There have been a lot of requests for a video of my speech at last week's Blindfold opening. By popular demand, here it is via Vimeo, in high quality; you can also find it on youtube here. Both sites carry the speech in HD. Enjoy!

Two men and a lady, stepping on at the Promenade. Their rugged appearance is rife with different textures and that instantly identifiable sickly sweet odor hums in the air. One of the men is quite the motormouth. He's found God, and he's got words he wants to say about it. 

"I'm alive and unharmed today thanks to THA LOW-AD," he reminds his friends.
"He's always like this," says the woman to somebody, rolling her eyes.

He's no safety issue, nor is he disrespecting anyone, so I don't sweat it; some of the passengers eye me, as they are wont to do in "interesting" situations, curious to see how the driver will react to certain passengers. MotorMouth approaches me. Will the driver put on a tough guy face and order the fellow around? Will he be docile and ignore the guy? Will he-

"Heeeyyyyy, maaan, how's it going?" I say.
"Eeeyy, chief, I ain't seen you for a minute!"
"How you been doin'?"
"I been good, I been good..."

Bear with me as I briefly recount a point I made in my recent speech, in case you haven't seen it: in hunter-gatherer and early agrarian societies, conflict resolution had different aims than it does in city-states. Today, conflicts between citizens are solved by a legal system that attempts to identify the wrongdoer of the crime and assign the appropriate punishment. 

Because in city-states populations are large, the perpetrator and victim have likely never interacted before and will likely never interact again after the episode is resolved. This form of dispute resolution is impossible in hunter-gatherer societies, because the populations are smaller, and therefore the victim and perpetrator certainly knew each other prior to the incident of the conflict, and will continue to know each other afterwards. 

As a result, conflict resolution in traditional societies has a different goal- not to identify the wrongdoer, but rather to find a solution which will allow both parties to peaceably coexist after the incident. In other words, you interact with everyone on the understanding that they're always going to be around.

This is how I behave with "my peoples on the street," to coin a phrase. I've seen MotorMouth before, and I know I'll see him again. He's not anonymous. I might see him next week, next year, or in an hour. There's also the angle that he might have five brothers, or there might be a gun in his pocket. Although the routes I like tend not to have regulars, there are faces that keep showing up. Every day that I'm out here with them, is another day of letting those same people know how I treat people as a rule. One of the advantages of having driven for a few years (six now, for me! Where does time go?) is that this net of people who remember you expands. MotorMouth knows I'm not going to give him the finger, and he feels comfortable.

We talk for a bit, making joyous noise. His rampant religiosity and my ardent spiritualism find a meeting point in the idea of being thankful to be alive, or "UH-BUUV GRAOWND," as he puts it. 

"Say, boss," he adds later on. He asks me for three transfers- one each for him and his pals- in a respectful and gentlemanly way. The circumstances are such that I oblige. He thanks me. Motormouth returns to his compatriots, gives them their newly minted transfers, and they step off the back. Motormouth waves to me, and then looks at his silent friends. I hear him say to them- 

"Shit, dawg, you guys didn't even say thank you!"

I didn't need to hear that, but I'm glad I did.

What words can I say which would be adequate? I certainly can't think of any. I'm overwhelmed and overjoyed at the response to the show's opening, and can't thank you all enough. To have that many people there...I kept wishing I could talk with each person a little longer, or to give those people waiting outside a chance to come in- what an incredible turnout! I would've been thrilled if just a few close friends had shown up, but this was something else- dozens after dozens, all night long...thank you. For people to take the time and effort to work their way over to my show, simply to be there; thank you. I'm humbled beyond comprehension.

Check out photographs of the event here; I hope to have video of the talk ready to post within a couple days. Feel free to email myself or the gallery owners with comments and feedback, or questions about purchasing.

Also, know that this show continues until July 6th! If you missed the opening, you're still in good hands! Check out www.blindfoldgallery.com for hours and location.

I'm finishing up a morning shift of 36s, where I had a generally terrific time. The 36 fascinates because it is unlike other routes for a number of reasons- it's one of the busiest, as the only route with 10 minute service 6 days a week- but it's a residential route at the same time. Its population has aged quite a bit, and is mostly non-English speaking. It also happens to have a rather terrible schedule, problematic bathrooms, and a sore need for bigger buses. The cumulative result makes for an experience that's very involving but also a bit distant; interactions are limited by the constrained quantities of space and time. 

Anyway. The shift was still reasonably great. That's not the subject of this post, however. As I was turning the bus around on the Lenora Street turnback wire, and passing by the 49 layover, where the 49 begins its route to the U District, the coordinator called me and asked if I wanted to drive an extra trip on the 49 to the U District.  He phrased the question as if he were asking me a great hardship, obviously not knowing who I am: "we were wondering if uh, you might want to drive an outbound 49, or if maybe you're busy and you'd rather not-"

"OF COURSE I want to drive an outbound 49! Thank you, for that wonderful opportunity!"

I'm thrilled. As we hash out the details, he explains that a single trip on the outbound 49 is needed, and after that I can just deadhead back to base. There's no need for a return trip inbound, which has already been filled.

As I pull into the first zone at 4th and Pike, it's clear there hasn't been a bus in a while. The mob there is often large, but today it's several times larger than I've ever seen it- about 75-90 disgruntled students and others, at minimum. I open both doors and they pile in, forming a standing load after leaving the first stop! I'm thrilled.

Big Man Bryan gets on at Broadway. "You're not Josie," he hollers jovially. Josie's the regular driver (and a great one). 
"Yeah, I look a little different today, huh?"
"Just a little!" 

Bryan is a friendly soul. He finds a place somewhere behind me and we holler at each other about various trifles- the 70 going back on the wire, or the fact that I saw him less than 24 hours ago. All those SCCC students back there are pretty quiet, but we don't care. We're too busy being excited, and plus, it's past 10am!

When the bus is this crowded, the mood can turn exciting, and it feels okay to be loud. Laughter from our conversation fills in the edges of my announcements. "Here's Mercer Street, sadly our last stop on Broadway..." I'm already excited from getting to do an extra route, and the crowd, along with Bruce being here, makes everything feel comfortable. I see an homeless Asian man grinning from ear to ear, looking at us in the mirror, reveling in this house of mirth.

At the end of the line, my instructions were to drive empty back to the base. However, being in a trolley bus, the fastest way to do that from the U-District, aside from the currently dead 70 wire, is simply to drive along the 49 wire. Wouldn't it make sense to simply drive the 49 in service? You know, just for fun? But what if something unsafe happened along the route? I wouldn't be able to call for help. Decisions. 

I can't write about what happened next, but I will speak about it during my talk at my upcoming show. The show opens June 13 at 6pm, and my talk will be at 8. Hope to see you there!

...until my show opens at Blindfold Gallery! Several hundred photos, a new novel, wall-sized murals of photography, new and rarely seen video work, an all-new illustration several feet large... I can't wait to share it with you all. You and your friends are invited- I hope to see you there!

"Frappucinos, iced coffees and shit..." Two youngsters boarding. That's all they say. Neither says another word, as they plunk down in the front seats, sprawled out, attempting to conquer as much real estate as possible in a single pose. I can only wonder what the conversation was.

A young couple heavy with luggage, on their way to Alaska, to see the Aurora Borealis. They're passing through from Pittsburgh. Do they have any other business up there? 
"No. We've just always sort of really wanted to see it," the husband said. 
"Yeah. I can see that," I said.

Deep voices nearby, another totally unrelated strand of conversation, happening right alongside: "Whoa, back up. If you're from another planet, how'd you learn how to speak English?"

Just another afternoon somewhere on the 4. 

"Hey, man." Subdued. Older guy in dirty street clothes, talking to another fellow in similar garb.
"Oh, hey."
"You still goin' to that spot?"
"Uh huh."
"Do they still have that one cook there? Fat lady, brown hair? Beatle cut?"
"I don't, I don't, maybe."
Stretching back, in a voice reminiscing the rose-hued past: "She was the shit, man. I'd come halfway across town when she was up in there. She made that skinless chicken,"
"Aw yeah,"
"Mufuggah smelled good, man," he says wistfully. "Every time."
There's a truthfulness in his voice that registers. The man's a romantic.

Garfield student Patrick and myself, chatting about anything and everything, cruising through the shifting principalities of Jefferson Street. We're in the CD; now we're in Seattle U territory; now approaching Swedish Main and Harborview. The conversation propels us up and down the gentle grades. He's got his athletic gear on, presumably just coming from practice. 

At first we're talking about how friends of mine will sometimes come ride a round or two, and how it's a fun way to pass the time; then we're discussing the benefits of having interests in unrelated fields; now we're talking about how photography has a difficult time capturing the impression of immense size, perhaps because our peripheral vision contributes greatly to our perception of a large scene, and this is a key missing element in such photographs. There's a freedom of sorts in the air; I realize I don't often hear the young folk speak so openly or honestly, without  worrying so much about being cool or sounding too smart. I get excited by people like him. Promise, in the new generation. You just have to look for it.

I was southbound on Third between Pine and Pike, rolling gently down the left lane. We had just left the Queen Anne folks- they all got off at Pine- and are now beginning to round up the motley crew that will comprise our Harborview/Central District group. I always enjoy their company. It's six-thirty pm, and things are quieter now. Mellow. I've got my left hand on the wheel, no need to rush, my right arm stretching up behind me. Magic hour sunlight fades, washing the open expanse of Third in a muted blue-gray. The accumulated sensation of all this makes the thought hit me- right now, I love this more than anything. During this particular moment, today, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. I have found myself, if only for a moment, here, in this growing space.

--

It's a pleasure to be sharing stories again. I told you this thing wasn't going anywhere. Work on my show has been exhausting and rewarding, and still very much in full swing- I hope you're able to make it. If you're a reader or visitor to my blog, that means you're invited!