Coming Sunday
Monday. Not a bad trip to Art & Soul yesterday, by the way. The head clear, no vertigo, packing the smaller combination of D2Xs and 18 - 200mm lens. Maybe thirty photographs, maybe six that were any good, one I could have taken anywhere. Still, I returned from Seattle last Tuesday, does that mean it took me five days to get all the pieces back together? Might. Could be. I've never been this old before. We'll do some experimentation, of course, see what a four day weekend with a couple of days of say three hours driving does to the mechanism. This old mechanism. Here in Oakland.
This early morning clear and cool as I went to breakfast and read the papers, the sun bright as I sit at the computer, the temperatures here in Oakland projected to reach the low eighties. My thought was to go to Art & Soul again, low eighties or not (the audience seating at all but one of the six stages is directly exposed to the sun), so I suppose I will, if only to see if I can't come up with one or two more pictures. Yesterday, as I mentioned, was clear headed and, although I didn't set out totally fixated on photography, I was at least aware and looking for photographs. When your head is screwed up you don't look for pictures. You bitch about it in your journal
My, my. What to do? What to do?
Well, after yesterday's entry, I'm not ready to cover the convention in St. Paul. Evidently, with Gustav closing in, neither are the Republicans. A message from god? They're pretty much into this “signs” and “portents” business. What signs and portents do they find in Gustav arriving just as their convention is starting?
No more of that crap!
I know, I know. If I were writing this to attract readers I'd stick to telling a story (the amazing journey of a nineteen year old L.A. waitress pretending to be an online old coot in Oakland, doing this for psychological reasons too unpleasant to ponder!) and skip the politics. Everybody these days gets political opinion twenty-four seven, want it or not, nothing but grief bringing it up again here. But I digress, as is my wont, and mostly (not totally, but mostly) I don't much care.
A nineteen year old L.A. waitress pretending to be...?
Mr. Amaya and Atkins wondered, when I flew down to L.A. some years ago to meet them for a photo shoot, if I might not really be some “nineteen year old waitress pretending to be etc.” and I suspect they were somewhat disappointed when I finally arrived.
Why nineteen?
Hard to say. My idea of a much too young “get you into trouble double quick chickie-babe”, anymore, is a woman in her mid-fifties.
Later. I got to Art & Soul early again, about an hour after it opened, leaving another hour and a half later to hop a bus and have lunch at my usual morning restaurant. Clear headed, taking more if not better pictures, the attitude good: what more could be wanted? Let's see how this coming week rolls, maybe I'll maintain this same nauseating upbeat pap through this coming Sunday.
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