To Bed Early
Sunday. It was indeed another of the Swedish reporter mysteries last night, so I didn't get to bed until ten-thirty. Was it worth staying up? Probably not, the lady is even less skilled in making sensible moves than her Swedish counterpart detective Huss, in that she seems to invariably end up alone in a desolate place in the company of serial killers. But that's my cross to bear, I guess. Nitpicking. What's an ill advised meet with a serial killer got to do with good drama?
My own life's choices haven't seemed all that great, although I suspect you'll live longer if you keep your mistakes to missed bedtimes and avoid, say, photographing unruly crowds marching into unfamiliar neighborhoods after the sun's gone down. I'd think.
Still, up this morning with the alarm to head off to breakfast, but then driving directly to the station after to catch the first eight-twenty train. Standing room only, many of them decked out for the parade, either as spectators or participants, hard to say, the straight spectators obviously dressing up for the occasion. Everybody in a good mood, even yours truly.
Two hours of shooting. Yes, there seemed to be more people this year, the excitement level up a notch, although I was thinking, when I arrived, there were no more Dykes in evidence than in the past. Maybe it was just because there were some who seemed to be missing, participants I've photographed in past parades who hadn't shown up. It's neither here nor there I guess, as long as there are pictures.
Back on BART (no problem getting a seat) just as the parade was kicking off (I was tired). Home to download and examine the photographs. Enough, I'm guessing, for five sections. Some events, this one in particular, more easily generate photographs. Still, as always, just a few good candid portraits, but many another I like and happy to include on artandlife.
Ran some twenty or so through Lightroom and Photoshop before walking to lunch, the day warm, but I don't think as warm as it was yesterday. Nice out there, no complaints. Back now to the photographs on this last day of June, the year's halfway mark. Counting in months, anyway. So far, so good he said to his computer. (If it's the heat that's getting to me, it's creeping in slowly.)
Later still. A nice long nap after working with the photographs, then a bath, then another stint again with the pictures.
Evening. Irene Huss at six. At least she didn't do anything too stupid in this one, although the plot was, well, ragged. Most plots are ragged, doesn't seem to matter if the interplay and the acting hold firm. The men in this series all seem uniformly stupid, but stupid in stereotypes we recognize. Not in ourselves, of course, we've never in our lives been so dumb, broad minded and clever as we are, but I'm fine with dumb guys taking pratfalls, I'd just prefer the main character wouldn't walk so many times alone at night into so many empty warehouses where there's a guy with a gun.
Watching it did allow time on the guitar. Tired after this morning, but not so tired to play. Can't afford another day like yesterday, when I accomplished little or nothing.
More pictures until I gave up around nine. Listened to Moyers & Company as I worked with the photographs. There's an Eric Clapton Crossroads playing at the moment, I have it on DVD, so we'll try for more guitar before going to bed. We will. Tonight, after last night and the running around this morning, we'll get to bed early.