Moon Phase I

Champagne Thursday is a long-honored tradition born of class and bubbles. In a small but discriminative back room of a home nestled among the neighborhoods of the East Side a collective of compatriots gather every Thursday. These purveyors of the future settle themselves in the intimate space at staggered times. Each arrives after their commitment to studies varied but united in a hopeful and ambitious vision of the future for the week are completed. Yes, a week of work ending on Thursday eve. For some this may seem a preemptive weekend, but for those who work diligently must also party diligently.

The attendees are as focused on amusement as they are on their studies and careers. An unspoken dress code of fine vintage finds is respected by all. Precocious hand-knit scarves, fine alligator shoes and unique smoking jackets are common but complemented upon at each gathering. As with wardrobe, beverages are of a choice selection. Green bottles filled with bubbling golden liquid are abundant and overflow from the central table to hidden nooks on their way to the recycling bin (the revelers are of course environmentally aware even while embracing hedonism). Other green bottles of golden liquid, of the Irish variety, are passed around in an ages-old unceremonious ceremony of bonding. Corks pop, bubbles fizz and liquids slosh as conversation becomes relaxed and builds volume with the loosening of inhibitions.







This week, the collective celebrated an ancient pagan holiday by slightly modifying their dress. Class continued, but another veil of mystery and bewitchment was layered upon the already seductive event.











The members are not only dapper dressers and fine beverage connoisseurs, but talented artists.











Sing-a-longs are requisite for each evening. Dancing atop tables and couches occasionally occurs late into the marathon of hedonism.









Then things get weird. And a smudge happens upon my lens and naturally I do not notice it due to the glaze slowly settling over my eyes.













As written for publication by the Hobo New York Times.
*The photographer is aware many of these images are underexposed, but chose not to tamper digitally with the life of the images as hedonism and enjoyment often occur in the dark.

a lil wander

A departure from people and the shiny lights of night to reflect on the general soup-making, hibernation-inducing, nap-taking, potluck-attending feel of the season.

A wander of the illustrious eastside of Lansing one fine fall eve:

Glenn Beck protest

Here on MSU campus, Glenn Beck was paid $25,000 to give a speech to the Michigan Chamber of Commerce. Outside, some people held signs and chanted, arousing interest in the freshman crossing Harrison on their way back to cafeteria food in the Brojects.











The gentleman on the motorcycle was supporting Glenn Beck's presence  by cruising Harrison Avenue with signs proclaiming Fox News not only credible, but "rock"-ing and Glenn Beck a good man. The reason most people cruise Harrison Avenue has something to do with the proximity of Brody Complex and its scores of freshmen.

Fun with capitals

For some reason that seemed to be important an adventure was made to D to the C.

After a 12-hour bus ride things happened.
And then it was night and an anniversary of an important entrance to the world was celebrated with whiskey.
No pictures survive.

Then it was some ridiculous time in this part of the day people call 'morning'. More things happened.
And then it was night.

Washington bars were explored, and it was decided that whiskey is expensive in 'pubs' catering to ugly young business people. Ick.

And then it was morning. Things happened. More things happened. Caffeine was chugged and anxiety levels skyrocketed. A liter of Jameson was procured (for medical reasons, to relieve anxiety), because apparently that is sold in lieu of fifths at the many many many liquor stores of D.C.
Mount Vernon Square was dubbed appropriate for drinking because it had park benches.










Then sufficiently warmed cohorts headed into the aircraft-carrier of a convention center for a Roots concert. The lights were pretty and the photog was having fun with booze and colors.
















Then there was a lame after-party made good by trying to make the hippie stair guard divulge what drugs/sex party was going on upstairs.
















Then there was a train ride. With break dancers who wanted their pictures taken. On a moving train.













And other passengers who were not as gleeful.





And then it was morning. Things happened. It was night again and more bars were explored.

And then it was morning. Someone convinced the people who live at night to walk outside in a blizzard and stand around. This is what it looked like.