friday night

Posted: May 11, 2013 in Photography and Pics
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Blair Hall at dusk

Blair Hall at dusk

Poor planning combined with ungodly Friday evening traffic, that’s what it was. After a light supper-type meal at a diner to the north, the lovely Ms. Trask and I headed back south. We blasted past the homestead, cruising straight into Princeton which is as fine a place as any to wander in these parts. Especially on a temperate May evening. Especially in search of ice cream. And especially when in the mood for a bit of shooting (the photo kind, not the gun kind). Full disclosure: the ice cream was her sparkling idea and the shooting my less inspired one, although I could not let her scoop alone. I have my moments of gentlemanly behavior and they often coincide with ice cream.

The sky was still relatively light when we left the diner giving us (I thought) plenty of time to grab a tasty cold treat and then amble about pointing the Nikon in various directions. But the road gods had other plans. What should have been a 20 minute ride turned into a 60 minute one. I know, this should be expected in New Jersey on a lovely Friday evening. In truth it should be expected in New Jersey on a crappy Monday afternoon, a horrendous Sunday morning, and a god-awful Wednesday night. I don’t know why I was surprised. Perhaps the pressure of the sun slipping below the horizon got to me.

Not surprisingly Princeton was bustling. It is a smaller town than many folks realize. When filled with students, visitors and nomads it can seem even smaller. So yes, parking was a big issue and with dusk rapidly approaching I longingly thought of my tripod sitting at home. Like I said, poor planning.

Princeton has three notable homemade ice cream shops and an award winning cupcake joint, so there’s really no chance of making a bad decision. Unless you pick no dessert which would clearly be the delusional choice of a crazy person. So we settled on Halo Pub which is not a pub, at least not by strict British standards (i.e. no booze). I had a small draught of coffee ice cream (yes, they call it a draught) and the lovely Ms. Trask threw back something in the chip mint family. Fortified we headed to the campus of Princeton University with the light disappearing faster than Congress at the start of their August recess. As busy as the town was, that’s how quiet the campus was. Here is some of what the Nikon saw.

Witherspoon Hall at dusk

Witherspoon Hall (on the left) at dusk

The reflecting pond in front of Robertson Hall (to the left and out of the frame)

The reflecting pond in front of Robertson Hall (to the left and out of the frame)

Robertson Hall with Ai Weiwei's "Circle of Animals" on display.

Robertson Hall (no longer out of the frame) with Ai Weiwei’s “Circle of Animals” on display

The Ram from Ai Weiwei's "Circle of Animals"

The Ram from Ai Weiwei’s “Circle of Animals”

The lovely Ms. Trask, all fuzzy from ice cream

The lovely Ms. Trask, all fuzzy from ice cream and no tripod

everything new gets old fast

Posted: April 27, 2013 in Society
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Everything new gets old fast. Is this a product of age or the age we live in? Perhaps the constant influx of new and amazing things has dulled our appreciation for their inherent awesomeness. Or maybe our attention spans are just stunted by the slow deterioration of brain cells. Whatever the reason the incessant phenomenon which starts with a bang and quickly ends with a shrug is sad and pathetic.

I first experienced this unsettling sensation thanks to, of all things, the film Terminator 2. If you have seen the movie you certainly remember the evil terminator, the T-1000, played by Robert Patrick. It came from the future to destroy Arnold Schwarzenegger’s good terminator, the Cyberdyne Systems Model 101, which had undergone a crisis of conscience since the first film, now protecting the same woman one of its brethren was attempting to previously kill. It was all very confusing, this Cain and Abelish subtext. It is also beside the point. The point is the evil T-1000 was an FX wonder with its melty, shape-shifting, alloy vibe. We had seen nothing like that before, the way it effortlessly morphed back into whatever form it desired despite being shot, exploded and dismembered. Damn, it was cool. Until a few months later when the same effect began popping up in television commercials and other uncool venues. Saturation joined the party and the special effect, so dazzling at first, dissolved into no big deal. Since then it has gotten worse.

Think of all the jaw-dropping things which have emerged since the days of the T-1000, most which can be laid at the fast shuffling feet of technology – Facebook, instant messaging, Skype, cell phones, Twitter, HDTV, gaming, digital photography, the explosion of laparoscopic surgery, MP3 players, Instagram, virtual communities, watching movies and television on some untethered device from the comfort of your own hand, online shopping, and the necessity for the U.S. Post Office to adapt and new business model (which they better hop to fast). All of this stuff was, at first, astonishing. And it always prompted the same question: How did they do that? Of course none of us really cared how they did that. We only cared about the other how: how we were going to use it. And use we did. For about 15 glorious minutes, minutes of spectacular wonder peppered with scintillating awe, until they each became passé and no big deal.

Maybe technological advances are not at fault. It could be a product of aging. All of us are older now then we have ever been. Our constantly advancing age has its own agenda, one which seems to more quickly process information, then move away from it. Or maybe our youthful obsessive desire to fully immerse in whatever happens to be in front of our inexperienced faces has disappeared like a shadow when the light fades. Here’s a solid example: there was a time I would have labored over this piece trying to punch up the prose and address all the gaping holes in my sketchy theories. But right now I would rather be done with it and grab a snack because we are all already onto the next thing, aren’t we?

venezuela and the burden of fame

Posted: April 13, 2013 in Traskland
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Venezuela 1

My folks, though far from wealthy, believed in family vacations. They tried to take my sister and me on some sort of trip every year, a week away from the mean streets of northern New Jersey. Usually it was a jaunt to the shore or a few hours by car to the wilds of Pennsylvania or New York. But occasionally they would pop a real surprise on us and scrape together enough scratch to go exotic. 1973 was one of those times. No salt water taffy from Atlantic City, no Gettysburg battlefields, no Baseball Hall of Fame. December ’73 brought few presents under the tree, but plane tickets to Caracas, Venezuela.

It has never been clear how they afforded such trips. Granted, these kind of whirlwind adventures were definitely the exception, but still it must have blown to hell whatever budget they had. I guess when you are determined to expand the horizons of your kids you will find a way to do it. More pointedly, it probably explains the three months of peanut butter and jelly suppers which followed for the rest of that winter.

I recently stumbled across a few polaroids from this trip. Some of my most vivid memories were not captured by Edwin Land’s marvelous camera, but remain lodged in my ever-leaky brain: the absolute poverty in Caracas we saw during our cab rides to and from the airport, the fist-sized water bugs which greeted us every morning in the hotel room tub, and the hot, hot December sun. Still, the most enduring memory remains “The Clarence Williams III Incident(s).”

Clarence Williams III, star of the hip police drama The Mod Squad, was staying at our resort. I knew it was him because I knew such things. The first time I saw him I excitedly told my folks, “Hey, that’s Clarence Williams III, star of the hip police drama The Mod Squad!” Mom was dubious since The Mod Squad was not part of her regular viewing schedule. “Are you sure?” she asked.

I was aghast. “Of course I’m sure. I may not get straight A’s in school, Mumsy, but I certainly know my TV celebrities.” Well, Mom loved celebrities, even those she had did not know. So she encouraged me say hello. Even then I understood celebrities preferred not to be bothered in public. Why else would the venerable Clarence Williams III choose to vacation in South America instead of New York or Miami? It clearly wasn’t to do field work for a thesis in Entomology. I declined.

Mom, however, had a different perspective. Calling upon her gift for being bracingly outgoing she marched right up to CW III, dragging me along, and launched right in. “Hi, don’t I know you from television?” CW III smiled warmly, a practiced Hollywood trick. “No Ma’am, I’m afraid you don’t.” She was not to be deterred. “Oh don’t be shy. I know who you are. You’re on that television show. You’re on…The Rookies!”

If the earth’s maw had opened at that moment I would have happily sunk into its fiery pit.

Old CW III remained gracious, denying it was him (which technically was true), and moved along. That one brush with absolute mortification would have been fine. But it was not to end there. Of course not. For the remainder of the vacation whenever we saw CW III mom would march right up and proclaim with loud conviction, “Don’t deny it. I know who you are. You are on The Rookies!” Sigh.

Thankfully I have these photos for without them the beautiful scenery from that week would have been forever lost to me, overshadowed by visions of tropical bugs and an increasingly frustrated television actor.

Venezuela 3

Venezuela 2

My mom and sister. Clarence Williams III is thankfully nowhere in sight.

My mom and sister. Clarence Williams III was thankfully nowhere in sight.

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