Care Of That
Saturday. Sleep in this morning, skipping breakfast at the usual place, showing up down the street just before eleven at the lake where the first arrivals for the Sistahs Steppin' in Pride parade have begun to congregate. I'm a little early so I walk across the street for a cup of coffee and sit outside at a sidewalk table for five minutes to get my head together. Walk back to the Sistahs, wrap the camera strap around my hand and begin shooting.
I thought of bringing a second camera with a 17-55mm lens, but opted for the 70-200mm by itself thinking I didn't want the extra weight and hassle with my head in a funk and feeling crappy. The exercise, though, seems to have done some good. The Flonase up the nose and the Celebrex down the gullet may have helped as well, but I never know if it's the drugs or the day or the fresh air out on the sidewalk. Life is every bit as confusing in the twenty-first century as it was in the last.
I (of course) was looking for portraits. My never ending flood of closeup photographs of (primarily) women's faces puts most people to sleep, but it gets me going, with or without a head full of cement. There's a Chinese street festival underway in Oakland at the moment and I'll take a look tomorrow. An hour and a quarter of continuous shooting wears you down just enough to put you in the mood for a nap and maybe, later, a book.
No sake for me this evening, though. The whiskey Thursday night took care of that.