Without cops and even mosquitoes, another successful generator show went down at the Punk Porch, located on the Olentangy Bike Trail between 5th and King Avenues. This groups, Sistershovel (2-5), Screaming Females (1, 8-11) and Dead Dog (6,7) were the first wave of out-of-town punks to pass through on their way to Mauled by Tigers Fest in Chicago.
Suzy Que is one of those places you always expect to see a fight, but nothing ever materializes, that is, until last night.
In between the generator show on the Punk Porch and an after-hours show featuring Black Rainbow at my house a few of us decided to hit up a bar on the way. Bernies had a $7 cover so we opted for the aforementioned pool hall.
Kathleen saw a couple outside smoking American Spirits and thought she should befriend them for a cigarette, you know, typical drunk rationing. They come back in, and it turns out they have the table next to ours and they initiate a conversation with Kathleen. Instantly the three are buddies.
Half through the first game (and drink) a drunk dude comes up to the women and says something. Looked like a half-assed attempt at an apology to me. Next think I know a white trash women comes charging and wails Kathleen’s friend in the face.
Blood is spewing out of her nose turning the whole front of her tank top crimson. Permanent damage for sure. The attacker walks back to the other side of the room while the victim pulls out a can of mace. She runs over and maces up the whole place. Unfazed the attacker pummels the macer. It was bad. One of the worst fights I’ve ever seen.
After about 10 punches directly to the face, the victim falls down only to get kicked repeatedly from point blank in the face. How she still has teeth I’m not sure. Joe and I run over to pull Kathleen out of the mix, who by this time has the woman’s blood all over her.
The mace is setting in and everyone leaves. No cops show up, and the bartender just shakes his head, half in disbelief and half because an incident like this is routine.
Ten bucks, no way. What happened to that hole in the fence? It’s OK. Media pass … for two, please.
They say fairs are dying – they’re not profitable and there’s waning interest. I don’t buy it. Charge every hotdog-on-a-stick-deep-fried-Snickers-roasted-corn-elephant-ear-slushie vendor a reasonable rate plus double digits for every visitor and if you’re in the red, you’re mismanaged.
Fairs can’t die because the rest of the world needs them more now than at any other time of the year. Just think how miserable these sweaty dog days would be without the annual freak safety valve.
After more than half a century the work of the world’s greatest war photographer still holds weight, but the character behind the lens is even more intriguing.
Author Alex Kershaw records photographer Robert Capa’s life in detail until the very end. Let’s just say it was a fitting finale for someone’s whose career spanned five wars. The well-rounded sources (all heavily documented) provided a biography anyone interested in history or dynamic personalities, not just photography, would be hard pressed to put down.
To understand his amazing career, the biography focuses on Capa’s personal life where there was never a dull moment. Affairs with the most popular movie stars in the world, gambling away the saving from a soon-to-be iconic photo agency, heavy drinking, more women … I don’t know where to began.
A name change is an appropriate start for the Hungarian Jew. While having an identity crisis in 1936 Paris, Andre Friendmann, 23, chooses to become Robert Capa, a mysterious-sounding American name, and he never looks back.
The name propels his photography career from the ranks of a no one to the world’s first prominent war photographer. The change is also important due to the rise of Nazi Germany and throughout his life Capa was never afraid to fight the fascists with his best weapon: his Leica.
With his new name, Capa goes on to cover wars stretching from the romantic Spanish Civil War to the pointless Vietnam War where he was the first journalist killed in the conflict.
“If your photos aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough,” Capa is quoted as saying and his photos were known to show the intimacy of war. One example would be his shots of the first invasion of Omaha Beach during D-Day where he was the only photographer present.
While his famous war images are well known, in “Blood and Champagne“ we learn behind the scenes details that only add to his legacy. For instance, of the 90 photos he shot from the initial D-Day invasion, the vast majority were ruined by a photo lab assistant.
Capa’s images of men at their worst appeared in magazines throughout the world, and he quickly achieved fame, but never fortunate. As it turns out, Capa was quite the gambler, and his poker skills were inferior to his photography.
Krenshaw’s not afraid to call Capa out on his faults. Blaming the fact that his line of work perpetually made death a reality, Capa lived fast. Besides gambling, he embellished, had a steady stream of women at his side, lived in excess (hotels, clothes, food, ect.), and even likely staged some photos to further his political beliefs and career.
In a way it only makes his life that much more remarkable – it shows he really was human.
(e-version of the book here. If I was the author I would be livid.)
