ember

ember
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo

I love flying at this time of day, nose pointed West, just as the sun's going down. With a good tailwind you can ride the sunset for hours.

Or three, like we did tonight.

Posting by cameraphone on the descent into O'Hare.

no coffee; pepsi.

no coffee; pepsi.
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo

Congratulations, Boston: You've joined the percentage of the world's population without reasonable access to clean drinking water.

It's not the exclusive group you might think »

Posting by cameraphone from Logan International Airport, Boston.

landline

ORD, Terminal 3 (I think).

holga.

DIoA

Because of this thing
People think they are in hell
Instead of Denver.

One of 200 haiku written to protest Luis Jimenez's Mustang sculpture that Denver area developer Rachel Hutin dropped off at the mayor's office this week, according to the Wall Street Journal.

As a former Denver resident I wasn't aware of the controversy surrounding the installation of Mr. Jimenez's Mustang at the Denver International Airport until my brother sent me the clipping. He went to school with Hutin and got a charge out of seeing her pic in that funky sketch format that the WSJ uses.

I got a charge out of the story, which included telling details about the Mustang's "light-emitting diode" eyes "which burn red like taillights," as well as this spooky plot point:

Mr. Jimenez was killed working on the sculpture. In 2006, while he was hoisting pieces of the mustang for final assembly in his New Mexico studio, the horse's massive torso swung out of control and crushed the 65-year-old artist.

Personal opinion? I'm all for art that makes people squirm, and I think it's good for Denver to be a little uncomfortable with Mr. Jimenez's sculpture (may he rest in peace). Colorado harbors a heavy-handed preference for a nearly neutered realism in its public art, and as a result there's a preponderance of tedious pastoral bronzes peppered about public places.

Speaking of real: Once I met a horse in the wild and I nearly soiled myself. I was walking with a friend on the island Vieques, a brief ferry ride from Puerto Rico. The horses run wild on Vieques, which sounds charming until you encounter one at a full gallop on a lonely road with only a scrabble of jungle to hide in. Hide I did, and you would have too: they're fiercer and stronger and wilder than you would imagine they could be. The one I encountered was quasi-domesticated, and even this one, sprung from any memory of a paddock, scared the bejesus out of me.

I can only imagine that Mr. Jimenez got the spirit of the Mustang just right.

p.s. Says my brother: "The horse is a bit demonic. Maybe the setting just isn't right. I think they should at least turn off the eyes."

a plane wants to fly.

Overheard.

Ann Arbor, MI
holga.

a tale of two airports

This was Tuesday: Detroit International.


This was Wednesday: Los Angeles International.


And now, Thursday: home.

philadelphia story

philadelphia story
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo.

This is Philly.

Or a very small slice of it, any way. At the airport.

Next to the women's restrooms.

Which were closed for cleaning.

Which necessitated a much larger
exploration of the Philadelphia Airport.

Posting by cameraphone.

in flight movie

US flight patterns, as recorded by the FAA and visualized by the Celestial Mechanics Project -- the (quicktime) Movie »

Beautiful, beautiful.


Here's the main index page, with several other visualizations »

via beebo_wallace & the Celestial Mechanics project.

cacophony

Garbage shot. I know. But there's something about it I like.

Posting by cameraphone from LAX.

Praying they let us land at ORD.
Where 4 inches of snow awaits me.

tarmacsalata

Know what I love about air travel? Tarmacs.

Their painted lines and patterns, the strange vocabulary of their directional signs, arcana that only the initiated in their strange head gear can understand.

I love that tarmacs are mostly always concrete (is this for visibility? I read once that concrete roadways afford more visibility than asphalt; produce fewer nighttime fatalities. Or is it simply because most tarmacs were laid during the age when most roads were paved with concrete?).

I love the gridded blocks of concrete that make the wheels bump a bit when we taxi. Love the red and blue lights that line the tarmac, tiny little sentries that keep me safe from harm.

Love the long low grassy medians that define these crazy divided highways, these ultimate open roads; love the patient courtship that planes play with each other as they find their spots before taking to the sky: cozy, approximate, but never too close.

the interpretation of dreams

Recently I have had a preponderance of dreams regarding luggage.

In one dream I was in the hotel room that I was in fact occupying, sleeping without any pajama bottoms, which I was in fact doing, and someone came into my room and took all the pants from my luggage and closet -- leaving me with no pants to wear. Not even pajama bottoms. I had business meetings scheduled, and awoke wondering how I should conduct myself in a business meeting while wearing no bottoms.

Last night I dreamed that a tidal wave was about to hit the building where I was staying -- I felt vaguely responsible for the tidal wave somehow, but was largely intent on getting myself and my luggage out of its trajectory. I grabbed my bag and fled to the nearest hilltop, with many others, yet feeling wholly alone. I realized as I cleared the ridge that I had left my toothbrush back in the building I had just fled.

Just compiled a Flickr set of airport camerphone shots -- I suspect it'll grow some more in the days to come, with three more destinations planned for the next two weeks.