garrison beau scott

I think this was the very first image of mine that delved into the world of music for titular inspiration. The dramatic lines and texture combined to invoke, in me, the song from the band Phish, entitled, “Chalkdust Torture.” The chalkdust part coming from the texture, the torture coming from the lines.

Now, through the years, Phish has gotten kind of a bad rap regarding their lyrics. Granted, they delve into some pretty far-off subject matter and ask for a certain suspension of disbelief in some of their stories, but when you can say something along the lines of…

“But who can unlearn all the facts that I’ve learned
As I sat in their chairs and my synapses burned
And the torture of chalk dust collects on my tongue
Thoughts follow my vision and dance in the sun
All my vasoconstrictors they come slowly undone
Can’t this wait till I’m old? Can’t I live while I’m young?”

Well, damn it, isn’t that all that matters in a song? Can you really ask anything more from a lyric?

Having practically grown up on Balboa Island, I’ve been all over that chunk of man-made land. Most, if not all, of my memories are bathed in the golden sun that shown down on my childhood. The sand and warm concrete of the bayfront, droplines off the public piers, and shaved ice rivers running down our arms, staining our forearms an alien blue to match our tongues.

Back then, the camera was just something that my dad carried around. Now that it is my camera, when I take it back to Balboa Island, I have a hard time finding those memories, so I’m making new ones. These however aren’t awash in the glow of day, rather they’re cloaked in the shadows of night.

This is a Balboa Island I rarely saw as a snot-nosed kid. No matter how far we were allowed to travel on our own, even as 8 and 9 year olds, we always had to be home before dinner, that is to say, before dark. The Island is a completely different place at night, one I look forward to exploring.

Much like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the Prague Castle dominates this amazing city. Views of the compound, which includes the breathtaking St. Vitus Cathedral, can be found from just about anywhere you might wander. And taking a good snap is just as easy.

For me the hard part was to not take too many. But I’m positive you could visit the city and do nothing but find great images of the castle and be completely satisfied with your trip.

If there is a heaven/nirvana/utopia/paradise/comfort inn with 72 virgins waiting, and I’m granted entrance, and for some reason the great creator decides to let us chose our own version of said bliss, well, I want it to go something like this.

I’m transported back in time to a place called Magoo’s Pizza Parlor in Menlo Park, Californaia, circa May 1965, the 5th of May to be exact. Just in time to catch what was one of the very first live performances of a band called the Warlocks. But not the very first show, for that I would have to pick Menlo College sometime in April. Date uncertain. But Magoo’s sounds like a cool place, and besides, they have pizza there, which is what anyone who’s designing their own heaven would list in the top 10 of things to be sure to have.

And then I’d make sure to be at the Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco on December 10th, 1965 when the Warlocks became the Grateful Dead. And then I’d go see them the next night at The Big Beat in Palo Alto. A week later at Muir Beach Lodge and then every show after that all the way up to 1995 after they had played 2,317 concerts. Not one of them the same.

After it was all over, and Phil closed up shop with the final Box of Rain, I’d go back and do it all over again. In between shows I’d walk around a perpetual Shakedown Street with my OM-2 and an infinite supply of TMZ, eating gooeyballs and grilled cheese sandwiches, trading smiles for stickers for patches for tape covers for sticky, for a ride to the next show.

And taking lots of pictures.

Point the camera with a cheap plastic lens right at the sun and see what happens. Break rules, ignore them. Film is cheap, 12 chances at finding success. And never stop defining it for yourself, the definitions of other rarely make sense.