Fear and Loathing in Lufkin TX

Beverage: yesterday's margaritas

Toast: to the dreams of our ancestors!

When last we were in Lufkin, things were going well. We had seen several important civic buildings named for a famous Kurth and been delighted by the Kurth Curveballs. But the specter of the snake in Eden had been raised by a weird guy hanging around a closed library. And no one had declared me King yet. We resume the story as the afternoon light falls.

Next stop on the Kurth Tour was the proud-sounding Kurth Investment Corporation. This must be a bunch of think tankers who keep the family fortunes flowing. Maybe they will offer me a job or something. So off I go.

The address is near the railroad and on the way I see this mural.

It's one of a series of five in the town. This one was on the back of a railroad headquarter building. I later learned that it was on the site of an old platform that exploded. The woman on the train is Angeline, for whom the county is named. She was a native that helped the early settlers a lot apparently. I was hoping the big guy would be Joseph Kurth, but no such luck.

But it was nice to see the railroad history on display. I bet Kurth Investment Corp has plenty of fingers in the railroad pie. I'll just drive on over and...

What's this now? This is Kurth Investment headquarters? I check the map and Google again, and yes this is the address. It's locked up and surrounded by the low, rusted barbed wire fence you see here. I look around like maybe there is a different entrance or side door. All I see is a muscle bound woman sitting outside of the gym next door. She watches me curiously, so as I loop back around I figure I will ask her about the company. But when our eyes make contact, her face tells me to go get back the car. I was beginning to realize I was literally on the wrong side of the tracks.

I declare Kurth Investment a wash and punch in the next destination: Kurth Street Store or something. I'm thinking I would go buy a Rockstar and pay its a credit card. Give the counter girl a chance to meet a real Kurth.

So the directions come out over the GPS in the Aussie accent that Matt programmed for it. "Turn left on Mar-tin Luthorking bull-ah-vard." Uh oh. The neighborhood is getting sketchier and sketchier. With the last two encounters I'm thinking I should be cautious.

When I get to the grocery, there are a handful of young men out front. And suddenly, I'm scared. I decide not to buy energy drinks, I'm just going to take a snap and get out of there. So I pull up, lean across the passenger seat and shoot this shot:

The guy in the picture sees me do this and starts yelling. Hey! Hey! Maybe taking pictures of possible drug dealers wasn't so smart. He's hopping over to his friend and the two of them are shouting now and gesturing at me. I put it in gear and drive off. In the rear view I can see them talking animatedly.

I would go back the following morning to get the shot of the store below, but even then with the store closed, I was cautious, looking around. It was probably all fine and just boisterousness, but I had caught the fear vibe and couldn't shake it easily.

In the morning I also visited the downtown. The sign on the marquee said that there was an Elvis impersonator in town. And the coffee shop looked like it was set up for music at night. There was even a little beer garden with Christmas lights in the back.

But I had seen enough of the Kurthful Lufkin for now. I slung my camera and headed north.

 

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Lufkin Day

Beverage: Patron margarita

Toast: Kurth Kids Can!

I got up this morning and drove the five hours to Lufkin TX. According to Wikipedia, Lufkin is "deep in the heart of East Texas". The drive was long enough to be sure, but there was pretty much nothing to see on the way. There was a BBQ joint that had a smoker in the shape of a giant revolver. Smoke came out the barrel. I might have to go on the way back.

But I knuckled down and made the trip. Here was my chance to be the King of Lufkin: they love Kurths there and here I was. First chance for glory: checking into the hotel. I arrived at the place and stepped into the lobby. I beamed at the girl and handed her my ID expectantly. She runs it through the machine and there is pause. And then.... Nothing. No hail to King Kurth. Just... Nothing.

She creates the key wordlessly and gives me the keys. Hurm. I cover the pain with a brave smile and retreat to the room.

Time to get my gear in order before the afternoon light sets in. I switch the battery out on the D40 and then flip it on. Oopsies: I gave Matt the SD card in Maine back in July and never replaced it. I find a Target on the way to my rest stop and head out. Target in Lufkin is like WalMart in Texas. Oh the humanity. I buy a card and struggle to get it out go the pack. I finally do but the camera doesn't like it, so I'm screwed. Off to the first stop: Kurth Primary School.

This is the one I was worried about. A single guy taking photos at an elementary school raises eyebrows these days, so I was glad to find the place empty.

 

Next stop: Kurth Library.

It's only a few miles away so here I am. At first, the place looks abandoned, so I'm happy. But then I see a lone guy hanging around. Hmm. It's closed and a hundred degrees out: what is he doing there? I set about to shooting the outside sign and then head over to the main entrance.

Five or ten snaps and he's on me. What am I doing? I explain briefly and we chat about the building. We go back and forth a bit. He's an out-of-work electrical contractor who grew up in Lukin. The more we talk, the weirder he gets and the more I want to scram. By the time he's talking about the doom of Lufkin, I'm hiking it across the empty parking lot and waving a hurried greeting back to the gentleman.

I loop around to the the other side of the building to see if there is another opening with a sign. Just a loading dock. So I type my next destination into the GPS. Back around to the front and I see the contractor talking to a young woman. They see my mustang and stop talking and watch me wordlessly, they turn their heads following me own the street.

It's a little unsettling and plants a seed within me.

 

 

Next: trouble on Martin Luther King blvd.

 

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el Oro Bastardo

Beverage: Chardonnay spritzer

Toast: to free time and free minds

I have been a crabby bastard lately. I've had some physical complains- like a sore back, but I think that comes from the work stress that's at the root of my ill humor.

One of my colleagues gently teased me about my abrupt attitude after a recent project meeting. I didn't know who amongst a group of five people could make a decision so I said something like "ok, marketing- can you decide this?" Innocently intended, but from a crabby guy it might have come out cold. I know these people after all.

Point taken.

This was earlier in the week. We were chatting on Instant Message today and she made a joke about the matter again. Of course I expressed how I hoped no one had taken it negatively. Her response was to send me an animated gif of my head in a Mexican wrestling mask bouncing around.

What what?

Joel bought me a wrestling mask at a gas station in Detroit a few years ago. I wore it for Halloween in the California field office. My wrestling name was el Oro Bastardo: the Gold Bastard. Someone there smartly took a photo of that bastard. It has come back to haunt me a number of times since. The dancing head gif being the latest.

Today I laughed it off. It helped me take a step backward up and out of the stress. There's no profit in fighting or being a cranky bastard. Now it's time to try a beat the dog days heat with a light drink and prepare for the weekend.

 

 

 

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Filler

Beverage: cold Tom Yum soup. Bleagh!

Toast: know when to fold 'em

I was reading a book as a youth one time and got to wondering why there were like three blank pages at the beginning before the real book even started. I figured it was wasteful and frankly I was irritated at all that pointless page-turning.

So I asked my father about it. What's with these extra pages? He said, son every fool knows that all books have a total number of pages divisible by four. This was clearly a mad lie told for some inexplicable reason. Two pages I could understand but four made no sense. "If you don't believe me sport" my father said "why don't you count one yourself and see?" Then he ambled off leaving me staring at a mystery that could only be solved by more fruitless page-turning. I licked my finger and started in.

That takes me to this, or something like it.

This is filler and it's taking up a lot of time lately.

Filler is the publisher of a book adding content to meet some constraint or requirement. Like adding three blank pages to get to four. Except that in some contracts these days the sets comes in groups of eight or even twelve. Yes.

Thornier is content filler. This is commonly caused because you want to keep things together or apart. There is a war between the needs of the book and the cost of the paper. Each small change can save or cost millions of dollars.

But of course we've looked at all of this before and did all we could think of then. Now its done and the task is even harder.

So, I read through competitor's books and try once again to solve the mystery of the fruitless turning pages.

P.s: do not drink cold Tom Yom soup.

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Hobo Sign: the Sucker

Beverage: green tea

Toast: to your health, sir

This is the sign of the sucker- the easy mark. The person in the house marked with this glyph is a fool for the taking.

Most of the hobo signs have a gentle, almost quaint vibe. Look out for the mean ole' dog! Hey! That feller is a policeman! This one is a little more sinister message. And is it me, or is this thing kind of phallic?

I guess calling them hobos or highway is a little romantic as well. These are homeless people we're talking about after all. There was a funny piece on the news last night. The gist was that they built a park and walking trail along a river and now they are noticing a lot of homeless people nearby. Of course there are shocking tales of public urination and lots of What about the children!!? Some woman is leading a crusade or something.

Cut to a hobo who went by the name of Drummer or something. "It's a disgrace!" Drummer declared to the camera. "They built this trail and now all these people are around all the time! Listen, I don't like most people, and I certainly don't like you" he declared affably. "But I've been here for years and I have no intention of going anywhere. So build yer trails somewhere else!" Big smile and a wave.

Drummer was clearly the winner of the congeniality prize and stole the show from the offended crusader.

 

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Chucks

Beverage: same as yesterday

Toast: to old shoes!

 

I bought these at DSW in South Windsor. I remember thinking long and hard before buying them. Did I want to be the guy in these shoes? They seemed childish. Plus, with feet my size sometimes shoes look a lot different on. These seemed clownish, and I didn't want to be that.

But at length, Beth sauntered by and said something like "Oh. Buy those." So I did. Sometimes i think I should hire Beth to walk around behind me telling me what to do.

It took a while to warm up to them but now I even wear them to work on Fridays occasionally. It's funny: but the shoes you are wearing definitely affects your mood and mindset. I remember in school when I was a punk rocker type I had these old draggy engineer boots with a broken buckle. They clang-dragged when I walked and it gave me a feeling of menace that I enjoyed a little too much.

One semester when I was cartooning for the paper I had to go deliver some political comics. It was the first day back from break and unbeknownst to me, the whole newspaper staff was having a big meeting. Here I come clang-dragging my leather jacketed long haired self down the stairs to the bullpen. The whole place was a tomb, everybody staring at me. Big open space and

Clang..... Drag.

Clang..... Drag.

It must have taken 7 seconds to cross the room to the advisor and drop my stuff but it seemed like seven minutes. The advisor liked me because I was the only political cartoonist they had and he was all grins, stifling a laugh at the discord between grungy me and the bright-faced newsies all put out that their meeting was disturbed. I grinned at him and then snarled back at the young journalists. He was the only one who knew I was harmless.

Personally, I blame the shoes.

 

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No Bread Sammich

Beverage: back to the Diet Dr Pepper

Toast: hard work is good work

In a recent post I referenced Nutella. I had never had it before a few weeks ago. Maybe you hadn't either. So, I thought I'd take some quick snaps.

Now, they say Nutella is a hazelnut spread with a light mocha touch.

That's a lie.

This stuff is chocolate sauce. It isn't super-sweet, though so it's more pleasant than a pure desert topping. I didn't look at the back of the label, but I don't think it's too good for you,

The point of this post though, is less about the delicious bread spread that I have eaten half without actually making a sandwich, and more about a thing I noticed in the process today.

When I shoot some of these, I'm usually letting the shots go where it seems interesting. But their use is usually in the back of my mind. Typically with the macro stuff, I want to get an establishing shot as well. You can't just plunge into the micro details without taking the reader in with you. I also choose the shots based on how they go together. I don't always end up with the 'best' one, which is surprising to me sometimes. It could be interesting, but if it doesn't support the story or work with the others it has to go. Maybe I'll push it out to Flickr like some of the dead flowers.

I also invent rules for editing the snaps down. The rules are different each time, but it helps me to delete the dozens that go away each time. This item must be in focus. Need to have some green. The fire must be more interesting than the bill. Things like that. I go through a couple rounds of deletes.

I don't suppose this is mind-blowingly revealing or unique. I just noticed it as I was going by. It's interesting to be committed to a regular project.

Speaking of going by, I gotta find some real food. I can't eat fried chicken and Nutella tonight. Although, a Nutella mole sounds ok...I'm off!

 

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