“Filmmakers and the public are finally given free access to British Pathé’s archive of more than 90,000 reels, filmed between 1897 and 1970. How cool is that?”
Cick the photo for more info & access.
Boy from the stone quarry
He smokes like a man should. Drinks like a man should. I was 15 in my hot tub again last night, taken in as he drank in the beginning of something between us, for the hundredth time again. Cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke billowing out of his mouth, he took a drink and grinned. When he pulled out his Cigar to exhale, the movement of his arm made his collar bone show up like it didn’t before, and I was caught up in being needed in a place that doesn’t know me.
The lights in Binghamton died as I headed East on highway 17. I beat the dash because tonight, this place and I still aren’t getting along. I don’t know that anyone here understands me anymore than they did when I arrived. The darkness closed in like only empty miles of highway can. Empty miles of conversations, choices, nights gone right – nights gone wrong. I passed his street, and wished I could go start a story. But I know how it ends – untidy, unraveled – “you’re not okay with it all baby? I am.”………….cont @
http://www.thestorytellersarms.com/index.php/2010/04/boy-from-the-stone-quarry/
The Crandell Theatre was built in 1926, as a vaudeville house in a little Upstate, New York country town. Much of my childhood was spent sitting in the balcony watching the red velvet curtain part, to reveal the Marx Brothers, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and Jaws, amongst others. For years, the price of a film was $1.50 until it slowly rose to $4.00. The best bargain in town.
What better place for a first date?
Young Frankenstein, 1974. Yes, I’m revealing my age with that admission, but the thrill of seeing the film alongside my boy crush was indescribable…more @
http://www.iwalkiwrite.com/index.php/2010/05/memories-of-the-crandell-theatre/
for bestiary: a fatu-livu (or gillygaloo), a mythical bird that lays square eggs. early twentieth century humorist george shepard chappell claimed that the eggs themselves resembled dice and could be employed in that capacity in a pinch.
luckily for you and i, learning how to lay square eggs is not the only method of producing them—we can always use this intriguing contraption.
I was seven years old when I owned my first camera. It took three years before my parents finally bought me a roll of film though….
It must have been a big decision for mum to eventually succumb to my boyish pleadings and promises of doing all the washing-up for a year. It cost sixpence (old money) and I now realise was such an act of love on her behalf that my eyes well up as I write this. Goodness knows what my father said to her for buying it. After all, we were at these second-hand events for a reason. And it wasn’t to buy something we couldn’t eat or wear….click image for full story or find @ http://www.iwalkiwrite.com/index.php/2010/04/kodak-and-kirk
“This has been my life for the past forty years. This place.”
She and her late husband have owned the building since 1963 when they arrived from Greece. They ran the restaurant every day since. I looked around taking in my quirky surroundings. The menu above the grill: Cheeseburger $1.50, Milk Shake .50-.75, Bacon & Eggs $2.50. I could imagine the hot fudge and strawberry topping in the empty chrome containers above the ice cream freezer. There are two old fashioned phone booths with the accordion doors. Almost everything in the restaurant is original from the 1950’s.
…I can see why this would be the perfect location to capture the rawness of life. I can imagine the models in their make-up and high heels juxtaposed with the cracking paint. I can see the view of the red vinyl booth through the director’s eyes as they shoot a conversation between two men – just like they did in the award winning Serbian film – Here & There (Tamo i ovde). It is the perfect backdrop to create something beautiful. click the photo for the full story @ http://www.iwalkiwrite.com/index.php/2010/04/the-diner
Rails and roads can be so linear, so restrictive. What exists between enforced stops and arbitrary stations? Walking’s eternal gift is the promise of possibility. Rolling country and open roads hum with a subtle magnetism. Let it pull you off track. Dare to looe your way and risk coming to your senses through your sole/soul. Let your needle settle and head off guided by your inner compass, by your desires and requirements: Ex oriente lux; ex occidente FRUX - From the East light; from the West fruit.
More @ http://www.iwalkiwrite.com/index.php/2010/04/why-i-walk/
