Interesting, Here In Oakland
Thus and so, here I go, speaking of Michaelangelo, as if there were sense in what I'm saying. Here on the web. In Oakland. A Sunday, yesterday's rain but a memory, the sun poking through the clouds. I've had breakfast, visited the office and now I'm preparing for class next week: a computer class, three days Monday through Wednesday in San Francisco; the Monday evening photography class (self portraits that must be finished and printed this evening); the Wednesday night photography class (pictures printed in preparation yesterday morning and afternoon on the Berkeley campus) and finally, packing up the prints I promised Peggy-Sioux, that I promised would be in the mail last weekend. I am a flake, Peggy-Sioux, living here in Oakland.
Enough “here in Oakland”.
When you live in Oakland, you live in Oakland. It's not like you can pop over to Petaluma any old Wednesday after work and, you know, hang out.
Come to think of it I have film to develop tonight. I must admit I've found more energy these last weeks. Coupled with lots of white noise, of course, and no particular ability to concentrate (job burn out, too many classes burn out, too much carping burn out, who knows burn out). I've been printing photos on the Epson printer; I've been packaging pictures promised and not sent these last many months; I'm scheduled to attend a one day Nikon class on digital work flow this coming Sunday after next and I've finally got a set of 10' x 12' solid color photo backgrounds with tripod supports arriving Monday. Which completes an acquisition binge I've been avoiding for at least four years. Now I can retire and live on beans. Beans and digital pictures (because I won't be able to afford film and paper). Life is good.
You've gone in the ditch. Pull yourself together. Get back on the road.
Yes, yes: mindless prattle. Comes with the territory: the white noise; the sloth; the - I don't know - the very sole (as in shoes). But what kind of shoes? Nikes? The meaning of life hidden in a “swoosh!”. Or is it “swoosh”, without the exclamation point? Someone, somewhere, working for Nike, spends his or her every waking day thinking of ways to market the “swoosh”. There are worse things in life, are there not, worse things in life than white noise and lack of concentration, living here in Oakland examining my navel?
What's with the photograph? You look stoned. Old and stoned.
One of the self portraits for the class. I do look stoned. Wasn't, of course. Stoned. I'd had my two whisky and waters in most of them, I'm not sure this is one. Looks like some guy you'd find lying in the street. I have one near sighted eye and one far sighted eye, maybe that's why one lid is lower. I think I like the damned thing, old wrinkled me or no, and I think I'll continue taking more of these over the next months. Both instructors say self portraits are common among photographers. Interesting that, here in Oakland.
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