Of My Genes
Sunday. Awake about two minutes before the alarm was due to sound at six, feeling good. My, my. Up and off to breakfast, taking along the second camera in the backpack so I could drive directly downtown to the 12th Street BART station and catch the 8:20, the first train of the day to San Francisco and the San Francisco 24th Street station. And so we did, arriving at the station with ten minutes to spare.
A walk from the 24th Street station to Bryant and the forming area for the parade. It starts at 9:30, but it's big enough and takes long enough to cross the starting line that I can walk up and down the forming area for a good two hours before all the floats have crossed the line. Well before they've crossed the line. A long morning's shooting, let me tell you. Still, clear headed, good energy, but plenty of sore muscles from a long day's exercise. Success, in other words.
For the pictures themselves I'm not sure. I always get a bunch, something over a hundred went up on artandlife last year and it's looking like eighty (four sections) were brought in today. Sunny and warm, I brought a light jacket, but then put it into the backpack when I extracted the long lens camera, shooting the parade in shirt sleeves. Could probably have done the thing in a t-shirt, but I survived in shirt sleeves just fine.
Back home at noon to do a too quick edit of yesterday's entry and post it online before starting on the photographs. It's five now and I haven't managed to get through but half of them, let alone looked at or started on the web pages themselves. No upsets, no excuses. I do seem content to be working on the things, screwing them up some might say (I myself will say), but ultimately find it both interesting and soothing.
Like practicing guitar?
Now, now. It will take through late tomorrow to go through the photographs, create the necessary web pages and post them to artandlife. And if it takes longer life and I will survive.
Any of them any good?
I never have a clue. Some I like, really like, some I look at and think I like, but I'm not sure why. Doesn't matter, we're the only one in the house we need to please, but we go through this routine every time.
Evening. Pictures, pictures, pictures. And more pictures. We'll get through close to two-thirds of the photographs this evening and then watch a Swedish Wallander at nine, play along with it on the guitar. I lasted all of thirty minutes with last night's opus, I may not last the full thirty minutes tonight, but we'll see. I haven't taken all that much to any of the various Wallanders they've made over the years, even the English Kenneth Branagh series for the BBC. There's probably a defect in the Scandinavian side of my genes.
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