The Morning Goes
Sunday. To bed early enough at a time just after nine, up twenty minutes before the alarm to head over to breakfast and then drive downtown to park by the BART station (on top of the BART station, actually, it being underground) on 12th. A spot right at the corner, the entire block clear of cars. I need to get out more often on Sundays, I no longer know how to judge what it may be like to park on any given day at any given hour in my own city anymore.
OK. Not a hint of double vision, slow reflexes or a funky head. On after breakfast then to San Francisco and 24th Street to walk over to Bryant and the forming up of the parade. Hup. Except there was no need for hups; again, the day starting off without any of the usual uninvited suspects in tow.
Yesterday I said confidently the parade started at 9:30 and it indeed started at 9:30, but the last float in the parade didn't clear the starting line until well after ten, which is good, as I got in lots of pictures. I was pretty much worn out by the time the last float crossed the line and started the walk back to BART.
I've always taken the first train in the morning, arrived at nine and gotten in as much shooting as I was able to handle, the parade starting a half hour after my arrival or not. It's written into my genes by now, after these last twelve years, that you catch the first train, shoot your pictures and come back physically tired after what seems a very long day of running around. And I am a bit sore, not too terrible, the back mostly, but nothing off the chart. Which is to say (for about the fifth time) I'm pleased with the result.
So you're coming off days of doing nothing much, a walk here and there, but feeling, as you've said, “like a zombie” and now you head out, run around and skip back home doing pirouettes?
I have no idea either. We'll just note the world in passing and write some of it down. Out again quite soon, after I got home at noon, to take a bus (I didn't want to walk and the bus schedule and I happened to be in sync) to the morning café for lunch (a BLT, ice cream and coffee), a bus back settling in to look at the pictures. Some of them look as if they hold promise. There are still many to check out.
And you'll be buried in Photoshop for the rest of the weekend.
I will be buried in Lightroom and Photoshop for the rest of the weekend. We'll skip any fireworks later in San Francisco for the Golden Gate bridge 75th Anniversary celebration. I'm done for the while. For the rest of the weekend I'd guess.
Later. A fair amount of time with the photographs, there seem to be quite a few I like. But of course I've been through this before, my attitude changing with more time, the first blush getting me up, a later re-evaluation more sober, but what the hell? We'll charge through, put them together and, if we change our mind, well then, so what? I look for a particular look or attitude on a face unaware of the camera and, if I think I see it in the split second given, I take the picture and hope for the best. And they often turn out.
Try to slow down a bit and keep this thing on the rails.
I know, I know. Some guitar now, I think, to settle down.
Evening. A walk down the hill for sushi and sake. I believe I recently said I wasn't going to do that for the next while. The sake has had an effect, but nothing close to what its had in the past, so I'm feeling a bit light headed, but otherwise solid. No side effects, after effects, double vision or thoughts of a nap. Seems this day has been bullet proof. Close to bullet proof, we'll see how the morning goes.