me. Later "Hockney On Photography" would seal the deal.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8B8vLPN8B0c

A collage I made of the old Thunderbolt roller coaster at Coney Island back around 1999. It was torn down to make room for a baseball park for the minor league team Brooklyn Cyclones.

T'ain't no lie, neither. Mike and I drove over 2,000 miles in six days, circling the state of Iowa. Why? Because there's "nothing" there. Myspace's editor is adding a trillion blank lines to my blog, so scroll down for the photos...

Mike Kole closely watches for trains. Le Claire, Iowa. This restaurant had the best scallops I ever ate.

Fuck the Army Corps of Engineers! Long live Floyd Dominy! (Mike and I share a sense of humor about... never mind, you wouldn't understand it anyway).

Me and the mighty Mississippi

This was a scenic stop along the Great River Road

With Mike Kole!

"Ahhhh! It's the Jolly Green Giant! Run!" (photo by Mike)

He has no genetalia. Perhaps he should have tried being omniverous. (photo by Mike)

This was in a small town in Minnesota: a huge statue of the frozen vegetable icon.

"I'm T. Boone Wainstead, and wind power is here in Iowa!"

Here is the monument marking the intersection of the states of Iowa, South Dakota and Minnesota. There's nothing but corn fields for miles around. We could hear a farm family outside talking about a half mile away because it was so quiet.

Me and the Loess Hills, Iowa with my John Deere hat.

Mike and the Loess Hills

Mike likes photographing me washing the bugs off the windshield

Robert Griffin, at some fancy beer joint in St. Louis. We drove from Omaha to St. Louis to see Prisonshake do a show for their new double CD.

Doug Enkler fronting Prisonshake

Robert/Prisonshake. At Bluebird in St. Louis.

Bureau of Reclamation forever!

Me and Carslyle Lake, Illinois. This was a minor stop on the way back: a man made lake behind Carslyle Dam.

Yes, Iowa. Why circle the state of Iowa? "Because there's nothing there," I've told everyone. Of course it's not true.

People have also said I could have done something more exciting for a vacation; but I already went to Japan twice in the last ten months, did three days in Vegas, and was home in Ohio visiting famliy for a week. I will probably spend another ten days in Japan come November.

I need the catharsis of a long drive. I don't drive a car every day like most people.



Mike Kole's three year old daughter Isabella in the back seat, playing with a dandelion she picked off the lawn. We are on the way to the Indianapolis Zoo for the day.

Time for an unintended and weird juxtaposition:


When Mike and I reached the Mississipi we chanced upon a Confederate graveyard on Rock Island.

We're on the road until Saturday, following the Mississip, across Iowa and Minneapolis, then down along the Missouri River. We have no set plans other than getting back to Indy by Saturday.

Whenever I see a kid wearing some punk thing, I wonder if they even know what it represents. This morning on the E train in to work, a girl got on at Queens Plaza toting a small suitcase and (who was probably) her mom.

She was wearing a red plaid skirt; not quite a mini, but short. Her shirt hung off one shoulder and had a red anarchy symbol on the back. On the front read "Punk's Not Dead" in the same script as The Exploited album cover. She had a pierced nose, short black hair, and black Chuck Taylor hightops with no socks. I'd guess between 17 and 19 years old. Could be any girl from the Midwest: going for a "cute" "punk rock" look. As curious as I was to quiz her about her Exploited t-shirt:

1. it's not worth getting up to ask, and:


2. you don't make conversation with strangers on the subway train, as a rule of thumb (though it happens).

I didn't pay her much mind though, engrossed in my Patrick O'Brian novel. But at Lexington Avenue she sat next to me when that seat was vacated. This then posed a problem because, looking down at my book, I kept finding myself looking at her thigh and calf. Great skin. It was making me perspire. I thought about moving to another part of the train; "If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out." I'm not at all comfortable looking at girls half my age and would just as soon avoid the situation. But my curiosity trumped my desire to be a gentleman.

At 42nd Street I said excuse me, and asked her if she got her shirt at Hot Topic. She gave me a puzzled look. I asked her if she spoke English. (Even with white people in NYC, you never know). Yes. She is from Germany, she got the shirt there. Her English was flawless, but she didn't use contractions like a lot of people for whom English is a second language. "Do you know the song?" I asked, pointing at her shirt. "By The Exploited?" she replied. I just smiled and made a thumbs up sign. And then it suddenly came back to me: I had met Wattie! In the office upstairs at Peabody's Down Under, with Larry Collins. I vaguely recall Larry doing lines, and Wattie had a bad cold. I told her how Wattie had talked about how much he liked Stephen King. "Wow!," she gushed.

She said she hadn't seen any punks in New York, motioning around the train car. "In Germany..." she continued, but I cut her off and asked if she'd been to St. Mark's Place yet? She said she was on her way down there. "Well, you'll see plenty then!" I told her. (Whether they are just trust fund kids in punk clothing, though, is another matter). "What was the best way to get there?" she asked. "Take this train to West 4th and walk east," I replied.

Why would a girl from Germany get on the E at Queens Plaza though? With her mom? Toting a suite case? On a Friday morning during rush hour? This puzzled me when they got off at West 34th street, thanking me and saying goodbye. Still, the cool thing is young girls in Germany buy Exploited t-shirts and actually know who the band is... A coworker told me that there's a lot of punk rockers in Germany.

"You learn a lot about life getting shafted royally."

"It says in the Bible: ''There's a time to dance to techno and a time not to.''"

"I preached everything in my life with a punk rock attitude. In fact, 'punk rock' means 'exemplary manners to your fellow human being."

"Greed: It Ain't Goin' Anywhere. They should have that in a big billboard across Times Square. Without people you're nothing. That's my spiel."

Julian Temple's documentary on Strummer, The Future is Unwritten, has one really brilliant twist: none of the "famous people" in the movie are ever identified, though you know Bono or Steve Buscemi the moment you see them. Why this is neat is most of the people interviewed I couldn't identify, so they were just ordinary people. Which somehow seems very much in the spirit of the thing.

Fight on the train today!

I've been rather glum about my daily commutes from Queens to Manhattan lately. I think it's because I've been reading all nonfiction. I have about 30 minutes each way every day to read.

I grabbed my copy of Master And Commander by Patrick O'Brian, which I first read around late 2004, I think. I'm ready to reread the twenty book series. It's the best fiction I've read besides Lord Of The Rings (and I was never a Tolkien freak, having only read that after the first movie came out).

I couldn't wait to get on the train this morning to continue reading. O'Brian is hilarious in such an understated way.

And what happens as I secure a good spot to stand on the last car? A "preacher." Teh suck.

Sometimes, on the morning trains, your car has a person who fancies themselves a preacher of the Gospels. It's hard to concentrate on your reading when someone is walking around shouting. If I were still on the nonfiction stuff, it wouldn't be so bad; I read that to accumulate knowledge or wisdom or whatever. But damnit, I'm trying to escape.

Usually these people stick to the general principles: "you're feeling miserable, your problems are all because you haven't come to Jesus, He can save you and bring you to peace" and all that schtick. I can endure that.

Not this guy. He looked Nigerian, with the very dark skin and full lips but spoke perfect American English so I think he was born here. He was going on about gays and lesbians.

"GOD CREATED ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE!" Yes, he actually used that line. I'd expect to read that on a right wing blog, but from a "preacher" on the train? He had this whole line going about how Jesus punishes us because he loves us, and lesbians need to give up lesbianism and come to Christ, ditto for the gays, and on and on. He walked up and down the rear half of the car shouting.

We were between my train station and the next, which is about a ten minute ride during rush hour; around half way through this very tall middle aged guy with iPod ear buds stuck in turned and overshouted him:

"QUIT PREACHING HATE! WHERE IS JESUS IN YOUR LIFE!? YOUR HEART IS FULL OF HATE!"

Over and over. This actually quieted down Nigerian-looking-guy quite a bit; earbud guy eventually over-shouted him once more, we pulled into Queens Plaza and I moved to the next train car. Enough of that!

But I'm really excited to be rereading O'Brian. Knowing what I know now about how the characters develop, I'm noticing a lot more than I did the first time; plus I now know what a fo'c'sle is.

I've been posting police blotter segments on and off for the last few weeks. Here's the blotters for the last week of December 1989.

You can find plenty more at http://wainstead.info/.


This photo has nothing to do with Wainstead All Night; I took it Thursday June 12th at Red RockWest.