Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Path of Lower Resistance

It's natural to take the path of least resistance. Rain trickles around puddled leaves and down to corner gutters. DSL connections work faster when the circuits don't have interference (from what I'm not sure but the technicians are quick to reconfigure this and reset that). I cross the street if a cluster of people are ahead of me and take the endless local roads of LA because the 405, 110, 710, 105, 10 and 5 are all one sun-drenched parking lot. Artists of various backgrounds venture into industrial, desolate areas like Williamsburg in search of space and savings. Trend starting yet trend hating. Dilapidated 2 family homes hiding under the dusty shadows of sleek luxury condos. Peter Luger tonight, D.O.C. tomorrow. And somewhere in between the dichotomy is a worn down path of lower resistance thanks to independents who explored here before me. Rock on Willy...

Monday, November 26, 2007

Noticing the other "Penn"

The "other" Pennsylvania Station, as in not NY's Penn Station, was about to be named the Ben Franklin Station, but was staring at a $3M price tag to merely change all the signs and I'm sure some politicky-tackiness, so Philly's Amtrak and Railroad station located on 30th St. wusiwig-ishly remained the 30th Street Station. I make every effort to combat the law of diminishing returns to appreciate the beauty of everyday-ness things and to notice that I'm noticing. This War Memorial honors the RR employees who died during WWII and is of the archangel Michael who is lifting a dead soldier out of the flames of war. I notice that I'm reminded of death. I notice that I'm alive and free to return to my Penn.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Ham & Beans

After driving through the "hams" of Easthams, Chathams, Hinghams, and the "mouths" of Heymouths, Plymouths and Yarmouths, I finally get to Beantown. Finding myself on the wrong side of the Charles River (again), I look up and spot the flickering lights of the brazenly awkward neon CITGO sign. Not quite Lady Liberty, Eiffel, or Ben - just purely Boston and that's the natural beauty of this iconic structure.

Cemented into the hearts and memories of all souls who have traveled through the scholarly streets of Cambridge is Out of Town News. This is where musicians bellow and croon, visitors congregate before jumping on the red T line, locals become internationals, and cab drivers squat until their next ride. Sit, stare, fight, dream - done it all at the News.

The overly bright little bugger in front is Filbert the frog who traveled with me everywhere. He now has only 1 eye and lost his top hat. Sometimes traveling ain't easy...

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Sun rises in the east...

The sun rises in the east and sets in the west so I thought it appropriate to follow our brightest star while visiting FINN's outposts. I started my cross country journey in what I think is the farthest eastern point within the US - Provincetown, MA. Quite the charming, historical town that bustled with pitter-patter activity in only the way a small town can.

While expressing my Polaroid photog skills, this P-Kitty followed me around relentlessly. She reminded me of a Hollywood startlet who claims to want privacy yet somehow always (accidentally) winds up crossing paths with a papparrazi's lens.

From this vantage point, the world looked simply linear - the water's horizon sliced squarely by the endless pier.

When in Rome.... I was told that Clem & Ursies is known for their lobster rolls and sundaes. Guess which local treat I opted for? Gi-normous one-size only sundaes of course.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Be a part of our Global Nomadic Lookbook!

Send us a picture of you wearing any item of Freedom is Natural Nirvana (FINN) and we'll add it to our global nomadic lookbook.

Whether navigating from one night spot to another in the Meatpacking District only to return to your favorite hideaway in the morning with Thoreau in one hand and a ridiculously large java in the other, or patiently waiting besides Hachiko at Shibuya Station, or sauntering silently but passionately besides your lover in Jardin des Tuilieres, we believe that there is a nomad in all of us - a nomad who searches for his livelihood and expresses his freedom in his very own ways.

Submitting your photo is easy!

1) Wear any FINN garment while roaming, relaxing, or doing whatever it is that worldly nomads do.
2) Take a picture and email it to us at info@finncreations.com.
3) If we vibe with your photo, we'll post your picture on our "Global Nomadic Lookbook" page.
4) Added bonus: we'll send you a FREE shirt if your picture is selected to post on our website.

A few rules & regulations:

  • Photo must be a raw, uncropped image.
  • JPEG or GIF formats only.
  • We reserve the right to adjust or crop your image to fit our specifications.
  • Absolutely NO inappropriate content in the photo.
Just submit your photo as an attachment to info@finncreations.com and be sure to tell us where the picture was taken!

Thursday, May 24, 2007

An Original Screenplay by: Finn


Time smears the sky a rustic blue. The stubborn sun losing her battle to a stealthy moon. The whispers of night grow stronger as the day hibernates beyond a bucolic horizon.


Exhaustion permeates. FINN (late 20s) finishes his fifth day crossing through the rugged Apennines Mountains. A nomad persisting over foreign land with his kagu bird, Mercury, roaming aside. The words of a craftsman echo deeply in his mind.



Awkward quietude. Winter’s frost deadens a city normally full of life and bustling activity. Vacant cabs dart through the cobblestone streets looking for customers vacated by arctic temperatures.


Rolls of fabric cluttered over vintage equipment from an era many years passed. A tattered TAILOR (late 70s) sits at an ancient Singer sewing
machine wrestling with pieces of denim.

Finn stands nearby, spectating admirably as the tailor’s swollen hands swing the blue fabric around a bobbing needle. Eight hours have passed. An artful exhibition of calloused hands working the machine like the gentle fingers of a concert pianist taming the ivory keys.

The gears cry. Orange thread impeccably creating seams of precision.

(heavy accent)
When you leave Nice, sail the
Mediterranean east to my country.



Yes. There’s a village called Scanno.
A place where the moon heals.

The old man slides back from the machine. He searches through a nearby box until he removes a copper button and its matching nail. He grips a mallet. One powerful swing ends to an explosive thud. The button fastens to a finished waistband.

TAILOR (cont’d)
(handing the jeans to Finn)
Wear these. I make them from
Japanese textile. They will mold
with you...take your shape. The
rigid fabric will give way and
some day tell your story.

(reaching into his pocket)
How much?

(waves him off)

I must pay you.

When you come back to this city
bring me the jeans. I want to
study them...read them.

The old man limps over to his desk. A hunchback and bum leg casualties of countless hours at the merciless Singer.

The tired man places his hands on the desk, then lowers his forehead.

Scanno, Italy?



(without looking)
Yes. Where the moon heals.



Sleeping water reflecting a watchful moon. Finn removes his custom jeans. He dips them completely into the lake several times before turning towards the hillside.


Finn attaches the jeans to the stub of a broken branch. He falls back to the trunk of the tree -- his weary eyes gazing at the pants suspended in the mystery of lunar care.

The old man was right. The moon’s shining rays revealing where the Japanese denim has begun to crease and lighten in a way that records Finn’s journey.

It is a soulful moment of discovery. A tree. Mercury. The moon. A pair of jeans.


...to be continued...

Monday, May 14, 2007


spring blossoms effortlessly in a city that works so hard to stay busy. new york. chilled nights only giving way to a warming sun that teases us with the possibilities of a burning summer. thoughts run to distant crevices of the universe like stockholm, nice, hamburg. wondering what it's like there right now. wondering if the atmosphere there awakens them to the blossoms of life's endless cycle. shall we be reminded. winter's frozen tentacles have been detached and warmed to liquid nothingness. now we can shed layers and explore more freely.

freedom is natural nirvana...