Little Tokyo, JIJI's Jazz Club, and Things People Leave Behind on Film--July 2026

I spent most of July trying to churn out a feature length screenplay, so I neglected my other creative practices, which is how things go.

I still ended up dropping off my film by the end of the month, but the photos were perhaps more disjointed than ever. I sort of just happened to take my camera with me to several places, rather than intentionally planning a subject.

The first of these stops was Little Tokyo, which I finally got to explore a little bit after months of meaning to go. It was lovely.

This was my attempt at being meta (God, Facebook ruined that word). Gorgeous stationary though, and lots of fun knick-knacks at this store. I enjoyed the presence of ginkgo leaves around Little Tokyo, not only on merchandise but also in subtle details--like as an imprint in the stonework at the base of trees.

I had no idea there was a shop anywhere in LA that's been around since the beginning of the 20th century. Got some delicious mochi and took a pic of this fun little window display they have.

When I took the picture I initially thought that the mochi here were ceramic recreations of real mochi, but looking at it now I think the mochi might be real. I guess I'll have to go back to know for sure.

I actually don't remember what store this was, but I do remember this absolutely epic cat. I'm glad I got the cat somewhat in focus. I love how film captures reflections, but sometimes that makes it difficult to shoot through glass without picking up on overlapping images (spot Gwynne's reflection in the window).

Next up on the list of random excursions I brought my camera to--JIJI's Jazz Club.

JIJI's Jazz Club is an awesome group of people that puts on free jazz shows and art markets. I don't know much about jazz and I still had a great time.

These photos are sort of funny, but they actually perfectly capture the experience of being at the show. The room was packed and we could really only squeeze in at the back by the time we got there. I could only glimpse one musician at a time over peoples' shoulders in the dark.

I'm sorry for not being able to tell the difference between a bassist and a normal guitarist. I'm also sorry for not knowing the name of the band. Please if one of the two people reading this knows the name of the band, let me know.

This photo is quite blurry and none of them are great quality, but I'm actually surprised that any of them came out at all. I was taking a shot in the dark both literally and figuratively here because my light meter isn't accurate in low lighting like this and I couldn't see the numbers on my shutter speed dial.

Because I left picture-taking to the last minute in July, I ended up mostly taking random shots on my walks to and from work. Even if they're not good photos in and of themselves, I'm glad I have them for two reasons:

#1: Taking photos in my neighborhood gives me an excuse to actually look around and take the time to notice small details I wouldn't have otherwise.

#2: As someone with a bad memory, it's nice to have snapshots of mundane things in my daily life that my brain might not have carved out space for otherwise.

I'm not sure whether the intention with this furniture was to put it out for people to take, but it really looks like a great spot to commune.

This felt in line with the previous photo--Inside things that get left outside. This lamp looks quite dignified against the backdrop of magnolia leaves.

I like the contrast of the red cars and signs with the green bikes. The omnipresence of Lime bikes and scooters on sidewalks in my area typically pisses me off, but sometimes when I see a group of them scattered like this it makes me think of a group of people riding together before leaving them behind.

While walking around I was struck by how much trash is in my area, but these trash bags in particular baffled me. I don't understand why people bag up green waste when they could just as easily leave it in the same spot to decompose and do what it's meant to do. Maybe it'll get picked up by an industrial composter.

I started focusing a lot more on individual pieces of trash as I walked around looking at things. Partially because something I've had to acknowledge about my current camera lens is that it's best used in close proximity to a single subject.

My usual instinct is to take photos from a distance with a deep depth of field, but that's just not what this lens is suited for. Maybe I'll ask for another lens for my birthday, but for the time being this is it.

I think about trash often. I work at a store that's designed to be low-waste, I minored in environmental studies, and I've read several books on the topic. Still, seeing all the trash in my neighborhood makes me think about it even more.

Something about seeing all of these corporate logos and slogans on these discarded pieces of paper and plastic made me consider what trash is on a philosophical level. I rarely see food on the ground. Just these empty shells that used to hold food. Trash is what people leave behind because they don't need it.

No one needs marketing to survive (except maybe copywriters). Even though marketing convinces us to buy things, once we've met our needs it means nothing. A bag is just a bag, no matter what logo it has on it. And yet the companies manufacturing these vessels are leaving this massive imprint on the world.

I almost considered reaching into this trash can and taking out this pokémon card when I saw it. I decided that was a bad idea. I wish I'd gotten closer to take this photo though. It reminded me of being a kid. Seeing it in the trash made me sad.

Someone saw me taking this photo and asked, "You're taking pictures of the trash?" I replied yes and they said, "That's weird."

It made me laugh, but it was also oddly affirming. It made me think that we must be grossed out by trash, or ashamed by it. Or else it's just so ubiquitous that we don't find it worthy of a photo.

I thought it'd be fun to give myself a goal for my next roll of film to take pictures of trash in a way that makes it feel noteworthy. That might be an impossible task. But I think there can be a sense of absence, of sadness, of story in the things people leave behind. I think trash is worthy of documentation.