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When an iPhone isn’t enough

Filed Under: Uncategorized by Al Belote — Leave a comment
September 10, 2009

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Sometimes, typing notes into an iPhone draws the wrong kind of attention. Like in church (although this is not a rule…and it’s probably becoming more accepted—it’s more an issue of my feeling self-conscious). So…what’s the alternative? Well—In my case, it’s the palm of my hand, and if I run out of space, my fingers. Of course, I had to take a photo before the information was deleted (washed off). Sometimes I Xerox (yes, Xerox, not photocopy) the notes.

I do get strange looks from friends when they see me walking around with a hand full of notes. It’s actually probably weirder than just using the silly iPhone

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Across the USA by train and car

Filed Under: Uncategorized, cars by Al Belote — Leave a comment
July 15, 2009


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I was just reading about a road trip in the Christian Science Monitor, and it reminded me of the many road trips I’ve taken across the USA starting when I was about three, traveling every summer with my parents from the east coast to the west coast, and back. Above is a map of a trip I took in December 1989. Not strictly a road trip unless you count chemin de fer as road. Claremont, New Hampshire to Los Angeles, California by train (Amtrak) and then back to Baltimore, Maryland by car (an unglamourous Chevy Nova—the small, cheap kind from the 80s), then another train to Claremont, New Hampshire, just in time to save my car from being towed (due to a plow needing to clear fresh snowfall) from the lot where it had been parked for eight days.

Throughout the eight-day trip I was was armed at all times with two Nikons (one for black and white, one for color) and about 40 rolls of film (maybe 30 rolls of Tri-X and 10 rolls of Ektachrome). I felt outrageously wealthy allowing myself the extravagance of unrestrained shooting. But if you think about it, that’s, at most, 1,440 images. You could easily do that in a day or two now with a single digital SLR.

The train portion was with my friend Jeff. The car portion was with my sister-in-law Alison. Jeff and I didn’t have a nice sleeper compartment or anything. We just roughed-it on the standard recliners—snoring neighbors, crying babies and all. Alison and I pretty much drove early morning to late night and stayed in the cheapest, scariest motels possible. Since it was December, we took the most southerly route practical and had not a flake of snow or any precipitation the whole way.

Some random experiences:

Sitting in the entertainment car—the last car—of the Montrealer leaving Claremont, New Hampshire at 11 p.m. bound for Washington, D.C. (we were getting off in New York, though) listening to Kenny Holmes’s keyboard and vocals and wild stories. Sadly, the roll of film I shot of Kenny went into the trash with my breakfast leftovers hours later somewhere in Connecticut.

Trying to sleep with a very loud, clunking wheel under our seats between Philadelphia and Chicago. Waking up at about 3 a.m. to bright amber lights and a freight train blasting by and my face against the window.

Lordsburg, New Mexico: Train engineers having breakfast in the booth next to us. We finished eating and drove off in our car; they finished eating and drove off in a mile-long, three-Santa Fe-locomotive, 100-ton hopper-car freight train!

Odessa, Texas: Doing laundry at 6 a.m. in some no-name laundromat on the edge of town. Driving around taking early-morning photos while my clothes washed and dried and wondering if I’d find my way back to pick them up.

Driving past highway 1111 between El Paso and Pecos on US-180. Watching the moon rise huge over the dry land and wishing I had pliers so I could take the sign, and realizing it was just as well that I didn’t.

Big Spring, Texas: The owner of Cafe Frontera taking our photo to put in the local newspaper as happy patrons. He gave me a mirror with Metalica logo etched into it. I’m not a fan of Metalica, but I graciously accepted it.

Memphis, Tennessee: Paying for a motel room by passing cash through a slot under bulletproof glass. It was the only place we could find (the Royal Oaks Motel) at 2:00 a.m.

Does it get any better than that? Aren’t you due for a road trip?

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Five-year-old design

Filed Under: design by Al Belote — Leave a comment
June 26, 2009

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I made this when I was about five years old. I think it was a school project for mother’s day. I was visiting my mom a few months ago and ran across it. I guess it was a paper weight. I like the color and pattern choices I made.

I would like to say I remember making it. Actually I DO have a vague memory of making it, but not a detailed enough memory to say I remember making the color choices. But, perhaps it’s safe to think it was intuitive and intentional (as opposed to random or chosen by the teacher). Even if it started with a few handfuls of little tiles out of a big bin, it undoubtedly required some intentional placement. In any case, I’m happy with the choices and take pretty much full credit.

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Breakfast at the City Room, Nashua, NH

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June 13, 2009

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One of my favorite places for breakfast is the City Room in Nashua, NH. And I can prove it. Pictured above are just a few of the many receipt tabs that I save every time I go there. It’s a place that still has actual written-out dining checks, so I always grab the little tab at the bottom and record anything notable. In fact I’m there right now. And Nashua has free wireless downtown! I almost always get the Mediterranean omlette.

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Admin Building revisited

Filed Under: Uncategorized, architecture by Al Belote — Leave a comment
June 11, 2009

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While I’m giving accolades to the Admin building, here’s another view, framed by its neighbor across the Plaza, the Colonnade building. On a cold gray winter day the Colonnade looks like part of a battle-damaged science fiction movie spaceport. That’s a compliment, by the way.

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Such a crumbling beauty*

Filed Under: Uncategorized, architecture by Al Belote — Leave a comment
June 10, 2009

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Few people I have talked to in passing love it. Most would say it is stark or brutal (true to the style) or comment on the “unsightly” weathering of the concrete. But I happen to love it, in spite of those qualities. Perhaps, in part, because of those qualities. I like to look down the length of the reflecting pool and then visually run into its solid, soaring, uncompromising solid form. It was built in the early 70s and one might make the case that it symbolizes the aspirations of the organization at the time, just as the cathedrals did for their builders centuries before.

I worked on the 21st floor, the 20th floor, the 19th floor, and the 15th floor. Some were redecorated, but a few still had the jarring greens, oranges, and blues of the vintage 70s decor. And, just before it was shut down to re-emerge as 177 Huntington, I got some great old office supplies including rubber stamps, typewriters, and old file folders (a friend of mine got a dictaphone). Every day I looked forward to walking out of the elevator to the expansive, floor-to-ceiling, thick glass window view of the city.

It’s easy to walk by and shrug it off as just another ugly nondescript concrete sub-skyscraper. But take a closer look for a minute. The wide side’s window grid bracketed by an inverted “L.” The unbroken line of the top row of windows. The sharp point of the double corner and the octagonal narrow end that harmonizes with the domed Church across the plaza. Some nice design wok there. Though there are many buildings of this general configuration from its era, none look quite like this. Maybe it’s just me, but I think this would stand out and be recognizable anywhere, unlike it’s similar neighbors, one a mile to the north and one a mile to the south.

*to borrow a line from Tom Waits.

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You call that a proof sheet?

Filed Under: photography by Al Belote — Leave a comment
June 5, 2009

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I upload my digital photos to iPhoto. I get film processed and burned to cd (no prints). Then I upload whatever is worthy, and then some, to flickr. It’s great. Except for one thing. The proof sheet (and I mean the 8×10 kind on real photo paper) is not part of the experience anymore.

On the left is a Photoshop-generated proof sheet from photos shot on film with my Nikon F3. Not bad. But it lacks the film type and frame number information. It just looks like a sad substitute for a REAL proof sheet. I’m sure there’s a program out there that would generate a more realistic pfoof sheet using a portion of the EXIF data or custom fields. I just haven’t found it yet. In fact I haven’t even looked for it, choosing to rant first.

On the right is a proof sheet from digital photos that I made by hand. I like the type slightly better than the one made with Photoshop.
But it’s still not quite there yet. But it still provides a bit of that proof sheet experience to see all the photos small in one place on a black background. I guess the next step is representing the grease-pencil circles of the best frames. I’ll keep at it.

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Poached Eggs on Mass Pike

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May 31, 2009

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A long, long time ago for a couple months I worked the grill at Howard Johnson’s on the Mass Pike near the Natick exit. I had the crazy idea that I could work the 11pm-7am shift and look for a “real” job during the day (this was just after college). The graveyard shift paid more than the day shift and included a cast of characters that I’m sure were more colorful than the ones you’d find in the daylight: plow operators who had been scraping snow off the Pike since it was built probably, a regular group of State Troopers, my co-worker who had just completed Marine boot camp, and various regular customers.

One of these regulars was the Poached Egg Guy — a dignified but rumpled older gentleman. Looked kind of like William Burroughs now that I think about it. He would show up about 5:45 or 6:00am and at the counter directly across from the opening to the grill area. He would always order two poached eggs and then sit there thin and motionless in his suit, white shirt, non-descript tie, and a hat eyeing me across the stainless steel shelf and heat lights while I juggled his out-of-the-ordinary order with piles of bacon, home fries, and scrambled eggs.

Poaching an egg required a whole bunch of special operations. Getting the awkwardly large and oddly heavy aluminum pot off the wall, filling it with water, lighting the burner, checking the water for boilage, and then, worst of all, dropping the eggs in and monitoring their progress — all while seeing the Poached Egg Guy out of the corner of my eye. And of course, I had never even poached eggs before. I liked to imagine that he worked for some big ad agency in Boston; the kind I wanted to work at. Maybe he wrote slogans for Buick or managed the Pop Tart account. Maybe he would hire me some day if I slid a resume and a few samples his way with perfectly poached eggs. That little silly thought kept me going.

I was always very happy to have the challenge of getting those eggs done just right and keeping the customer happy. I presume the eggs were good; good enough at least that he continued to show up every day and order them without fail.

And now? That Howard Johnsons is an Arby’s or something and I’m the guy ordering eggs during the graveyard shift — only now it’s a Grand Slam at a Denny’s in Lawrence, MA that has free WiFi and I’m surrounded by what I presume to be club-goers after the clubs have shut down for the night. And I wonder, is that Poached Egg Guy is still out there somewhere?

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Nikon F3

Filed Under: design, photography by Al Belote — Leave a comment
May 23, 2009

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My Nikon F3 is the best camera ever. In fact it’s one of those things that has achieved the ststus of family member. After all it’s been through during 20 years of shooting it’s still solid and it’s never let me down. I’ve carried it up mountains, around cities, to Stockholm, London, across the USA on a train trip and many road trips, in rain and cold, and it’s been dropped and smashed into numerous hard surfaces and objects. It’s never been my only camera, but always my favorite. Its current companion is an even older silver Nikon FM (that actually has a bunch of problems and may become a hood ornament on my car).

Back in the day (like on that train trip) I’d carry one Nikon with Tri-X black and white film (the F3) and another with color slide film of some kind (for a long time it was a Nikon FA, which had a great metering system that worked well with the less-forgiving exposure range of slide film), and 24mm, 50mm, and 105mm lenses. So basically I’d be ready for just about anything.

I sold the FA in maybe 1999, when it was still worth something and bought a Nikon F5. I have to say I loved the F5 and the auto-focus with a 55mm macro lens was a real luxury. Many good shots with the Nikon F5, but I sold it in about 2002, feeling that since I was not a professional photographer it was hard to justify tying up that much money in cameras, and it funded a Mac laptop, which WAS a professionally-justifiable expenditure.

I’m never happier (camera or photo-experience-wise) than when shooting with the old F3. (OK, Polaroids are a close second). These days I shoot more digital than anything now. But I still feel there’s nothing like shooting a roll of film. And there’s nothing like the discipline of having to shoot with the knowledge that every time you press the shutter release you’re spending 50ยข and you may only have 24 or 36 frames to work with and you won’t see the results for a few hours or days. Yes. I like the demands of film. It sharpens your focus. (I know…pun, etc.) But it really does.

Aside from the experience of working whit film, it’s the user experience of the Nikon F3 that I really treasure. The weight, the layout of the controls, the feel. The experience of pressing that shutter release when the motor drive is connected. It’s thrilling every time. There’s a visceral and mechanical quality that you don’t get even with a top-of-the-line Nikon digital SLR. Something that says, “I am a machine, you are in control, but don’t take me for granted.”

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Breakfast in Hardin, Illinois

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May 18, 2009

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Hardin, Illinois – I had breakfast here while the regulars talked about whether society or the individual is at fault in the case of bad behavior on the part of teens, and whether you should kill a beaver or an otter and skin and eat them when you’re fishing for something else in the Illinois or Mississippi Rivers (catfish I presume). In fact I overheard a detailed description of the skinning process while I ate my bacon and eggs.

The decor included rustic tables, metal and vinyl chairs, a small stuffed bear on a shelf, two mounted deer heads with antlers, a largemouth bass on a placque, a wagon wheel, photos of breakfast selections, a plastic bald eagle, and a stuffed turkey.

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