Still Wandering... Just not as much.

"...All those who Wander are not lost..."

                              ~~J.R.R. Tolkien

Digital's Okay But Remember...

Nowadays, without the pungent funk of developer and stop bath, the only thing making digital photography stink is if its just a bad photograph!

Ya know,

To mash-up something from Apocalypse Now, I have to say there there was nothing like the smell of NYC corner-shop coffee and fresh, hot photographic fixer being prepared in the Gang Lab at Pratt Institute's Brooklyn campus in the early morning.

For an aspiring photographer, it truly smelled like...

Victory!

Actually it was probably toxic, but it was the danger factor making photography appealing, wasn't it?

Do you know, do ya know, ya know?

I miss the days when I exposed for the shadows and printed for the highlights...

When a roll of film cost $9 plus tax and I needed four, when all I had was bus fare... (0.75)

When I thought 400 ASA was "FAST!"

When I exposed at 400ASA, pushed to 1600 but loaded 25.

When I wished I could shoot at 6400 without hail-sized grain...

When a roll of film suffered light leak because it got crushed in my camera bag or in my pocket...

When I cut myself in the loading room and bled everywhere rather than risk damaging the now open film...

Wondering if my blood is making a cool new chemical effect and thinking, "Hey, if this works, I can start a new look and trend no one will ever figure out! I'll be rich!"

The disappointment when I realized it didn't.

When the leaf shutter malfunctioned and every exposure was wrong.

When the sync speed was off and only half of the images were properly exposed...

When I thought I shot a whole roll but when I opened the back, I noticed the film slipped off the sprockets at the third frame.

When my fingers were too cold to activate the nifty heat sensor to take a picture.

When the advancing mechanism didn't work and I had the word's first septuple exposure and I thought, 'Hey, if this works, I can start a new look and trend no one will ever figure out! I'll be rich!

The disappointment when I first learned the meaning of ‘Bulletproof!’

To be continued…

When film got stuck to itself in the developing tank

because I loaded it wrong or the steel guides were bent.

I could have captured the Loch Ness monster, big foot and alien aircraft but no one will ever believe it...

When film got stuck together, emulsion to emulsion of course, in the drying bin and my feverish attempts to save them through re-wetting, only to see the bubbled emulsion mockingly look back at me.

The wetting agent that isn't supposed to leave a stain does! The fingers you're not supposed to run down my negs do too!

I thought, I can save this and, "Hey, if this works, I can start a new look and trend no one will ever figure out! I'll be rich!"

The stark disappointment when I concede it just looks like streaks!

The bone-piercing sting of developer as it enters an open cut.

The bone-piercing sting of fixer as it enters the same open cut.

Thinking about how toxic the chemicals are and cancer and wondering if I will die or develop some hideous mutation! Cool!

To be Continued…

Not telling anyone there's blood in the developer... Heck, iron and silver... Hmmm.

When forgetting to tap-tap-tap the developing tank and getting those damn undeveloped areas under the bubbles!

Forgetting the process, developing the film too long and getting bulletproof negatives...

Cursing like Yosemite Sam when I realize the film in the fancy, self-loading, no worries about misloading, developing tank misloaded...

When cutting through my finger to bone is more welcome than the feeling when I cut through the image part of a negative and then cursing like Yosemitie Sam's unsaved cousin... (Flip-flappin-yap-frakin-mapa-frapa, ding-dangin-brika-braka- shaka-boom-mapa-ruka-fruk!) stare at it in futility.

Then apologizing to the Jesuit priest using the gang lab to print his Bible study club photos...

To be continued…

When I accidentally poured fixer into my freshly loaded developing tank because I only labeled the bottles, '2:1' but forgot which was which. And no, I didn't smell it first; those chemicals stink! I probably had a cold and couldn't smell them anyway!

And why does dust have to always find my wet negatives and why do they always find the subjects faces!?!

Advancing from mere plastic negative holders to glassenes only to accidentally get them wet with humidity or water or coffee or shudders, chemicals, and finding glassene adheres to negatives better than Elmer's wood glue and crazy glue combined.

I frantically try to re-wet only to realize it's hopeless, but then I think, "Hey, if this works, I can start a new look and trend no one will ever figure out! I'll be rich!" Then, looking dejectedly at it like a lost child, I don't even have the heart to throw them away. I put them in a separate book like cryogenic freeze; maybe someday science will figure a way to revive them...

Darkroom procedural snobbery...

Contaminated wooden tongs in the wrong bath... Peon.

Stumbling around in the dark...

"That" not so attractive girl thinking you're trying to touch her...

"That" really cute one who I stay away from because she knows I do...

The creepy Goth chick who keeps brushing against me… Eech!

Going to the enlarger and making the exposure I thought was set, only to find I'm at the wrong enlarger.

Realizing, too late, developer or fixer or both eat surgical gloves...

Dumping the developer, making new developer, waiting for it to cool to the right temperature...

Splashing fixer in my eye... Good Morning!

No professor, I haven’t been smoking dubes, I splashed developer in my eyes… Really!

Accidentally folding your negative in the enlarger carrier and then remembering the first time you did that and tried to re-flatten it in the heat press, only to make some potato-chip-like art piece.

I fought back a tear, as my head spun around

and I cursed liked Linda Blair...

Using .5, near tissue printing paper because that's all I can afford only to watch them tear as I lift them from their chemical bath trays... Or wrinkle like a senior citizen after drying.

Accidentally dropping RC paper on the floor - emulsion side down of course! It finds the only grain of sand in the county and then the print manages to rub itself across it 14 times, leaving marks through the most important part of my image... Of course!

Using RC when I wanted matte...

Using matte when I wanted RC!~!!

Using matte paper and realizing I can't tell which side the emulsion is on so I print on the wrong side... I thought,

"Hey, if this works, I can start a new look and trend no one will ever figure out! I'll be rich!" Only to realize the print just looks like crap!

Starting exposure tests all over again...

Accidentally fogging my paper...

Intentionally fogging my paper...

Accidentally turning on the white light before closing my double-weight, fiber, 16x20, Illford, Pearl, box of 50 sheets that cost me my entire month's stipend...

Cursing like Yosemitie Sam... See above...

My perfect print stained in the heat press because I forgot to put in clean mats...

My favorite, finished print stained because I picked it up before I washed my hands after picking a different print out of the fixer.

The rank odor of Selenium toner,

the equally rank odor of Sepia toner...

The cancer-causing combination of developer, fixer and toners!

Chromium stabilizer...

Wanting to snag the silver recovery tank when no one was looking...

Realizing not too many people could tell the difference between Microdol and d-76 development even at 90 degrees. What's more nobody really cared!

Realizing if you wanted good greens and reds use Fuji, ah,

but if you wanted warm yellows, get Kodak!

Realizing that Kodachrome WAS the best!

After an extremely long day of darkroom work you forget your prize negative in the enlarger overnight, only to find the techs threw it away. You feverishly dig through the dumpster and fight back a tear when you see it covered with coffee and coco and orange crush and several other acidic compounds, yet unknown to science, dining on your emulsion. Just as they are now dining on your jeans and Nikes.

You rush the negative back to the lab like an incensed EMT trying to save a gunshot victim. You wash it vigorously... The EKG is flat-lined, the whining print dryer sounds like its tone...

You fight back another tear,

then you think,

"Hey, if this works, I can start a new look and trend no one will ever figure out! I'll be rich!" You even try to print it and convince yourself it looks cool... But it looks like crap and your friends and professors tell you so...

Bluntly...

Color work in complete darkness...

The wrong chemical balance and the wrong agitation cycle...

Too warm... Color shift... Too cold... Color sift... Just right?

Who the hell can tell?!?!

Color correcting in the wrong light temperature ...

Filtration packs!

Printing it again and again and again until your cones and rods were more like dodecahedrons...

your eyes were so off color balance you couldn't correct a kindergardener's finger painting...

But finally you get a 'Perfect Print' and it still looks like crap!

You make a 'final' print and your professor and peers shred it...

Hours later, Realizing, "who cares! A good portion of people are color blind anyway! And nobody has museum lighting in their homes! And if they hang it in a museum they'll probably hang it upside down!"

Marshalls oils and paint brushes.

Dodging and burning with a hangar and masking tape!

Using a print frame and realizing the blades are bent and all your prints are crooked!

Poking myself near blind with the focusing lupe, then knocking my head on the enlarger lens or pointy edge...

Bleeding on the print and thinking,

"...Nah, that'll never work..."

Cursing like Yosemite Sam... See above...

I would have given my soul to Christ long ago if I only had a "Healing Tool!"

Watching the sun set behind those damn trees, just when I finally figured out just the right exposure...

Looking at my prints and thinking,

"Damn the zone system! Damn the Zone System! Damn the Zone system!"

Watching my last strobe bulb smoke and flash-burst into flames as it fries the accidentally placed thumb grease.

The blissful peace when I realize the film or negative or expensive strobe kit or print or event I was hired to shoot but miss-exposed is gone forever into photographic eternity...

And my all time favorite...

A permanent thumbprint on my favorite chrome...

Ah, it was a much simpler time...

Get A Lfe

I had one of those moments I always believed this area was capable of, but never truly believed would ever happen.

Here's the scenario...
I was leaving my current, favorite store in the whole-wide-world, Costo, laughing and thoroughly enjoying a cool and needed, spiritual battery-charging phone conversation, with a NYC friend when I noticed a Harley biker-vest (look)-wearing, wallet-on-a-chain totin,' poop-kicking boots wearing, blue jean clad, black leather union army cap topped, 'salt-n-peppa' mutton chopped beard-havin'-man looking intently and tracking in my direction; his eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses.

I stopped and looked past me in the direction he was looking to see what he was looking at. Only to realize he may have been looking at me. Yeah, I knew. My heightened, New York Ninja senses are mostly wasted out here.
Then I remembered I had carelessly passed gas ten yards ago thinking I was downwind. Could the unthinkable have happened. Had a top hunter in the region sniffed me out? Was I in for a severe talking to? I thought to myself, 'don't be silly...'
Then I thought I had made some fashion faux pas by wearing a tie out back in the 'country' which could be as fatal as wearing red in Crip territory.

Then I thought that was silly too. This, after all, is forward-thinking Sacramento, the capitol of one of the great states in the union. I looked at myself in a vehicle I passed. I was moderately dressed - for NYC - collared blue shirt, tie, suit pants, nice square toed shoes - strolling to my car which was about 20-10 yards away and closing.

I looked at him again and his gaze seemed a bit more like a glare. Between the coverage of his over-sized Tom Cruise-esque aviator sunglasses, his small head and ample hair covering his skull and jowls it was near impossible to really tell if he was a very tanned white man or a light-skinned Black man. But as Forrest Gump said, "Stupid is as stupid does..." No matter the race or gender.

So, inquisitively, I asked him, "What is it? What did I miss?

He robustly replied, "I'm just waiting to see if you are going to get in your car and drive while you are talking on your phone..."

Really...

I can't make this sort of thing up.

"This is a hands-free state you know," he said again. As if his first comment wasn't stupid enough. Stealthily slipping through us was a Ford super duty truck, the kind with four wheels in the rear. It's occupant brazenly holding a cell to his ear and enjoying his conversation thoroughly.

I invited the gentleman to come to my church to which he replied something to the effect that only God could love me. I receive that! So, I invited him again. He turned and got into his truck.

I told my friend what had just happened. They heard the entire exchange.
And they said, "You know what?"
"Maybe you should have told him he was stupid. There are so many people walking around that just don't know they are. It's important that you tell them."

I wasn't really sure what to make of it and I certainly was not about to tell someone that stu-pod, stu-poid, whatever, that indeed they were. I'm sure that's how many a gun fight began back in the day... I can just see it.

Some folks really need to get a life.

New Califormia Driver License and ID Cards Released

“See it, Touch it, Trust it”

California DMV goes high-tech

By Gregory S. Cleghorne

Freelance Writer

California Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) and the California Highway Patrol (CHP) rolled out their newly designed and more secure driver license and identification cards today (Wednesday, Oct. 6) at the DMV field office in South Sacramento in an ongoing effort to improve driver license and ID card security.

The DMV’s supercharged cards are accompanied by the department’s new mantra, “See it, Touch it, Trust it,” referring to the license’ new look, feel and difficulty to counterfeit.

“The new security features, coupled with advanced technology, make California driver licenses and ID cards some of the most secure identification documents in the country,” said George Valverde, DMV Director. “We are confident they will be well-received by residents, business and law enforcement officials.”

Sacramento resident, Nicole Nesbitt, was understandably concerned about any monetary changes involved. “As long as there’s no additional cost, it’s cool,” she said.

One of the changes is the vertical format for the under 21 ID card, but the rest of the information remains the same. The high-tech models have more than just a new paint job. When the cards are held to a light, the image of a bear appears in a star-like formation and when held under ultraviolet light, embedded information is revealed. When touched, the cardholder’s raised signature and identifying numbers can be felt.

Annually, the DMV issues about 8.25 million driver licenses and ID cards to Californians and since the cards are designated as the state’s primary identification document, law enforcement officials and the DMV say it’s critical that it’s secure and accurate.

“We make millions of stops every year,” CHP Officer Mike Bradley said. “This will set the counterfeiters back about seven to 10 years.”

The cards, which have not changed since 2001, are the product of a joint task force including the CHP, DMV, Department of Alcohol and Beverage Control (ABC) and The Department of Homeland Security.

Matt Paulin, DMV Chief Deputy Director, summed up the changes with a touch of nostalgia, “The days of altering California licenses with a pen or a marker are over.”

Cardholders are not required to get new cards until the old ones expire unless they want one. Valverde said, “When it comes time to renew your card, DMV has many services that are offered online to help customers avoid going into to the field offices.”

# # #

PHOTOS:

1501 - Matt Paulin, DMV Chief Deputy Director addresses the media with Steve Lerwill, CHP Division Chief, right and Jott Condie, far right, Executive Director, California Restaurant Association at the DMV South Sacramento field office.

1516 – Matt Paulin, DMV Chief Deputy Director explains the changes to the California driver license and ID cards.

1527 – CHP Officers Mike Bradley, left, and Adrian Quintero examine new license and ID cards

1536 – CHP Officer Jeanie Hoatson gives a news cameraman a close look at the new license and ID card.

1544 – Long line curls around DMV building in South Sacramento the day the new license and ID card are released.

1547 – Driver license replica.

1548 – Under 21 ID card is now vertical.

What a difference a few hundred days make...

I saw my son for the fist time this year.
It had been going on ten months.
I was about to induce labor had I not and it would not have been pretty.
But as usual, God is so very good...

This is what happens when a real 'mother' decides to make life difficult for a man who is trying to see his only child and a son to boot.

What makes women or men do that sort of thing.
What makes men or women turn their backs on their children and not look back?
I'm glad I am not one of those men, but now I can understand why some do.

If you have a heart to care, the pain is tremendous.
Like Everest high and cold at times and marathon exhaustion at others; volcanic hot in some places and as difficult to navigate as the twists and turns of insanity .
But then there's Faith.
I don't know why it works, but it does.
It's the Novocaine to a root canal and a parent's kiss on a child's scraped knee...
Sometimes, as a passionate person - for people and causes - it's difficult to let go of things I feel deeply for; like my son.
But I made up my mind a long time ago, no matter what it took and no matter what challenges I was to face, as long as I lived I was not going to leave my son.
Sure, they say 'suicide is painless' and the thought visited from time to time but...
If I had taken that shortwalk, today would have never come for me...
For my son...

Tears may come at night but Joy comes in the morning...
Thanks Mom for preparing me for days like the ones I have been through...
And Thank You for NOT telling me there would be days like the ones I experienced...

The sun kept coming up, or rather, the Earth kept turning when I thought all had come to an end. I kept living... The tears fell, I slept and I learned to forget.
Now I need to learn to forgive.
Others and myself...
God is so good.

So, after many, many low days and thousands of miles - sometimes running, sometimes just traveling, now being where I need to be - the day came.
A Saturday.

And then, walking through a simple, white door there he was again.
A tall, young man of 12 years of age. His hair, dark and thickly curled like wool, rested on his head like a warm blanket. The sight of those curls led me to memories of my elder brother Merrill's hair lying just above a furrowed brow and thick glasses, his squinting eyes darting from subject to the next brush stroke as an oil-soaked, horse-hair brush he held glided across a hand-stretched canvas. His work, portraits, still life, city scape, imagination creation or landscape left me awestruck. He was the kind of illustrator who could draw a figure with five lines better than I could with a thousand and five.
His work, indelibly etched in my memory, faded as I looked again on my son's handsome face; a smirky smile creeping across his face and I think mine too.

Our eyes met awkwardly but like old friends.
He seemed unsure to me. His step a little tentative, his greeting subdued.
Outwardly, I was reserved and cool, but inside, it was times square at New Years.
His one-word answers bothered me a bit, it was as if he had an internal harness he hadn't quite learned how to release, but I'm sure he'll tame that lion too. I'll be glad to help.

We sat, talked and played video games on my laptop for what seemed a light and timeless forever like at a wedding reception or a vacation's walk on a perfect, far-away beach.
And after a snack of sandwich cookies, a game of chess.
He told me not to let him win when I moved a piece he knew I shouldn't have.
After a while, his responses were two words, then three then more...
It just got better and better.

But as time goes by, the reunion ended too quickly.
As we prepared to depart I asked him if I could touch his head... His hair...
Like a dad does to his son.

He said yes and I did. He seemed to welcome it.
There's no gauge to tell how much I missed it, missed him...
I asked him for a hug and he said yes.
But before I held him again after so long, I asked him if I could pick him up
and again, he said yes...
That meant a lot.
I picked him up and felt like I was picking myself up.
I closed my eyes and was both there in the moment, in the room ...
And not.

I watched as he headed for that white door again.
I so didn't want him to leave without me.
The wait until next time is always pregnant.
I wasn't sure what he felt.
Did he miss me?
Was this just obligatory?
Had HE moved on?
Had he turned his back on me?

I was about to turn and sit and fade into countless thoughts and questions and uncertainty.
Then, as he made the last turn out of the room, the last turn I could see him and he me,
he turned, looked at me with a fondness and waved good bye.
Not a full cruise ship good bye like I may not ever see you again, but more like a, 'see ya later' kind of wave...

When he was a tiny thing, we had a level of spoken and unspoken communication that only people with close relationships can understand.
At that moment, I felt it was still there between he and I.
And it felt good. I hope for him too.
It was the indescribable feeling I was missing all these long miles, these long hours and long, long years.

While it was not the best time we spent together, it was the most wonderful time for me.
But then again, when you're starving a tea biscuit tastes like a gourmet meal.
This was a really good tea biscuit though.

The best times we had were way back when he was an infant, a toddler, a first grader...
At least now he can remember our time together.
I'm looking forward to getting to know him all over again.
Having new adventures and making new memories.
I look forward to the first time we go scuba diving together.
Or sailing or cycling.
These last few days, I have actually been looking forward instead of back.
I have been thinking about life instead of death.
I have been thinking of love instead of hate and indifference.
...Of being clean instead of dirty.

There's s much more to say, but it will have to suffice when I say I had an unusual visitor come and stay with me for the rest of the day and several days still afterward.
A visitor I hadn't seen nor felt nor held in a very long time.
The visitor was a smile...

Something I hadn't done in quite some time.
And for a while, a peace...
One that passed my ability to understand it...

Now, parts of me are trying to tell me it was a dream, that it never happened.
But it did.
And if I can hold on, it will happen again... And again... And again...

I want that peace to stay with me.
I want to be with my son.

Shalom

My Mom Skyped Me!

It started off like a typical Memorial Day.
Someone was raising a flag down my quiet, Rancho Cordova Street - a suburb of beautiful, downtown Sacramento. And that's about where typical stopped.

One story below my window, I see fragrant, white gardenia blooms - pushed up en masse by recent warm weather - covering a thick, green bush like picnic popcorn bursting onto manicured grass. I slowly navigate to my apartment's front door, open it and take a deep breath of cool, morning air then make my way to my computer to check my email and maybe do some online homework.

Not too long after going online, my Skype program lit up my screen and a familiar tone and lyrical, futuristic, electronic beep melody chimed from the computer's speakers. I looked but didn't immediately identify the caller, but chose to answer it anyway - it was a holiday after all. And I'm so glad I did.
To my joyful surprise, it was my Mom!
And, slowly, it began dawning on me that she was calling me on Skype, the free (for Skype to Skype users) video, audio conferencing, IM and text internet messaging service; the same service I was attending some of my online classes through.
I asked her to get the program or ask brother and sister to download it for her and finally they did! Hoo-Yah!

Ellen greeted me, was operating the computer at first and told me Mama wanted to talk to me. I felt a little giddy, like a kid who got picked to play in a playground, pick-up game of ball.
And, although I am a little old to worry about Mom wanting to talk to me, that familiar twinge of, 'Uh-Oh, what did I do' came and passed in a microsecond. That fleeting feeling didn't fully go away until Mom's cherub-like face filled the screen. Her well-groomed, thick head of more silver than black locks flowed from the top of her head like a cascading waterfall, resting on her shoulders like a calm lake. Her face lit up as she saw me and her warmest, cheek puffing smile quickly replaced a look of anticipation and slight bewilderment. She spoke a joyful, 'Ooooh, hello, Greg!'
"Hi Mom!" I replied, realizing how much my voice had shifted up a few octaves to sound like a school kid again.

"Oh, wow, I can see him!" she said in transfixed amusement.
She marveled at being able to see me through my sister's computer. But, as mom usually does when she hasn't seen me in awhile, she took great joy in pointing out that I had lost weight - for a change.

She usually is the first one to tell me I gained weight by puffing her cheeks like Dizzy Gillespie did when he blew his horn. Certainly not the way I wanted her to remember me nor point out, thank you very much. But that's what mom's do; at least that's what my mom does.

We did some catching up with Ellen refereeing disputes in time line and conduct like who tormented whom about posture when we were kids just as Ellen was reminding mom to maintain her posture now. I think we are mutually thankful for the admonishment.

And then we talked about things mother's and sons talk about; how am I doing, really, am I eating right, getting enough sleep, am I dating anyone... Oh, and 'what's all that stuff behind me she could see in the background?' Ratz! I think I told her I was still moving in... H-yah.

We talked about gardening and how her yard was in need of some tending to and how, if she could get me to NYC, I would take care of the tall grasses threatening to squeeze out her herb garden. I told her I'd be happy to - I am overdue for a NYC reunion. She jokingly offered to send me a helicopter as my coach. My sister and I clowned her a bit, telling her a 'helo' wouldn't make it in one shot from Cali. I think she knew.

I think EC said mom was too cheap to have Alzheimer's but sometimers was affordable. Mom laughed at each option - she is of the Blessed and Healed, Praise God; she is quite spry and her faculties are intact. I forget more things than she does. I am healed too! I'm claiming that!

We had a Grand time, talking for a few hours, catching up, laughing and telling each other how good we looked. It's always good to talk to mom. Shes quite a character and a Blessing to us, the community and anyone she comes in contact with!
As for me, if mom doesn't tell me I look good, who will? One rarely asks, 'how do I look?' to just anyone; they might just tell you the truth. But with mom? She usually always says, 'I look good.' Unless my face is getting fat. Then I get the Gillespie cheeks... Thing.

After a while, the novelty seemed to wear off and she tried to get off the line, assuring and me that 'I' (meaning me) had other things to do. But EC laughed from off screen, confirming what I already knew from many past experiences trying to keep up with mama. EC and I both knew that Mama, unhindered by being past her octogenarian years - like that slowed her down at all - has a calendar of things to do and plenty of blue-haired friends to do them with!

Well, God Bless ya, Mom! I and we all love you now and always.
Happy Memorial Day '09!

And thanks for the Skype call!

Me? I'm just fine.


(Top left: Mom's 90th Birthday invitation -pic from Point Loma, California (I think -Hawai'i maybe?), center top, Mom and me @ San Diego Airport, below, Mom portrait, bottom, Mom lookin' hot with sons Rodney and Merrill in the 50's.)

When Super Heroes Go Bad

Thank God I never saw my childhood icons
on the down and out...
I mean, I could understand Popeye, maybe.
He was a sailor after all.

C'mon Blue Power Ranger...