Tandem

They Performed at Rockin to Keep Rollin: The Bicycle Revolution. They were the real deal.

I later heard that they would be broadcasted on a local radio show Monday Night. Joe and I tuned in. They sang La Dum (proper spelling maybe). They said that they planned to finally record some music over the Seven Week Break. I said, well, you're going to need some pictures to go along with it. They said, why not.

So that was that, and then we were in the back of this abandoned garden holding up old moldy frames and things, and I had mostly functioning cameras and things everywhere, and thats what we call a photo shoot.

Malorie and Michael

We ran into each other at the train tracks. They were walking together, talking about their romantic future, obviously; I was alone and capturing the aura of the tracks in my box. I took a few pictures of them. I had shot her and her roommates way back when. She asked me about engagements. I responded.

A few weeks later Michael proposed to Malorie at those same tracks.

When she asked me to shoot her engagements, I obliged.

These are the result.

We went bridge jumping this Week.

We jumped from the Plano / Hibbard Brdige, and plummeted into the warm waters of the Snake River. The last time I had an opportunity to jump from a Brdige (the Fourth of July) I turned it down. This time I accepted the challenge, or the temptation; the joy? 

Local people hung around all over the barrier. Some jumped from it. Some cursed. Some cursed. We didn't. Some apologized for us being from Rexburg. We didn't. 

Parker did a back flip. He did a back flip again. Then Jordan did a back flip. Joe thought about it. Parker and Jordan did a back flip together.

I photographed.

 

Taken with my Nikkormatt FT

Confessions of a Bike Rider

I want to get something off of my chest. I ride bikes. But thats not the real confession. I ride bikes, but I'm not a bike mechanic.

I am conflating two bikes into one, presently. Preparing for my epic bike tour back home to Covington, WA. In the process of conflation, I removed my bike stand from one bike, and began to attach it to its destined new bike. I situated it in the right place, and tightened the bolt. I tightened it some more, and some more, and some more; right before the climax I remembered a similar moment, about a year a go, when I over tightened my brakes and stripped the bolt. Right at that moment, the top of my kickstand shattered and snapped. Darn. Pretty weak metal, no? Now I had a broken kickstand.

But thats not all. I managed to bricolier (bricolage) a spacer for the now broken kickstand and attempted to salvage its use. When all was said and nearly done, the kickstand remained a mite too long, so attempted to bend it out farther. No luck. Shortly after applying force, the kickstand snapped into two. Now I held a twice broken kickstand. Most impressive. At this point, I'd like for you, the reader, to realize the intensity of the word "snap" in this instance. This was not your ordinary "snap". This was the kind of life threatening "SNAP" that makes you want to "hide your wife and hide your kids", to look around to make sure nobody can see you because you know they heard you. 

That being said, I don't think anybody heard me, so I confessed to my roommate and his lady inside. They understood.

I am George Simons. I ride bikes, and I break my kickstands not once, but twice in the same night.

One partial Role of Film

I bought the role in the basement of the Romney. I needed something to help maintain my sanity. I figured some exposure would work. I try unsuccessfully not to speak in riddles. Sometimes my photographs are more straight forward. Sometimes their not. You decide.

This is Rexburg.

The News: Keep Rexburg Real

I'm getting married. Rexburg is changing. But that doesn't free us from our civic duty as Rexburgians. It doesn't relinquish us from the burden we carry as patriotic citizens. Instead, it increases the anti. It begs us to deepen our investment in local culture, clarify our geographic identity, and fight to form our reality.

Who are we Rexburg? Who are we BYU-Idaho? Who are we?  Are we just a bunch of unshaven children breaking the honor code? Our are we children of God living to the full privileges of our birth right?

I travelled to Oahu, HI this last semester, and I peregrinated around the island. I saw things that many don't get to see in a life time. I saw roosters being raised for cock fights. I saw families living complete off the grid, habituating houses and reaping from farms established forty years ago. I swam with mating dolphins and saw breaching humpbacks, snorkeled with sea turtles, sold organic produce at a farmers market, spent time with the one I love on innumerable beaches, and slept, homeless, on Waikiki. But most of all, I saw people that cared about their local culture. People protested local issues on hand made signs in their front yard. People raised their children in the tradition of native hawaiian. A tradition and language which  only recently nearly reached death.

"A 1983 survey estimated that only 1,500 people remained in Hawaii who could speak it, most of them elderly. Today there are probably 6,000 to 8,000 Hawaiian-language speakers throughout the state, most of them under the age of 30, said Kalena Silva, professor of Hawaiian studies at the University of Hawaii-Hilo." Star Advertiser.


It was amazing to witness such a turn around happening. I don't suppose to know all of the answers, but I mostly desire that we all be aware of the questions. I desire that we don't allow ourselves get tossed to and fro with every wind of doctrine. I desire that we are aware of the influences touching our lives. 


As for me and mine we're starting off by putting on a bike awareness rally June 30th. It's going to be real. Really real. More details are coming. But let us know if you know of any musicians that have a soft spot in their hearts for the beauty of bicycle transportation. We're gonna make it happen and it's gonna happen big.

 

So get on your bikes and ride- Ride the Revolution!

The logo was taken from Meredith's penny farthing stamp on canvas. She's pretty cool.

So I finally gave in and put my photos through some washes. Everyone else was doing it. This actually marks a relapse for me, since way back when in junior college I was wash and filter crazy- I had a pressure sensitive stylus pad and I was out of control. My sups chill Photog professor told me to lay off the filters as he sipped back on his daily Earl Gray- you just got to focus on the good darks and lights. I don't know, black and white was never my thing, and the only reason I did all those filters in the first place was because my art teacher had called all my other work "chincy"- Chinchy!

So from there, after my mission, I made a purify pilgrimage to cleanse my camera obscura's soul, and my own. After spending months working with people whose life goals were to commit genocide against all camera-tilting-cheesey-over-contrasty-warm-toned wedding photographers, my work became remarkably clean, simple, and sober. And now that I'm out?

Looks like its back to the filters. I think they're rather tasteful.

Except for maybe this next one, but it seems to be what everybody likes.