When I met with Susan before leaving Richmond she said, jokingly, “you probably could work fulltime and still make a lot of work…!” I laughed at the time, but the last few months have tested that statement—a test proving that while it might be possible, it is highly impractical. I used to laugh at the people who would say, major in something “practical” (I smile broader now that “practical” majors are, or soon will be, as “useless” as my own) and to pursue other interests as a “hobby.” This loosely translates into how you can give up your real interests without losing all self-respect while doing it. Practical major or not, however, life after school involves a great deal of juggling. From my current perspective I am glad I used my time in grad school the way I did, essentially I bought two years of time from vcu leaving me free to make work; now I am slightly envious of those who are still in grad school if only because they are still at liberty to make, and are expected to do little else.

It has not been a problem to make work with images already taken, such as those I shot over the summer and early in the fall. The Oregon City images were a good place to begin, editing felt new because I have hardly had time to glance through them since the summer—the Holgas have yet to be seen in positive form. An idle scanner on my desk at work has prolonged the inevitable purchase of my own, but has sped up the process of making and printing. Taking new images, however, has been the real challenge, not simply because of the time it takes to go walking, but also because time of day has a lot to do with my ability to wander with satisfaction. If only I could gather together remnants of time from each day, and could compile them together into a whole day.

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W. is a difficult movie to get a hold on as it slides back and forth between fiction and reality, and realities that seem like fictions. Unlike JFK or Nixon, Stone’s latest political biography is strangely more biographical and less political than expected. The film comes across as an “oddly sympathetic” portrait of a sad man caught in a sad life that he is sadly still enacting. While it is clear than Stone, echoing a current 24% approval rating, is disgusted with Bush, he grossly underestimates the cunning, calculation, and sly tactics of our commander-in-chief.

The most frightening and problematic aspects of the film deal with time and timing. Though the conversations, motivations, and chain of events in the film are (somewhat) speculative, it is hard to separate actors in excellent “political drag” from the administration currently running our crumpling country. While we may have become resigned to what GW has already done, it is horrible to imagine while watching the film’s portrayal, what he is currently still doing. The questions of historical distance surrounding the film are awkward at best. Speculating on what else might happen between now and January of next year could drastically change how this man is perceived—an impeachment, perhaps? It is also too soon to contemplate the full consequences of what has been done, the administrations policies grasp on the future is too firm. If Stone wanted to call awareness to the man it seems he could have done it before the vast majority of the country was consumed by a buring desire to have him removed from office, and if he wants to offer us an insightful glimpse into GW’s deranged soul, it seems he should have waited. The film still has it merits, it is Stone after all, but it is uncharacteristically unpersuasive.

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Around Penn Station I hesitated at a stoplight, despite the walk signal, because of a man handing out newspapers. This itself did not strike me as strange, as “free” papers are shoved daily into the outstretched hands of a mass of workers heading toward various offices. The man handing out this particular paper, however, was different: why had I never seen him before? a free New York Times? a young, Columbia-like student handing out papers? breaking news that did not make the press? I almost continued on my way, hesitated, stepped back, and reached out to take a paper. The way he handed it to me, carefully folding it in half, suggested it was an item of significance, and this too struck me as strange. Who still carefully fondles a newspaper most of us read online? It is safe to assume I read too much into the way people handle and view objects, the chances of this being like any other “promotional paper” were much higher than it being different, but in this case I was lucky in being correct.

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(after the election)

At the conclusion of a long campaign that gracefully skirted around the issue of race, it was amusing to see what a central tropic it became on election night. News coverage on the 5^th took calls from african americans living all over new york city, most of whom talked about previous resentments such as the gentrification of their neighborhoods, and concluded by saying that the election had changed most of their anger into something more hopeful. While it was a “historic” night for our country, it is clear that the president-elect was not made such by minorities alone, and Obama’s election, perhaps because of the pressing issues of the American pocketbook, did appear to transcend race—his “landslide” victory (364 votes) proves that. Getting lunch at the local deli yesterday, pictures of Barack had been cut from various newspapers and taped to the fronts of cash registers, and the conversation of various couples over lunch revolved around the previous night. A group of african american girls were teasing a young man who said he cried, “well it might be the only time I get to see that happen…” The general mood of new york, and elsewhere I am sure, is one of excitement. There is so much energy in the air of this city already that the election outcome seems to have added a new frequency, a higher pitch, to the crowded streets.

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I am proud of all my states today, all four.