Wrong Sometimes Right

I don't want to talk about the Trump thing.  We don't even need to have an election now.  It's over.  It's done.  It's Trump's world.  We're just living in it.  

The Joker is Wild.  

Let's talk about me.  I have been lazy.  I've been in pain.  I haven't done much.  But yesterday, I decided I needed to do something, so I got all my 4x5 film holders together.  That took a long while.  They were everywhere.  I am not very organized.  I looked at them.  Some were marked with colored dots.  Others were not.  What the hell did they mean?  It had been so long since I had loaded film in the holders I had no idea.  So. . . I put them in a dark tent and opened them to feel the notches at the to of the film.  The notches are there to identify what kind of film it is.  I sat with my computer opened to a notch identification page and began.  Oy.  It was tedious.  I have maybe 30 film holders.  Double sided.  Some of them had color film.  Some of the color film was of one type, some of another.  Different iso ratings.  But they all had the same red dot.  As I felt the notches, I separated them, and when that was done, I put a second red dot on the faster film.  Then I began on the unmarked holders.  Some held X-Ray film.  Others held a very thin, slow emulsion black and white film.  Again, I marked them.  But there should have been a whole lot of other black and white holders.  I searched the closet.  I searched drawers.  I started over, took everything out of the closet and looked again.  Then I had an idea.  I went to the car.  Tucked away under one of the backseats which had been folded down was a bag with seven holders.  I checked them all in the dark tent.  

This had taken me some hours.  Now. . . what was there to do but get the big camera and shoot.  I took two pictures on the deck.  Same old shit I'd done before.  It was hot now, mid-afternoon.  Whatever.  I threw the things into the car and took a drive.  I'd find something to shoot.  

But the streets were dead.  The light was harsh.  I drove and drove the hipster neighborhoods and ended up at a skate park.  I got out and walked up.  There were two dads with four boys in one bowl and a lone teen in another.  It didn't look worthwhile.  I drove downtown.  I drove here.  I drove there. I needed four negatives, and I'd shot two at home.  The developing tank will only hold four at a time.  Two shots, that was all.  

I was giving up.  I was going home.  But then. . . I pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of our infamous art museum.  I saw two women walking to the lake with fishing poles.  I grabbed the big-assed bag holding the monster Liberator and some black and white film.  By the time I got to the lake, though, the women were leaving.  

"Wait!" I said.  "I wanted to take photos of you fishing."

That didn't come out right.  They looked at one another.  

"We gotta go." 

Smooth, buddy, really smooth.

Then another couple walked up.  

"Wow!  What kind of camera is that?"

I explained.  "Here, I'll take you photo."

They were happy to do it.  I showed them where to stand and began futzing with the light meter, turning dials and settings on the camera.  

"This is slow, sorry.  It takes awhile."

I slipped the film holder into the back, framed them up, focused, got the focus aid and looked some more.  They were getting antsy.  

"O.K.  Hold on."

I pulled the dark slide from the holder, took a deep breath, and pushed the button.  The big old mirror went "thunk!"

"I'll send you a copy if you like."

The fellow typed his number into my phone.  

"O.K.  I should have it tomorrow.  I'll develop it when I get home, then I will have to scan it."

Nice couple they were.  

One more negative to shoot.  There was a line of cypress trees.  What the hell.  I wanted to go home.  I lined them up in the viewfinder, took a meter reading, and. . . oh, shit!  I'd forgotten to set the aperture on the lens before I took the photo of the couple.  Shit piss fuck goddamn.  Well. . . maybe, with luck. . . . 

I took the phot of the cypress trees and packed everything up for the trip back to the car.  

When I got home, I took the film holders and the developing tank to the garage and loaded the film.  Then I mixed the developing chemicals and began.  One minute pre-wash.  Nine minutes developing.  One minute clearing wash.  Five minute fix.  Rinse and rinse and rinse and rinse.  Heart in mouth, I opened the tank and took out the holders.  Hey now!  Three of the four sheets had images.  And yes. . . the couple had turned out.  

Joy and rapture.  Now all that remained was to see if I had hit focus with that beast.  I hardly ever do.  I hung the film to dry and headed over to see my mother.  

When I got back home, I had a text.  Trump had been shot.  I don't have cable, but I juked around my Amazon stations and got the news.  Christ, he was lucky.  Another inch and he'd have had a bullet in the brainpan.  But there he was, bloodied but unbowed.  Reporters would spend the rest of the night interviewing anybody they could from people in the stands to the hot dog vendor.  No reason to watch any of that.  

It was starting to rain.  I made a Campari but had to sit inside.  When it was done, I sat down to eat the food bowl I had bought on my way home--black rice, broccoli, mushrooms, chicken, red onions, cilantro, and some kind of hippie sauce.  Sav blanc.  It was really good.  

Then I made a run to the liquor store.  Got a pack of cheroots.  Back on the deck with wine.  No cat.  It began to sprinkle again.  

I was getting texts about Trump.  The gymroids were enjoying this.  

"Teflon Don," they crowed.  

Yea, yea, yea.  There was nothing to say.  I watched "my shows" for awhile, then remembered I needed to scan the negs.  It was already bedtime.  

I loaded two of the films into scanner holders and fired the scanner up.  Something was wrong.  I couldn't get the right settings.  I tried and tried to no avail.  I turned everything off, unplugged the scanner, restarted.  Nope.  I deleted the application and downloaded a new one.  Nope.  I tried another scanner app.  I got the scan you see at the top of the page.  I thought, "Shit. . . the film must have been bad.  My luck is no luck.  WTF?"

I Googled for help.  It was way after my bedtime now, going on one.  I turned everything off and went to bed.  

When I got up, I started futzing with the scanner again.  I did some more Googling, reading.  

"Make sure the cable to the top lamp is connected." 

Holy shit.  I looked.  It wasn't.  I plugged it in.  Boom!  It worked like a charm.  

This is a "new" scanner I bought on eBay.  I haven't used it since I bought it months ago.  O.K.  I cooked up the scan in Photoshop.  It isn't quick.  But finally. . . . 

Look at that!  An actual picture!  I can't explain to you how happy I was to get this image.  

I sent both pictures to the fellow this morning.  

I woke up late this morning after my late night.  The morning has slipped away from me.  I want to go make four more big camera images today.  Four a day, I think.  It's a lot of work.  

But if I keep using the camera correctly, I'll start making a project.  For now, though. . . .