Making Plans For Infiniti

Above water

Monday, March 8th, 2010 | GAN, Wanderlust | No Comments

It is always sunny.

Drunk and alive, the four of us stumbled into a happily quiet little place in downtown Philadelphia with our guide for the evening, Kim. It was a Sunday, the streets were empty and the few alcoholic bar patrons that were out this late looked at us with a sense of pity. These denizens of neighborhood bars are amiable and wise, able to smell youthful travelers awed by minutia. Corner bars are the last hold-out against Modern America. Here, against the rising tide of corporate monopolies on the mom-and-pop industries, little tiny taverns brace themselves against the levy.

Lewis Bailey was drunker than he’d ever been. So drunk, he had time-traveled to the year 2022, where he was divorced and self-employed at a studio in Providence.

“You know Dan, I’m glad we’re doing this again, this middle-age roadtrip. We haven’t all been together like this since that house in Fells Point,” Lewis said, flagging the bar tender for a Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was 2 dollars. I could see that in his eyes, he truly believed what he was saying, or at least wanted to.

“Lew,” I said, leaning over the bar like an old man and stroking my unshaved chin, “It’s been hard as hell to pull myself away from Sarah and the kids, but you know I’d always make time for you guys.” I was time traveling too.

Kim, one of Fairbanks’ friends from his high school days, watched all of this with a sort of muted amusement. She reminded me of a girl I once slept with, Sarah Baracoa, who despite having her life turned upside down every two days, always seemed to have her shit together. We were a sideshow to her, clowns who arrived on her doorstep, honking horns and spraying eachother with seltzer.

We managed to kick back a few more pints before the last-call bell sounded. As we were leaving the bar, it was decided that every bar tender in Philly was the same person. Each one we met was a tattooed drummer in a punk band who told us this about the city, “Have you ever been to Chicago? It’s like Philly but 4 times bigger. Go to Chicago.”

Tags: Bokononism, Drinking, John Fairbanks, Lewis Bailey, The Future, Tom Tennant

Monkey Hump (a drinking game)

Saturday, March 6th, 2010 | Booze | 1 Comment

Recently, on ABC Family’s “Greek,” a few characters mention a drinking game called “Monkey Hump” — supposedly a combination of Billiards and Beer Pong. Now, it’s fairly clear that the writers just made this game up, with no discernible rules. [Update: There may actually be official rules for Monkey Hump, see comment below] Considering that I’m a fan of the show, enjoy drinking, and own a pool table, the next logical step would be to figure out the finer points of Monkey Hump.

Players

Two teams (stripes and solids) consisting of two players (a captain and a first mate). The captain is in charge of sinking cups and sinking balls. The first mate serves as his auxiliary in the event of a bathroom break, mops/towels up the water spilled by the cups, and is the second player in the beer pong (either in the Final Countdown or the Going down with the ship round of the game.

Materials

- 1 Pool table (preferably one that you don’t care about, this game is messy)

- 6 Solo Cups

- 6 Billiard Balls (3 solid, 3 striped) and a Cue ball

- 1 towel

- 1 mop

- 1 bottle cap

- 2 ping pong balls

The Setup

Fill the six solo cups with water with about half an inch of water. Place each cup on the edge of a pocket (the area surrounding the pocket is called The Danger Zone, marked in red). Arrange the 6 balls in a triangle in traditional billiards fashion. Place the cue ball on the opposite end of the table.

Monkey Hump (Billiards Round)

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To Sergio, with all due respect

Friday, February 26th, 2010 | Uncategorized | No Comments

For my second to last photo assignment, we were given the task of creating a narrative photo series. The second they uttered the word “story,” I knew exactly what I wanted to do: Spaghetti Western (in the snow). Now, for those of you who aren’t aware, I just spent the last 10 weeks attending a fantastic film screening festival called “Winter Western WFridays.” (originally it was Winter Western Wednesdays)

The backstory of the two characters is simple: A consumptive, alcoholic U.S. marshal (Jamie) tracks down the man (Carter) who killed his sister — to thank him, she was a bitch. But the murderer doesn’t know that, and thus they duel.

And so, without further ado, I present “Il Inverno”:

(while you’re viewing these pictures, please listen to the music I had stuck in my head during the entire process)

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Independence Day: February 12, 2006

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010 | Art | No Comments

Today is February 12. The year is 2006. On this day, we celebrate Independence Day (alternatively coronation day). It has been 30 years since King Richard M. Nixon ascended to the thrown of the United Sovereignty of America. In the intervening years, stability has returned to the globe, the population is once again on the rise, and radiation from the Revolutionary War has decreased to levels that make farming in on the East and West coast a viable option. Betamax players were sold at $300 this past Christmas, making it affordable for any working class family.

While the nation still recovers from the various hardships of the “Nuclear Nineties,” Americans can take pride in knowing that their fellow compatriots share in their struggle. Today Americans cast aside their troubles and embrace the warm glow of peace and sovereignty of the USA. Below is a pamphlet distributed to schools and post offices detailing the traditions and history of Independence Day.

Cover

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MPI Shutting Down (for now)

Thursday, February 11th, 2010 | Uncategorized | No Comments

Making Plans for Infiniti will be shutting its doors for 4 days beginning February 15 through February 19 — while I wait for my paycheck.

In the meantime, you can access the entire blog here.

Leaves on Brighton

Wednesday, February 10th, 2010 | GAN | No Comments

Love-In fare

I walked into Love-In wearing a black corded sweater and expecting nothing. Two days earlier, I’d received a text message from a girl named Sarah asking if I wanted to grab coffee. Sarah was my coworker at The Observer and was by all accounts out of my league. As we we’d worked together for nearly a year, I didn’t see any harm in grabbing some coffee and chatting. I assumed, incorrectly, that it was a business encounter.

She was an energetic brunette with an energy that was some mix of tomboyish fervor and flirtatious sexuality. Fairbanks would later name this intoxicating personality blend for what he felt (and I later agreed with) it was: “a bitch.”

We ordered food – she got a panini (spinach and brie if I recall correctly) and I got a coffee (a large coffee with a double shot of espresso) – and we sat down at a booth. Sitting two tables behind us was our boss, Moira, who had known about this encounter two weeks before I did. She sat smiling and giggling at us the entire evening.

Sarah and I spoke about the usual things, exchanging life stories, talking about parents and ambitions. I unintentionally remembered every detail of the conversation. Her brother, who was 28 years old and living in Louisiana, was working as a cop. Her mother and father who wore matching windbreakers and were completely in love (I later found out that they weren’t. This was a gilded half-truth that she told, partly for her sake and partly for mine).

About halfway through my coffee I realized that this meet-up was less than professional.

“You’re lucky I shaved,” I said, staring into her brown eyes. “I didn’t realize this was a date.”

This statement took her by surprise. In her mind, the text message invitation had stated in no uncertain terms that this was a date. “Really? I’ve been hitting on you non-stop for the past month. I thought that was clear,” she said.

She had been hitting on me. The first time it happened was at an editorial meeting. When I left, I had said to ‘Banks, “You know, I think Sarah Cardiff was hitting on me.” He didn’t believe me.

Hotel Parking Lot

By the end of her Panini and my cup of coffee, we had sealed our fate. For the next month, Sarah and I would climb aboard a relationship bound for disaster. Much like the Titanic, the trip wasn’t all bad. The first date ended with a make-out session in a hotel parking lot. The middle was filled with Thai-food dates and domicile/automobile accidents.

The end, like so many terribly awe-filled endeavors would set in motion events which would culminate in three things: The writing of this novel, my promotion to the editor of The Observer, and a strained but satisfying encounter in a store room of the student union.

Tags: Cardiff, John Fairbanks, Love In, Sarah

Days without rain

Thursday, January 28th, 2010 | GAN | 3 Comments

She bit me. Not the good kind of bite, one wrapped in a moment of ecstasy, as she tried to stifle a scream. Not a playful bite. Not even a bite that was a nibbling reminder that she was mine and I was hers. This was a bite that hurt, that left a bruise. Whoever came before and after this particular Sarah followed one rule: No biting.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked, staring at a red mark on my chest. It was 9:42 in the morning. My clothes were in a pile on the floor with hers. I had to be at work in 18 minutes.

“Stop being such a pussy,” she said with a devious smile. Moira, my old boss, had warned me about this one. I never listened to her advice, despite how good it was. Moira had told me that being editor of The Observer was a terrible idea. She had also told me that this particular Sarah had slashed her ex-boyfriend’s tires. Like I said, I didn’t listen to Moira’s advice.

And why should I? Sarah was a well toned, cute, blond whose crazy personality might be a goldmine in the bedroom. She was one of my employees, or at least she used to be. I got her phone number six months ago at a party in University Row. The conversation had gone something like this:

“Can I get your number?”

“Are you asking me as an editor or as a guy?”

“Asking you as an editor would be wildly inappropriate, don’t you think?”

I got the number.

Today, however, I (and all of the skin that had been bruised) regretted making such a clever statement. I didn’t tell her just then, but that would be the last time she would be in my bed. She would find out three days later when I didn’t return her text messages.  I figured that would be a safer way of resolving things than discussing it in person. She kept a knife in her purse.

Tags: Morning, Sarah, The Magazine

System failure

Tuesday, January 26th, 2010 | GAN | No Comments

I was stuck in the on-position. Somewhere in the chemical factories of my mind, somebody was mixing up a batch of endorphins and serotonin. John Fairbanks sat across the table from me at a local coffee house and bar called Wake Up And Be Somebody. Wake Up, despite it’s playful name, was actually a front for the mob. This wouldn’t have been a problem, except the soldiers who worked bar couldn’t pour a pint of beer to save their lives.

“Who are we going to make fun of this week, Dan?” asked Fairbanks, referencing the cartoon we co-wrote every week. He was scratching doodles into his sketchbook. I was lying on my back in the booth, staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, ‘Banks. Black people? Women? You know, it’s true what they say about this hair-of-the-dog stuff.” I was coming off of the worst hangover of my life. This was not helped by the fact that my mind was busy bouncing around inside my head. My heart wanted to do something, but my body couldn’t oblige. The beer was helping. “Maybe we should do a comic about that.”

“Eh,” he said. “What else ya got?”

“How about two people smoking a cigarette in bed right after sex. The man says to the woman, ‘This time you’re buying me breakfast,’” I said, sitting up. Fairbanks laughed.

“Alright, that’s good.”

This was how we spent an hour most Friday afternoons. A beer and a comic. We never really knew if anyone ever read the comic, but it didn’t matter.

I swallowed the rest of my pint. It was the first of many that Friday. I was stuck in the on-position.

Tags: John Fairbanks, The Magazine

When I was driving once

Thursday, January 21st, 2010 | Art, Music | 1 Comment

Let me preface this by saying I’m trying hard not to sound like a douchebag when talking about photography. It’s really hard, because photography/art words are really douche-y.

There are a couple of songs that I will never get tired of listening to. One of those songs is Ana Ng by They Might Be Giants. It’s a song whose lyrics (which I know by heart) have a powerful meaning behind them that I can’t get over. I’ve tried my hand at a tribute to the song via poetry, but it didn’t quite fit. Anyway, for photo class we had to do a project responding to lines of poetry. One of the lines, “I was here, you were there” is from a poem written (to the best of my knowledge) by Phillis Lin. It instantly reminded me of the line a line from Ana Ng: “They don’t need me here and I know you’re there.”

So here’s a couple of the photos I took in response Ana Ng:

They don't need me here

Thanks to Jamie for modeling.

Everything sticks

Self-Portrait Project

Monday, January 18th, 2010 | Art, News | 1 Comment

I’m currently taking an intro to photography class. This is my work from a self-portrait series. I think the Jack Kerouac/Whiskey photo is my favorite. (and thanks to nikki for the use of her camera)