Tuesday. I find two of the small bottles of sake, the equivalent of two glasses of wine, makes me mellow and comfortable and at rest with the world. It also (occasionally) leads me to write in my next day's entry. In Oakland. At the end of the rainbow. Not sure why, as I seem to have little to say.
A chill blustery wind, this overcast morning, getting to breakfast after eight, taking the bus downtown from a stop across from the Grand Lake theater to my haircut appointment, the only people on the sidewalks people who need to be out, otherwise they're inside, keeping warm. After my haircut, I went inside the Fountain Café for a cup of coffee (remembering why is was I don't like French Vanilla, if you can call that crap Vanilla) and watched the people passing through their plate glass windows, each with their own little story reflected in the way they held their bodies, the way they walked, the way they were lost in their own thoughts (believing they weren't being observed). Nothing wrong with that, I'm out there with them often as not, but most aren't aware of their surroundings. I'm not sure they've ever been aware of their surroundings, but saying that is just me, paddling in my own little dream, inventing a world in thought and photograph.
Is that what you look for in your photographs? “Unaware of the world?
Unaware of the camera.
Primarily attractive women unaware of the camera.
Some things don't need to be explained.
It's now noon, the sun has poked through and, sitting up here looking out through the balcony windows, I suspect the chill is gone and people are out on the sidewalks again. A walk later? Maybe a drive or a train ride somewhere farther away, a walk where I haven't walked for a while? I've been feeling good about these walks lately, good in the sense the photographs have been reasonably good or, if not good, then interesting in their failures.
Later. Somehow driving somewhere, taking a train somewhere seems to have devolved into cleaning up around the computer, looking for this, looking for that, finding nothing, but cleaning the area pretty good as a result. How often have I done that? More work on the retouching lessons, I haven't forgotten. The shot above of the Grand Lake theater with the sun and the airplane contrail could have been much better if I'd been thinking. There's an adjustment the camera can make, I'll test it one of these mornings if not tomorrow morning, promising anything tomorrow seems ambitious.
Actually that's not so bad, this cleaning up this and that. Sitting here looking at the desk as opposed to the detritus of the last month. No, it's not that bad, I'm exaggerating, but close. Close. Now where's that stylus for my graphics pad? I've found the base, the holder, but not the stylus itself. I'm sure I put it somewhere that seemed logical at the time, but what time, where? Logical has so many loose ends, which one seemed obvious then? Still, searching, sitting here thinking, the area gets cleaner and my disposition improves.