Craig Mod & Lynne Tillman:
I’m sitting down to write this from aboard a train bound to leave from New York City. I visited for the last day, met up with a good friend, and following an afternoon spent walking the city streets we both went to hear Craig Mod talk about his book: Things Become Other Things. Craig was sitting down to chat with Lynne Tillman, another well-respected author who I’d heard of but not actually read myself (though I got a copy of her latest anthology book, Thrilled to Death while there at the event).
The talk was held at a cute little book shop in Brooklyn called “Books are Magic” — a place I’d not even heard of, but quickly learned there’s actually two of these cute little “Books are Magic” spots, and that my friend and I initially arrived at the incorrect, closed one. Thankfully, the correct fantastical literature location was only a jaunty 15 minute sprint-walk away, and we still made it to the event in time.
This was last night, and the first book event I’d personally attended. On the ride back home today I’m reflecting on it in effort to share a little of what it was like, along with the small “glimpse” it gave towards a pair of creative humans interacting as friends. The event was live-streamed to the internet (you can watch the recording here), so I’m now leaning back in my train cafe car seat and re-listening to the audio of Craig and Lynne talk. Hoping to catch a few tidbits I can share with y’all here.
(This focus on leaning-back and re-listening very nearly sent me on the incorrect train down an entirely incorrect Amtrak corridor, but I ultimately made it home safe, so that can be a story relegated to another day. Make sure to read, then read-again which train you’re getting on, folks!)
A first thought: It’s interesting to watch two very “different” friends sit down and chat — separated as these two author friends are by several decades of life, potentially many thousands of words they’ve written, by the sides of the planet they call home, and more. All this, and they chose to sit down and share some of this visit in front of a book store sized audience. From the talk, it’s clear two author friends can learn a little more about one another during a night like this, too. I don’t feel like all that strong of a writer, so it was special to sit “party to” a meeting between good folks (good writers!) such as these.
Early on, Craig and Lynne talked about how you typically only get to see a “slice” of someone in the times that you meet and interact with them. And how reading a deeply personal book written by a friend, like Things Become Other Things, you can actually get a clearer picture of who that person is on the inside than even through firsthand interaction (how they think and feel and interface with the world’s stimuli, on a broader scope). You sit down, get a quick “telepathy trip” inside their brain, then finish the passage thinking to yourself: “who is this person I thought I knew?”
Lynne described how Craig strikes her as being more “optimistic” than she is, but also pointed out how despite the sort of gregarious, uplifting energy she said pervades his writing, she also can see how he had to prioritize solitude, asceticism, and restraint in order to go out on the focused walks and talks that become his books. To clear out the mental space to know himself, and others better.
Lynne was generally amusing as she spoke on her own experiences as a storied author, and with how she’d known Craig over the years. Her conversation and answers interspersed decries against concepts like healing, sharing, and loving (“loving people is kind of anathema to a writer”, she says at one point) — however, her presence didn’t seem as cynical to me as those words would imply.
Craig shared how he’s seen Lynne’s own love and care out in the world as she interacts with others (noticing and appreciating little details of their clothing, or asking thoughtful questions to the people she meets). He admitted she makes him feel like even he could be much kinder in how he interacts with people. I actually got to see some of this, myself. I had a short interaction with Lynne after the event - interrupting her one-patio-over dinner after the talk had finished to request she sign my new copy of Thrilled to Death - she was accommodating and sweet about the whole thing.
Something from Craig’s life that may have seemed mystifying to Lynne is his “Special Projects” membership program. People pay him a small sum each month to support his ongoing art, his works, his cross-Japan journeys, etc. In exchange, they get access to specific bits of his writing, the ongoing process, and the thoughts he shares (or a discount on a new book, access to an archive of his older writings, etc). At one point Craig asked how many folks at the event were SP members, and a third or more of the hands in the room went up.
Lynne called that extraordinary, and commented how “you must have the expectation that these people are actually interested in what you do.” It was a funny moment - even a little awkward - but it highlighted how much these two thoughtful writers experiences’ may have differed. When Lynne began her writing in earnest, could an author have had an “ongoing support club” that followed her efforts and supported her along the way? Almost certainly not as easily as today’s technology enables Craig to. It made sense to me that a more immediate, and in some ways “intimate”, author/reader relationship could seem odd and a little extraordinary to her. Is it self-indulgent? Is it narcissistic? Is it bizarre? All questions that got slightly posed, in one way or another.
Craig was affable about the little moments of dis-belief, and described how he’s taken these fans “voting with their dollars” as a good indication that they’d like to hear about the ongoings of his life, or his shared thoughts. That they’ve pledged their support of whatever he decides will be his life’s work. This is something that an author with a self-published, straight-to-your-pocket-computer pipeline can cater to and count on, probably in a way that pushing and prodding each novel or piece of work past a publisher couldn’t.
The way Craig approaches the world, the things he believes in, they’ve been additive to my own life and the ways I think about it in the last few years (empathy, focus, nuance, abundant care of many sorts to keep individuals from falling far down into society’s deepest recesses, just to list a few areas). The world is scarce with things and people that have the impact on me that these do, and I’m grateful I can support him in the process of putting that sort of work further and further out there. I’ve gotten to pick up many little insights and enjoyments along the way.
During the Q&A portion of their talk, I got to ask Craig a question:
You gave an interview on Tim Ferriss’s podcast a month or two ago. In that talk, you shared how your time with John had been meaningful to you in-part because of how he interacted with others. You’d really learned and gleaned a lot of how to open yourself up to others and open them up to you from him. Do you have any lessons about that from John that you could share with us?
He answered:
I mean, honestly, what people respond to is simply the work he’s put into caring about where they live. So, if you really want people to be moved, learn something about their neighborhood, their town, their city. That’s a big part of it.
And then, in Japanese it’s a little different than in English because you’re not going to start speaking like Victorian English to people, but in Japanese you can kind of speak in this elevated bizarre register that maybe the farmers normally don’t get addressed in. And so that’s like another way of just signaling respect through language and word choice.
Really, I mean fundamentally it’s just about knowing the place, the ground that you’re standing on. Knowing something about the history of it, and your questions kind of relating to that. I think for most people that’s something that they don’t experience that often. Someone caring.
And Lynne added:
I just want to say that [it can be different] in America, because the people move in America, or at least they used to so often. Relative to when I was living in Europe, people stay in the same place for a long time, where America was not.
Maybe now with the, well, “what we’ve got going on now” with the horrors of it, maybe people won’t be able to move as much and all of that. I think it’s very different when people are tied to place, in a way that they’re not so much here.
My good friend Ethan accompanied me to the event yesterday, himself a newfound appreciator of Craig, and he spoke about attending the talk feeling like this:
Before now, Craig and his work had really only been an encouraging, special idea for us both (Ethan hadn’t heard Craig’s voice prior to the talk — “in my head, he’s got that Californian surfer affect to him”). Now, we got to experience a little bit of Craig and that special-ness in the flesh. Heard his decidedly non-surfer voice, seen his smile and heard his laugh in the room amongst everybody else’s. Watched him re-connecting with a long time, different, and maybe still mystifying friend. Witnessed the little moments of natural human awkwardness that came with doing that re-connecting in front of an audience, and how he diffused them with his own Mod-ness.
Ethan cheekily said “Yo man, that’s like, a thing becoming another thing.”
Cheers,
~Mike
Finally, more photos!
After taking an informal break from photography this past winter, I finally got back in the habit of grabbing my camera when I head for the door. The result? Some “selected” photos from the month of April are now up on Ristrettoshots, and you can see them here: https://www.ristrettoshots.com/Apr2025/.
I even found myself taking out the diminuitive Pentax Q; my first “real” camera that I’ve had since early high school.
In terms of raw image quality it’s no Hasselblad (though its leaf-shutter, ND-enabled lenses might give that impression), but I still really enjoyed myself shooting with a tiny and slightly more restrictive piece of gear. A good way to “stretch my photograhy legs”.
Anywhoo, I’ll try to put some effort into dusting off this blog and sharing a bit more here in the future. That is, if I can blow the cobwebs out of my attention-addled brain first. Making more small steps in that general direction each day.
Cheers!
August photos are up!
I’m getting around to this a little later than some months, but today I finished selecting and uploading my favorite photos from August 2024 on the RistrettoShots site. You can check them out here.
Spending more and more of my free time cycling around Providence meant that I haven’t been dedicating as much time to my photography. I did still bring my camera with me to things and take some shots I’m happy with, which are what you’ll see on the photo-site above. It feels weird to cut back on taking photos at all, but not entirely bad to have another hobby that’s worth enjoying. As a side-effect, I did start experimenting more with using my iPhone for photographs again. It’s been nice to see a few examples of that practice paying off, where even without my biggest, most capable camera I was still able to take some images I’m happy with.
My preferred iPhone camera app Halide also updated this month with a new mode called “Process Zero” - one that’s dedicated to stripping-back the majority of the iPhone’s built-in image processing. I’ve been hoping for something like this for awhile, since even the iPhone’s default RAW files from Apple have processing baked-in that I find hard to work with.
The images from Process Zero are a lot more natural, even if in the process (heh) they do expose some of the iPhone’s inherent small camera weaknesses. Yes, things can get a bit grainy or blown out, but there’s also not as much smoothing or high-dynamic-range to try and wrangle back into a normal-looking photograph afterward. It feels like predictably exposing a camera sensor with light, rather than a hyper-processed pocket computer image compilation.
The fine folks behind Halide even ported Process Zero all the way back to the iPhone X, which meant I was able to dig out mine from where it’s been collecting dust and take it out with me as a cycling camera. I find the iPhone X’s 28mm and 52mm equivalent lenses far preferable to my newer 13 Mini’s 26mm and 13mm ones (“already too wide” and “even darn wider”), even if the resulting images aren’t quite as impressively sharp or have as much natural dynamic range as shots from the 13 Mini.
It does feel funny to be back shooting phone photos again after having spent so much time researching, learning, and practicing “proper” photography the last few years. I haven’t had this much fun taking photos with a smartphone since high school. Big, big thanks to the team at Lux for the part their excellent tools have played in that.
I’ll finish this post off with a few of my favorite Process Zero images. Cheers!
September photos are up!
Wanted to drop a note here sharing that my photo picks from September, 2024 are now up over on the RistrettoShots site.
As usual, getting to go back through the photos I’ve taken was a good opportunity to remind myself how nice a past month it’s really been, and how blessed Anné and I are. Lots to be grateful for.
Until next time. Cheers!
I got a bike:
Life seems to be inherently busy, and despite much general effort, it continues to pass on by. For me, my brain dreams up neat projects to start on, hobbies to explore, in-depth articles to write.
Too often I’m left only dreaming, but not without having things worth doing or sharing about. I don’t want these bits of life to skirt by without my getting the chance to write about them, to crystalize a bit of how I’m feeling and thinking right now. And so, I recently got a bike. A folding bike.
I’ve been meaning to own one since sometime during high school - ever since I saw the old Minimally Minimal blog’s post (RIP) about the MINI folding bike. I did truthfully forget about it for a few years, but the idea of owning one bubbled back up more often after having moved to Providence last year. I wanted to be able to get around even when Anné is using our car for her work commute. I was curious about reaching new areas of the city I’d not yet trekked to on foot. Also, bicycles can’t help but sort of ooze a century-proven, utilitarian cool. Little neat folding bikes? Come on - they’re even cooler!
So here’s mine. It’s an Origami Crane 8 originally made by Origami Bicycle Company in Virginia sometime around 2016 or 2017. The older-style “Origami” decal is what gives away its vintage, and I quite like the font they chose. I purchased it used from someone off Facebook marketplace a little outside Boston, and for what I thought would be a good deal ($100). I didn’t really know much about bikes a month ago, and I don’t know much more about bikes now, but I do know now that I didn’t know enough then to know a good bike deal from a bad one. Whoops.
Several flat tubes, worn-out tires now replaced, some new bits and bobs attached to the handlebars — I have to hope it’s now in complete enough shape where I won’t need to spend any more on it this season. I definitely could’ve ordered a certified-refurbished Zizzo bike for the same total I’ve amassed on this one (Zizzo’s bikes seem quite nice, but having a full URL plastered across their side does seem a crying shame). Oh well - deal or no deal, the Origami is mine.
Since getting back on the bike, I’ve taken quite a few early morning rides to get in exercise before work, walked it through the grocery store for fresh produce at least as many times, and even used it once or twice for my photography and meeting up with friends from church. These are all things I’d looked forward to doing before starting to cycle again, and it does feel good to have already pedaled my way to many of them.
Some favorite photos taken whilst bike:
A fun surprise is that I actually really like the feeling of simply biking along. I’m not on some new age e-bike, I’m not setting Strava PRs up and down the city. Just the simple things — pedaling along, steering around dips and juts in the pavement, feeling the wind rush by and hearing the click of the freewheel — all are simple joys I’ve been savoring. I’m enjoying getting better at really mashing the pedals down when there’s an incline, and I’m slowly starting to allow myself to descend Providence’s bigger hills; the bike’s loved but still-hanging-in-there brakes squealing all the way down.
About the only thing I haven’t done much of yet is explore new areas of the city via bike. This is, in part, because I’ve not been getting out to take photographs all that much lately (unfortunate, but honest). It’s also because riding along new, busy throughways in areas of the city where I don’t know a quiet side-street to duck down for reprieve is scary. Despite wanting a bike for close to a decade, I very nearly didn’t get one at all for fear of having to tackle cycling on city streets.
Now that I’ve been doing so? It’s not been nearly as bad as anticipated. Finds like Ken Kifer’s bike pages were a big help. An old-school, extensively-written recounting of one’s many years learning safe cycling habits on the road. What a resource that’s mercifully left up on the web. I first rode with mixed traffic about a month ago now, and while I’m still not braving the busiest streets (I have the luxury of taking the slower and quieter side-roads much of the time), I’m feeling much less anxious. Heading to wholly-new areas on the bike is only a matter of time now.
So that’s something from my life lately. It’s been fun (and scary, and expensive, and ultimately fulfilling) to experience. I’m glad I can share about it here.
Oh, and I also got a cycling cap. I had no idea these existed, but I like how they fit on my head. :)
Cheers, ~ Mike
I don’t know James Rolfe, but maybe I can better know myself
Yesterday, a YouTube video made me feel something. Being candid, I watch entirely too much YouTube: photography and technology review videos, research on new hobbies, and long essays on various bits of history and pop culture that really only vaguely land inside my realm of interest. Seldom do these many consumed videos provoke an emotional response.
Dan Olson’s “I Don’t Know James Rolfe” truly touched me. After finishing watching it (more than once now), it seems like Dan began this video as an examination of what’s happened to the YouTuber and filmmaker James Rolfe and his Angry Video Game Nerd/Cinemassacre channel over the years, but as the piece formed Dan was able to notice and tease apart deeper observations than he anticipated. A view into James’ career and creative ambitions begins to form, but over the video’s runtime it becomes clear Dan is also reflecting on and searching his own feelings about creativity and filmmaking, not just James’.
A few things stood out to me from the video:
It might be easy to describe James as stuck in his creative endeavors. Per his own autobiography, he still thinks back to and compares his modern YouTube videos to partially-finished childhood backyard movies or college projects, despite having made so much “professional progress” since then as the creator and longtime star/showrunner of the Angry Video Game Nerd.
A subset of AVGN fans are clearly upset with James’ output as his channel has progressed, but the more Dan reads from James’ autobiography, the blurrier our view of how James feels about his own career becomes. Is he resentful toward AVGN “needing” to stay the same on account of fan expectations? Does he wish he could’ve moved on and done more creatively? Is he just grateful to have a job that provides for his family and involves filmmaking, even if it’s on YouTube?
Throughout the video, Dan is drawn to a stupefying aspect of James’ current filmmaking: the cramped “AVGN Basement” set, complete with its jerry-rigged light stands, scrap wood tripod heads, et al. From our viewpoint at the end of Dan’s reflections, this is one of the main “hooks” that pulls him in deeper and provides the clearest potential window into James’ outlook or situation. One where he might be frustrated; short on time, energy, funds, and space.
Dan describes these befuddling decisions in James’ set as clear hacks to solve specific problems, but also as potential inefficiencies or distractions. Small and solvable enough problems in isolation, but taken all together could feel intertwined and big in a way that adds up to a sort of creative technical debt. The kind that might eventually drag down on someone’s ambition and leave them feeling mired, pulled down by many small things in life.
The whole video felt relatable to me, but especially the points where Dan focused on the visibly built up, habitually inefficient cruft that might weigh down someone’s life. This deeply struck me with personal parallels. Creative ambitions I’ve harbored all these years to apply myself as a blogger, a photographer, a streamer, maybe a youtuber or filmmaker myself. Remnants of these lie scattered in my brain, but also in the technical ephemera around the office where I was watching Dan’s reflection.
These leftover bits and bobs are reminders of years spent thinking if I could just solve this or just overcome that, then I’d surely be in a good spot to unlock the creative potential I might be harboring up inside my brain. Hell, just earlier the same day I was goofing around with a digital camera I’ve had since I was 15 years old, attempting to see if maybe it could still serve some creative purpose. For some reason I’m typing this text on a slightly broken laptop of similar age, despite having numerous newer computers I could be working from.
Am I being thrifty, jerry-rigging together a suite of still usable tools and thought patterns for creativity? Or am I hanging onto bits of old gear and long dead ambitions? Would de-cluttering my environment, goals, and the things allowed into my mental state make space for putting my energy into something truly meaningful?
I’m glad to be thinking on it. Because I certainly don’t know James Rolfe’s thoughts on creativity in his life, but maybe I still have a chance at figuring out my own.
~Mike