Film is fun. I love shooting it. It is not nearly as much fun to shoot with digital cameras. Maybe it's haptics. Digital cameras, even Leicas, feel different in the hand. And taking photos and not seeing them for a while after is pretty mysterious. Yup. Itis fun.
But then there is the processing, where everything can go wrong, and scanning, which takes a lot of time. And then there is the post production, too.
I took this photo with a digital camera, my Leica M9 Monochrom. No processing and scanning. All I do is drop the files into the computer, make a few tweaks, and boom! And the photos are pretty. After the cost of the camera and card, the photos are free.
And yet. . . film, you know?
I go to the photo store to pick up some color film I had them develop today. I don't have a clue what is on the roll. It will be a surprise one way or another.
Oh. . . yea. . . that's a lot of Leicas. Five M cameras including the one I was shooting with. I have three other Leicas that are not shown here. WTF? Well, that kind of happened by accident after I had mine stolen. I replaced them, then got the old ones back--at a price. There's a good portion of the cost of a new car in there somewhere.
I'm hillbilly rich. Not like J.D., though.
"So many cameras and so few pictures."
Yea, yea, yea. . . I know. Cameras don't make photographs, people do. Those little girls at the cafe with their shoe phone pics are doing a great job. You don't need to go out and buy an expensive camera. I was there yesterday. Half the crowd were Asian girls. They weren't together. It's not like a bus full of them pulled in and let them off. But they, individually or in pairs, were there for the Photo Booth. And they cheat. When their friend sits in the booth, they snap away with their phones. I was watching a petite girl in a poofy white baby doll dress and white bows in her very dark hair hit IG poses for her phone photog friend.
A fellow I used to know from the gym years past was at the cafe. I see him there sometimes and we say hi. He came up to where I was sitting and asked me how I was doing. I said the thing that people say, but he was more curious. I told him I come here to get away from the house and write. I said that this was a good place, the visuals and all, that there was no place like it in town. He agreed. For some reason, I got the feeling that he was hitting on me.
Later, I changed my mind. They weren't all Asians. I think that two of the girls were from the South Pacific. Polynesian, maybe.
When I stopped at the liquor store, the two hipster kids were working alone. One, a very tall Black girl with sleepy eyes and funky stuff woven into her hair was being rather loose and flippant. I said, "Hey. . . don't mess with me," and she said it didn't matter, this was her last night.
"Mine, too," said the heavily tatted boy with a full neck sleeve and large gauge earlobe spreaders. "We were asked to quit or we'd be fired."
"Really? Wow. Why?"
"She's a filmmaker and I'm an actor," he said. "We asked for the week off to shoot a film and they told us to quit. Really? They'd rather hire new people and train them than give us a week off?"
I looked at them. "Well, man. . . I always looked forward to hipster night at the liquor store. They'll hire some squarepants to take your place. That's the corporate world. I'll miss you."
And that, I guess, is the last we'll see of the crazy hipster duo working at the largest liquor store chain in the nation.
My mother and I sat outside and talked about our aches and pains and about the weather.
You see what I'm getting at?
C.C. sent me a photo of his meal, a squid ink pasta with puttanesca sauce, he said.
"Highbrow hillbilly, mofo. Looks good. . . I think. Never had squid ink."
I send him a little dinner music I am listening to. I'm in that kind of mood, an old fashioned lover kind of thing.
He writes back and says it is one of his favorites. He's acted in the play it is from, "Too Many Girls." Of course.
I fed the cat, poured a drink, made the same dinner I had the night before. I had taken no photos all day. I blamed it on back pain and a lack of sleep. But I came to the conclusion that the pictures I make at home are as valuable as any I make elsewhere. It's all just a document of the times.
Texts come in. Q is on his honeymoon, I think. He sends photos of rocks and water in Yosemite Valley. No words. Too busy sporting his new bride, I'd assume. Eating, drinking, and honeymooning.
I eat pain pills and turn on t.v. I watch one episode of "Babylon Berlin" and one of "Normal People." They are each marvelous. I watch "Berlin" first because I don't want to go to bed after watching weird shit. But "Normal People" is like heroin for emos. If you are not driven by emotions, I wouldn't recommend the show to you. If you are, though, it is like constantly being in estrous.
It is not late when I've finished, so I cook up a few digital pictures before turning in. As I do, I listen to music and this song plays.
I don't know. Maybe it was just the pain meds.
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