tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25825468.post2818557926464896536..comments2023-07-30T09:04:54.507-04:00Comments on Shameless Self Promoters: Not FinalUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25825468.post-34054194951484712422010-06-15T18:37:01.589-04:002010-06-15T18:37:01.589-04:00Love that story Philip!Love that story Philip!Heatherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07582638886964370900noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25825468.post-88529384779588123542010-06-04T13:33:50.537-04:002010-06-04T13:33:50.537-04:00love these ruminations. remind me of my days gone ...love these ruminations. remind me of my days gone by:<br /><br />My last year in art school I was a Cage Rat, the darkroom monitor, the guy I made fun of my first year.<br /><br />The shittiest part of the job was getting everyone out by 9:30 p.m.. No one wants to leave. They are either lulled into a deep, and to be truly admired, meditation as they seek the perfect print from a well-developed negative OR they are scurrying to make a silk-purse out of their crappy under-exposed negative for an assignment due first thing the next morning.<br /><br />By that point in my learning my exposures were well calculated, and the development of my negatives spot on and therefore yielding easy results, easy printing – if even my image composition/subject matter/etc. was not a thing of interest. So, I had little patience for the above latter, and conversely envy for the above former. Neither of which made my end of evening duties easy or fun. Creative Solutions were necessary to keep my guilt and disdain to a minimum.<br /><br />I had access to a intercom system that would override the subdued piped in music to all darkrooms and studios. The same intercom every Rat would use to do the customary: " The studio and darkrooms will be closing in 15, 10, 5 minutes so please finish up your work and proceed to turning in all school equipment to the cage," announcements that really never worked. <br /><br />Options like bartenders use at 2 a.m. of switching on the lights and screaming, "Get the hell out!" would have only lead to ruining someone's work and while I was a bitter Rat, I wasn't that mean.<br /><br />Instead, I brought in a busted up turntable I found in the alley behind the old Cyclops Cafe on Western, and a just as busted up 1968 original vinyl release of Iron Butterly's In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, of which the eponymous song took up the entire B side of the album.<br /><br />At 9:10 p.m., every night, Monday through Friday, I would drop the needle and blast the arguable masterpiece's (not to be argued by me, exactly, as it simply suited my purposes) full 17 minute 27 seconds of scratchy tunage. My first foray in admitting to my own passive-agressive tendencies.<br /><br />At the time though... I did truly believe I was being thoughtful.P.Shawhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08439061293655160784noreply@blogger.com