My Little Pinkie Pie

Amelia had a great night of trick or treating, dressed as Pinkie Pie from the "My Little Pony" TV show/toy franchise/world dominance mission. She and her friend Bridget, who was dressed as a cheerleader, merrily skipped around the neighborhood for about 75 minutes, filling their bags with all manner of chocolate, chewy fruit things and the odd bag of potato chips. Amelia even managed to collect a few coins for UNICEF.

Owen didn't go out, but had a good time handing out candy at our house, along with his grandparents. As for Beth and me, we went to a costume party down the street the following night, dressed as Wayne and Garth. I don't have pictures of those costumes, but here's a "best-of" clip from the "Wayne's World" movie to satisfy you.

J. Crew: Inspiring Readers While Clothing the Moderately Well-Heeled

Like many book lovers, I heart the idea of small stores where I can browse new releases, pick up a signed copy of something by a local author and perhaps eat a locally sourced brownie or two. I used to spend a fair amount of time in Newtonville Books before this great store moved from my neighborhood, Newtonville, a mile or two up the road (and the tax bracket ladder) to Newton Centre. I still shop there once in a while, but I will forever scoff at the fact that the owners maintain the name "Newtonville Books" despite their zip code shift.

I also buy books on Amazon, of course, but I try to keep my interactions with Jeff Bezos's minions strictly on the Search and Ignore tip. If I hear or read about a book that sounds interesting, I search for it on Amazon, add it to my wish list, and then buy it somewhere else, or send the list to family members around my birthday.

Barnes & Noble, too, has reeled me in plenty of times. I even joined the store's brainwashing, er, rewards program recently.

Never in my life, before yesterday, had I leafed through a book at a J. Crew store.

Beth and I were at Legacy Place, the quaint little outdoor megamall in Dedham, Mass., where Sumner Redstone -- business titan behind National Amusements, corporate parent of TV network CBS, Paramount Pictures and scores of movie theaters across the country, among other things -- hopes suburban Bostonites will honor his father by dropping loads of cash on everything from ice cream to sweaters, Carhartt jackets to a night out of bowling. I bought a sweater at Uniqlo, despite the fact that I don't know how to pronounce the name of this hip Japanese store.

Beth picked up a few things at Athleta (which I also have trouble saying the right way) and then popped into J. Crew. Honestly, I don't recall whether she bought anything there, because after making my way quickly around the men's section and stopping in front of the "Sale" table, I found myself enraptured. Not by the autumn-colored sweater-with-elbow-patches or the brown shoes or brown belts. But rather, by a book titled, On This Site. It wasn't for sale.

An irresistible shade of light green, heavy and about the the measurement of a legal pad, On This Site grabbed me from the first image I saw within. This was the image:

As blog regulars know, I have kind of a thing for abandoned places and landscapes on the fringe (see my other blog if you're new here: The Backside of America). So when I saw this image, and quickly flipped through the book and saw similar places, as well as places that weren't abandoned or on the edges of society, but which still somehow seemed damaged, I knew I had to find out more about this book, and its author, Joel Sternfeld.

Here's part of the write-up for the book at Amazon's web site:

"Between 1993 and 1996, Joel Sternfeld photographed 50 infamous crime sites around the US. On This Site contains images of these unsettlingly normal places, ordinary landscapes left behind after tragedies, their hidden stories disturbingly invisible. Each photograph is accompanied by a text describing the crime that took place at the location."

I love the concept, but given the price of the book (almost $60 hardcover only) I doubt I'll buy it. And I love the ideas behind Sternfeld's other books, ranging from American Prospects, which is a photographic record of 1980's America, to Walking the High Line, in which Sternfeld walks New York City's High Line before it became a chic downtown park and attraction, when it was just an abandoned railway that nobody but rats and bums cared about.

I'm not a photography geek, so I'd never heard the name "Joel Sternfeld" before. But I absolutely love what he does, and am taking new inspiration to get out into the world with my camera. I've posted a ton of pictures at Flickr over the last several years, but just last month for the first time, I began offering for sale some of my pictures. Check it out here: Dave Brigham Photography.

For a look at some of Sternfeld's work, check out this link. I'd never heard of this photographer before yesterday, but I recognize some of the images at the site. You probably will to.

Time Goes Backwards Sometimes

After sleeping for about an hour last night, I woke up at about 11:40, which was really 10:40 except that it wasn't. If you follow me. I went downstairs and flipped channels for a while until I stumbled across the beginning of one of my favorite late '70s movies, "Breaking Away."

I like Daniel Stern (one of my faves of the era, alongside Judge Reinhold), Dennis Quaid and Jackie Earle Haley much more than the star of the movie, Dennis Christopher. Stern plays lovably goofy better than just about anyone; Quaid is a bitter former high school QB; and Haley, as usual, plays a kid who most people underestimate and rag on because of his size. They're all townies in Indiana trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

I only watched about 20 minutes, because I knew that if I let myself get too into the movie, I'd watch the whole thing. So I snapped the TV off at 1:55 and waited for something I've never seen before: the clock turning from 1:59 a.m. to 1:00 a.m.

I chuckled to myself as I sat on the couch, warming myself with Amelia's favorite purple-pink blanket and wondering why the hell I was awake at 1:00 in the morning, which really felt like 2:00 and if I'm being honest it also felt like 4:17 and 3:56 and perhaps even like zero hour.

I've been feeling the need for my own "Breaking Away" moment lately. Trying to figure out what comes next in my life, hoping to get some sort of inspiration for what "my thing" is going to be. Maybe it's because I've turned the corner towards 50.

I was heartened to read this morning in, of all places, Parade magazine the share of U.S. entrepreneurs ages 55 to 64 grew from 14 to 23 percent between 1996 and 2012, the largest gain of any group. I'm not in that bracket yet, but I'm encouraged to see that the idea of starting my own business (whatever it might be, that's part of what woke me up last night, trying to figure out my future) isn't so far-fetched. I don't see myself getting hired anywhere given that I've been out of the workforce for so many years, but I like my chances of doing things on my own terms.

Maybe I should take my inspiration from Daniel Stern, who in addition to acting steadily since his debut in "Breaking Away," is also a sculptor, writer and director."

Give It to Me, Ke$ha

Beth was listening to Spotify today, using her fancy Bluetooth cylinder speaker to crank it in our bedroom. I think she had on the Pop channel, doesn't matter, not the point of the story. Focus here, people. Anyway, I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and such, when I heard some fawning female voice wafting through the air, and I immediately thought of this old Offspring song:

I asked Beth what song was on, and she said, "Ke$ha." Not sure when she learned to speak "dollar sign," but whatever.

He/She is #1!

It's been a long, long time since I've posted. I intended to write some book reviews for, among others, Greg Olear's novel about a day in the crazy life of a stay-at-home dad, Fathermucker; Bill See's rock and roll memoir, 33 Days: Touring in a Van, Sleeping on Floors, Chasing a Dream; and David Roberts's Devil's Gate: Brigham Young and the Great Mormon Handcart Tragedy, a riveting non-fiction book that puts into a very harsh light the man who engineered the Latter Day Saints' emigration to the Utah Territory.

I gave up on them because as much as I love reading, I don't really enjoy writing book reviews, although I've posted several here over the years.

I've put a lot of my writing energy lately into my road trip memoir, which I'll post about here in the near future. I also put some energy into launching a for-profit photography site recently (check out Dave Brigham Photography).

Other things have gotten in the way of my posting here, as well, but I don't feel the need to get into that. Finally, though, I've been inspired to revisit the old blog, breathe some life into it, with just a little nugget of interest.

This week I was driving through Needham, the next town over. Owen, as he often is these days, was riding shotgun. He was plinking around on his phone as we pulled up to a stop sign. I looked at the white pickup truck in front of us and took special notice of the license plate. I asked Owen to snap a quick pic with his phone, and he did his best. Not sure if you can see what it reads:

The plate reads:

"Massachusetts"

"1"

"That's amazing!" I said to Owen. "Whose plate is that? Shouldn't the governor have that plate? Or one of our senators?"

Within 20 seconds, he'd looked up the owner of the license plate. We were like a finely tuned investigative team: wheelman and photographer/researcher.

"It belongs to a relative of Frederick Tudor," he told me, as though I was supposed to know who he was talking about, as though Frederick Tudor's name would ring as familiar a bell as "Edward Kennedy" or "David Ortiz."

I asked him who Frederick Tudor was, but Owen was back into checking flight radar on his phone, or doing Minecraft or whatever.

So today I looked up Frederick Tudor and his special license plate. Here's what I found out.

From the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles web site:

"Massachusetts first began issuing licenses and registration plates in June of 1903 as a result of Chapter 473 of the Acts of 1903. The public had until September of that year to comply with the law. The first plate, featuring the number '1' printed on it, was issued to Frederick Tudor in 1903 and is still held as an active registration by a member of his family."

How cool is that? The family has held onto the plate for 111 years! I love that the plate isn't on the governor's black Escalade, or whatever he's driven around in, or zipping around the Cape on an environmentally friendly car driven by a member of the Kennedy clan.

It's on an ordinary pickup truck. The Tudor family probably could have sold the plate and the truck to Scott Brown when he was tooling around Massachusetts in his barn coat and pickup when he ran for Senate a few years ago.

I hope the family passes that plate down for the next hundred years. Now, to find out who owns plate #2....

Planes, Trains and 18 Wheelers

I loved "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," the 1987 comedy starring Steve Martin and John Candy. My son, Owen, has loved trains for many years, and recently has become enamored of plane spotting. But I think at 12 he's a little young to watch this R-rated film.

I thought of the movie after watching Owen over the last several days bounce out of the house with his camera every time he hears a plane overhead. He snaps pictures, and then zooms in on the screen to see what type of plane, and what carrier. If he can't tell, he can always check the radar app on his phone. It's pretty amazing how technology has made easy what surely used to be an exercise in futility, as plane spotters would have to buy trade magazines, visit the public library to check through Encyclopedia Brittanicas, hack into air traffic control or spend loads of money on telephoto lenses for their cameras.

Owen and I have traveled to South Boston's Castle Island a few times in recent weeks to watch planes take off and land at Logan Airport. The planes are so low, you can almost hear people complaining about having to turn off their electronic devices.

And of course the two of us have traveled countless miles on Boston's subway system over the last several years, and driven far and wide so he can take pictures and videos of commuter, Amtrak and freight trains.

Sometimes I wonder, "How can he enjoy looking at the same planes and trains over and over?" Then I harken back to when I was his age, and obsessed with semi trucks and boogie vans.

Here's how I described my fascination with 18-wheelers in the road trip memoir I've been working on for the past two years:

I knew Peterbilts from Kenworths, Macks from Internationals. I liked conventionals better than cabovers. During my bus ride to junior high school every day my heart skipped a beat when I saw the gleaming red-white-and-blue tractor with the double sleeper sitting in the parking lot of a factory in the center of my town.

I would ride my bike, sometimes alone, other times with my buddy Pat and his younger brother Bryan, about half a mile to the main drag through my hometown and anxiously wait for big rigs to drive by. When I spotted one, I'd give the signal for the driver to blow his air horn, and whoop it up whenever they complied.

Spotting trucks was my favorite game while on family road trips.

One time, I had my mother drive me about 10 miles into Granby, so I could take a picture of a Peterbilt that I'd noticed on a previous drive. Here's the picture:

I still keep an eye out for big trucks when I'm on the highway.

Around this time, ages 11-13, I discovered custom vans. I bought magazines and ogled the tricked-out rides (and bikini babes), and looked for boogie vans wherever I went. Connecticut's Farmington Valley wasn't exactly a hotbed of vintage vans with waterbeds, wet bars, fur-covered steering wheels and murals straight off the cover of Heavy Metal magazine, but I saw a few here and there.

On a family trip out West in 1977, when I was 12, I snapped the picture below in Salt Lake City.

I guess it's no surprise that in 1988, when I was almost 23 and nearly a year out of college, I bought a van with my buddy Andy. We got it into running shape, but didn't have the money to remodel the inside to look a celebrity's living room, or hire somebody to paint a scantily clad Amazon riding a war steed on the side.

We slapped a Grateful Dead sticker on the front before picking up my friends Pete and John and going on a four-month road trip.

I got rid of the van a long time ago. The Greater Boston area, where I've lived for the past 20+ years, is thin on old custom vans, unlike Southern California. But I still love seeing an old boogie van, or watching Fu Manchu fans' homemade videos once in a while to rekindle my passion.

Yesterday, one of my neighbors asked Owen if he wanted to be a pilot or train engineer when he grows up. He said he wasn't sure. Chances are he won't be either of those things, but I'd put odds on the fact that he'll have a passion for planes and trains for the rest of his life.

Mmmm...Leftovers

I'm excited for HBO's new series, "The Leftovers":

When I first heard of Tom Perrotta's book, which the series is based on, I thought it odd that the author of spot-on high-school popularity contest spoof "Election" and suburban parenting-and-affairs story "Little Children" was taking on Christianity's Rapture fantasy.

Those who believe in the Rapture are certain that Jesus Christ will return to Earth, and deliver Christian believers to Heaven. Those left behind, as it were, will face the end of times, the story goes.

The concept has gotten a huge marketing boost in recent years with the "Left Behind" book series. Nicolas Cage stars in the movie created from that series, which hits theaters in October:

My wife read Perrotta's book last year and highly recommended it, although she didn't tell me much about the story. I finally got around to it last month, and was expecting it to have more of a relationship to Christianity than it does. The book has about as much to do with the Rapture as Justin Bieber does with maturity.

Just as "The Sopranos" was less about the Mafia than it was about screwed-up mobsters, "The Leftovers" isn't really about the disappearance of millions of people around the world, but rather about how the remaining 98% of humanity deal with this shocking event.

I'll be done with this excellent book by the end of this week. Then I'll start reading as much press as I can and watching trailers to get myself psyched up for the HBO series.

Perrotta is co-writing the 10 episodes with Damon Lindelof of "Lost" fame. The series stars Justin Theroux, Liv Tyler and a bunch of people I don't know.

I loved the movie adaptation of "Election"; I never read the book. I liked the movie of "Little Children," but enjoyed the book more. "The Leftovers" is so rich and detailed and has so many wonderful characters, I've got high hopes for HBO's treatment. I hope I'm not let down.