Educate me on the concept of Tipping

Just back from Florida road trip. Lots of diners and restaurants (and bars). This is on my mind, and I want to write about it before I forget it:

So I totally get it about Tipping in a real restaurant. The waiter comes, and he takes your order, and he brings you your food, and when you’re finished, you get up and leave, and you don’t have to take your tray over to the trash bin and cram the whole thing down the chute. I get it. I’m a good Tipper in that scenario. But what about those other Grey Areas, and they seem to be creeping up more than ever? I’m not bitching; I just want to get educated, so I can have a Position on this, when I’m standing somewhere with a plastic wine cup in my hand, and the topic comes up.

What is it about America, where it’s set up this way? Where the waiter or waitress can legally get paid a poverty wage from the Restaurant, and therefore they’re FORCED to survive on tips? Who invented this law? Can it be repealed? If you were a waiter, wouldn’t it be sort of embarrassing in a way, like you’re down on your knees or something, having to suck up to the customer, in order to get paid enough to make your rent? Why waiters? Why not auto mechanics, who lay on their back on some dolly, underneath my car, and have dirt fall in their eyes, and oil squirt in their face, in the dead heat of summer? Why not framing carpenters, who balance on temporary 2×4’s, on the roof, and hope not to fall? Arent’ these people busting their ass a lot more than a Starbucks employee, who’s slaving over a espresso machine, in constant 72 degree weather, all the while listening to Sheryl Crow or that Ray LaFontagne guy?

Or what about this? You go into a burrito joint, and it’s one of those line deals, where you walk down the line and tell them what to pile into your burrito? Do THOSE people get paid a real wage, but the people who bring you more fruit juice are “waiters”, so they get paid a fraction of what the guacamole guy gets? I’m dead serious here. Are those people slopping on the black beans considered to be “cooks”, or “waiters”? So then, you get to the end of the line, where you pay, and you give them your VISA, and then slip comes back, and it’s got that dreaded EMPTY SPACE left open for GRATUITY. And you stand there, and you think, “Well fuck, what SERVICE did I get for this tip? I stood in line in front of the fat guy that couldn’t decide between steak or extra steak, and then I carried my plastic tray to my (dirty) table, and then when finished, I carried my trash to the (overflowing) trash bin”. What service? Why a tip? But yet, being the lameass gutless spineless wimp that I am, I always slap on an extra 20% in that section, and then silently complain about it under my breath.

Who wrote this law, and can we change it?

I remember traveling to Berlin with my friend Wolf, and on the first day, we go to this beautiful outdoor garden for beers and lunch. The check came, and I reached for it, and he told me, “Round it up to the next dollar, if you want, but no more. This is their JOB, just like any other kind of worker. They get a fair Wage.” I just thought it was great.

The only ones that truly make me mad are the ones where you do your own schlepping for everything, yet, they STILL want a tip. And usually, it’s in some hippie dippie artsy coffee shop, where the guy behind the counter has got on $300 jeans.

Even weirder is the “automatic tip for tables of five or more”. And I was in one restaurant last week, and in the fine print, it says, “18% gratuity added to tables of five or more; tables of four or more, it’s left up to the manager’s discretion”. I thought, WTF? What is the scene here — do the manager and the waiter conspire, behind the bar, and the waiter tells the manager, “Yeah, that one guy wanted more lemon with his Diet Coke, so let’s add on the 18% automatic tip on their bill”, and then the manager says, “Yeah, you’re SO right. The gall of that guy, wanting more lemon”.

And then one night, about three years ago, we’re out with clients, and we’re at a nice place, and several bottles of wine have been poured, so they add on the automatic 18%, but then, they STILL leave the Gratuity Line blank, in case you want to tip more(!). So I’m hammered, and I reach for the bill, and I add on another 20% to the already-tipped-on check. But I’m hammered, so I don’t realize it til the next day, when I find the wadded up receipt in my wallet. That day, I did have the courage to call the manager on the phone and “express my concern over their policy”. (And I’ve never been back since).

Something is wrong in this whole equation, or else I’m missing something. What am I missing here….?

On The Road: The A1A Treasure Hunt

I couldn’t deal with that weird week between Christmas and New Years, when it feels like the whole world just leaves town and hibernates. So I booked a last-minute flight to St. Augustine for a short little road trip. I’m not sure why I chose St. Augustine; I had originally wanted to explore the Lafayette, Louisiana area, but maybe that comes another time. I think I ended up picking St. Augustine for the weather; I’m just not a wintertime person at all. Nashville has been socked in with cold winds and rain and that Seattle blow-your-brains-out grey muck, and I was just needing some sunshine. I’d last come here when I was a tiny kid — we still have this tiny BW snapshot of me in front of a giant tree with spanish moss. Something about the history of the place, and something about the A1A highway and (hopefully) many of those 1950s motor court motels are still around. I’m in sort of a 1970’s color palette mood lately, and maybe some of that imagery would be nice.

Today, outside of the downtown historic area of St. Augustine, I found this great area called Lincolnville. It’s an african-american neighborhood, filled with great architecture and history. Block after block of historic homes. Near the water. Spanish moss hanging everywhere.

St. Augustine is an interesting mix of people — there’s a college there, so you’ve got the young kid energy, mixed with tourist energy, and mixed with historic energy. The downtown area is wonderful; feels like New Orleans. Best navigated on foot or bicycle. Will head back over there tomorrow and see what I find. If they’d just tone down the kitschy/tourist vibe a little bit, the town would be much more interesting. My feeling is that you can make it appealing to tourists without having to have TShirt shops on every streetcorner.

I’m also shooting film on this trip. No digital. It’s a bit scary, not being able to look down and knowing that you nailed the exposure, but something in me says “keep it simple; shoot film”. So it’s a Hassie and a couple of lenses, (and an on-camera flash to boot). Again, it’s 1975 all over again…

I do feel that this might be one of my last “treasure hunt” types of road trips. There’s something about this approach that’s bugging me. I’m not sure what. I hate that feeling, when you pull up in front of someone’s house, and you want to shoot something near the street, and I get all nervous that somebody’s gonna shoot me or something. So it ends up being this frantic, hurried approach — grab the camera, set the exposure in the car before you get out, and then get the shot and get the hell out of there. It just feels wrong somehow, even though my intentions are pure. Maybe I need a set of cojones like Garry Winogrand, in those YouTube videos, where he just stands in the streets and points the camera and flash right at the people coming at him — no questions; no “can i do this, do you mind?”; just blast away. But that has never been my style. But maybe that’s why he’s “Winogrand” and I’m just another Schmoe.

The Lingering Effects of GreyGoose in The South

I am not a Drinker. Even one drink, and my entire next day is shot. And inevitably, the next day, I end up in some bad diner, ordering Beige Food on a Beige Plate. May I introduce you to my lunch today: Turkey and Dressing; Fried Corn; Cornbread; Squash; and not pictured: Beige Fried Okra.

They say, “Hey dumbass, drink a glass of water before you go to bed”, but it does not help one bit. I am a lightweight.

The Modern Measuring Stick for Success

I ran across this post today from Joerg. The Alec Soth quote, along with the lingering Chris Buck interview on Rob Haggart’s site, has somehow lodged in my brain, and won’t break free. (Make sure and read Part One of Chris Buck as well, but Part Two is where the meat resides).

I should have labeled this blog post “The Overnight Sensation”. Wasn’t that a famous reference to the band Aerosmith — wasn’t there a quote where Steven Tyler joked about the band being a “Twenty Year Overnight Success”? Years and years and years of playing bad Holiday Inns and nasty clubs, and then one day, as in the snap of a finger, they’re Superstars?

All these posts are about time lines, and about putting in the hours. And about when to “expect success”, whatever that means.

I see it slightly differently from Chris Buck, in terms of assisting. I assisted in Los Angeles and New York and found it enormously educational. You learn how to deal with clients. You learn how to put on a production. You’re exposed to high-quality make-up and hair and styling. All of these things, even subconsciously, becomes your bar that you set for yourself, when you strike out on your own. (I remember arriving in Los Angeles, the first time, to assist, and I lived with two other assistants in Studio City. I was a green kid from Kentucky — one step up from a mullet. One Saturday, we were having a backyard BarBQ and they sent me to the store for a loaf of bread, and I came back with a loaf of Bunny Bread (white bread), (the bread I was raised on), and they laughed at me and kicked me back into my car to go get a “real” loaf of bread — not sponge bread.

Imagine only working in a WalMart portrait studio in small town America. What would you really ever be exposed to, other than how to run a WhiteLightning power pack and how to open a Bogen umbrella, and how to run a cash register.

I advise all young photographers to assist, and to assist for several years. I even advise fully committing yourself to this task, and even putting your own camera aside for a few years. I’m not advocating to stop thinking for yourself, or to stop seeing for yourself, but to really committing yourself to SERVING someone else and fully be in that role for a short period of time. (Trust me, once you get out on your own, shooting your own stuff, you’ll wish for sure that you could find someone that was fully committed to assisting; if you find them, you’ll probably hire them full time). In short, if you’re going to assist, be the best damn assistant that you can be. There are plenty of years left to shoot.

I take things from that Alec Soth quote even for myself, at age 49. There’s something about shooting digital that says “fast fast fast”, in a way that might not be so good. I know when I shoot something on digital, I feel this rush to get back to the computer to process it and SEE it. Maybe, just maybe, it would be time better spent to just hang in that same location for a while, instead of quickly heading back to the computer. Maybe whatever’s meant to happen in that location hasn’t fully happened yet. Maybe there’s more to shoot. There’s something about shooting 220 film again in the Hasselblad that’s made me slow down, (“because I know I the film lab is not running C41 until Tuesday, and today is Sunday! Oh, the crisis — to have to wait THREE DAYS to get the film run!”)

But you could take that same mentality and zoom it out to “success in your career”. When SHOULD you succeed? When you’ve been shooting for three years? Five years? Ten years? And what defines success? Your first solo show, (but you’re still living with three other people in Williamsburg?) Or your first ad campaign, (but you’ve got to borrow money to rent the gear?) I’m not even sure what I’m saying here, but I do meet a lot of young people that seem bewildered. They’re not really busting ass shooting, but they’re still bewildered. I kinda liked that line about Chris Buck living with his parents in order to save money. Definitely won’t win him any “cool awards” but you might not argue with where he is in his life right now. I don’t know him, but he seems like a nice guy. Seems to have his values right and his head on straight.

If I had any advice:

1. Assist only for the people who’s work you really love.
2. Live near a good magazine store, (like that one on 42nd, between 6th and 7th).
3. Live way below your means.
4. Avoid credit cards, beyond the basics to rent a car.
5. Keep a good group of friends that’ll push you, and tell you the truth.
6. Live near a good pizza place, and Indian restaurant. (Nothing to do with photography; I just love pizza and Indian food).
7. Watch out that you don’t accumulate too much STUFF. Stay lean and mean. (My friends are laughing now).
8. Assist, because it’s a great way to see the world, (on someone else’s dime).
9. Be patient.
10. Go to the gym. (This last one is for me).

Addendum added Dec. 17: The classic assisting story is usually Hiro assisting Avedon, (for many years). I couldn’t find much on the web, but I did stumble on several posts from a guy named Earl Steinbicker, who assisted Avedon in the 50’s and 60’s:

Link One.

Link Two.

Link Three.

Link Four.

These are obviously out of date, but it still shows clearly what you’re exposed to when you commit to assisting someone great, early in your career.

Sunday drive in Nature

Clyde insisted on being taken to the park today. So off we go. He’s sniffing around, and we come upon a wild herd of reindeer and bunnies, right in the middle of the city.

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And then, headed home, we’re confronted by giant heads on the side of the Christie’s bus, on 8th Avenue South. It’s just too weird, when you’re about to fork right on 8th, with that awful Greek statue in front as well. I know this has absolutely nothing to do with Nature, but this scene is just so weird that you can’t just drive on by.

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2009 Jack Daniels “Squires” calendar shipping

This week, our most recent Jack Daniels project hit the mail. This one is called “Hidden Places”; some of the little-known, undiscovered morsels of Lynchburg, Tennessee, (which is hard for a place where the population is only 361). Click on the photo above, or follow this link, and just keep hitting the Right Arrow.

Art Director: Jeff Porter
Creative Director/Writer: Nelson Eddy
Assistants: Derrick Hood, Casey Brooks, Joel Hood
Clothing Stylist/Props: Shannan Shepard
Pull A Rabbit Out Of a Hat: Randall Fanning

Here’s also the video of the barnstormer flying over us:

Glasses Lying Everywhere

Glasses lying on coffee table

Was having some tea and checking email, and glanced down to see a nice little play on light and images, through an extra pair of reading glasses.

Revisiting my Hometown: Childhood Memories

Our grocery story building (now a dance studio)

Yesterday, I drove up to visit my mother and go to lunch. She’s 78. As we’re driving through town, I looked over at the building that my father used to lease, when I was a kid. We had a chain of grocery stores, similar to a Mapco, or SevenEleven. Right in the main drag of Bowling Green, Kentucky. From the time I was twelve years old or so, I worked in this building, bagging groceries, and later running the cash register. It’s so strange when you spend so much time in a building, and then you come back later, and it’s another type of business. What caught my eye, as we drove by yesterday, was that the entire length of all the plate glass windows — maybe thirty running feet — was made up of these trophies. Very surreal, even if I’d never spent any time there. There were these red curtains covering all the plate glass, so that added this odd mystery to the building. What was going on inside? No sign of any sort; just red curtains. At first glance, it came off more like a porn place than a dance studio. But then, these trophies in the window, running off into eternity.

{Link to larger image).

I’ve always liked that Winogrand quote, about how he liked to wait a good while to edit a project, to let the related emotions wear off of the images. Like they were attached to the photos or something, but eventually, they would fade away. He didn’t want his memories of the being there to affect how he judged the photos. For me, looking at this image of this building, with these trophies, this picture means SO MUCH to me, but it’s because I spent about seven formative years of my life there, learning how to talk to people, and how to show up for work on time, and how to stock a grocery shelf. Yet, I can see how someone detached, unrelated, would look at this photo, and think WTF? it’s just a brick building.

I can remember back to maybe the mid 60’s, and in this small town, there was a very old law on the books — they called it “The Blue Law” for some reason. It required every business to be closed on Sunday. (Small town in the south). But my father saw it otherwise, and he began to open this store on Sunday, and then the Christians clamped down, so the word got out that the Sheriff would be there to arrest him when he opened on one particular Sunday. The local TV news crew was there to photograph it. He turned the key to open the door, and they arrested him on the spot. Seemed highly dramatic and scary at the time, but now, seems hilarious.

So then, going home on I-65, I look over and see this classic mobile home, sitting alone in a large field, but decorated with Christmas lights. This golden light coming out of the blue darkness. All that was missing was the required Trans-Am, or ‘69 Camero, parked out front. Somewhere in the distance, a banjo was playing.

Mobile Home, right off of 65.

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You know you’re a Loser when…

… you use a Banana from your scheduled Oatmeal/Banana/Raisins breakfast for an Incense Burner. Yet, oddly, it works so well — an almost limitless amount of choices in where to stick the next incense, (to cover the smell of the cocker spaniel). I should send my invention to the Swiss Miss girl.

Yet another banana gives its life for a secondary greater calling.

Committing to your “F.U. Book”

Someone sent me this link the other day; an article written by Doug Menuez. At first, it seemed like another one of those Dr. Phil or Ian Summers things, where you’re supposed to hug your Inner Child, or Follow Your Heart, or do ReBirthing and Get Back In Touch. But as I read on, he got past a lot of that and did make some good points. One in particular was about really spending some time, identifying what is unique about the way that only you see the world, and then creating a book that’s filled with that, instead of sitting there, trying to fill your book with impressive tearsheets that you think will impress some Art Buyer somewhere. But really honing in on — “What is it that I do better than most anyone?” Or I think of it this way, “What is it that I do that would make someone from Manhattan want to fly me there, rather than hiring just another local person?”

The thing in the article that really stood out was his concept of creating what he called a “Fuck You Book”. This book would be the one where you put it all on the line, and say, “This is who I am”, and you roll the dice. I love that concept. I’ve tried it a couple times, then chickened out.

I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day, and he told me, “So what would be in YOUR Fuck You Book today….?” It sorta took me aback for a second. Not sure I had an immediate answer for him, but it certainly got my wheels turning.

“Milk” in theatres now. Don’t miss it.

Above is the trailer. And below, well, is just another reason to know the truth about the FoxNews channel. After the Fox clip ends, there’s also some nice quotes from Milk himself, before his death.

Sean Penn knocks it out of the park in this film. Oscar-worthy for sure. And somehow, with the inauguration right around the corner, this is a good film to see. Don’t miss this film.

Odetta Holmes, 1930-2008

Here’s a nice Obit in the NY Times too. Anyone that influenced Bob Dylan is alright by me.