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The What It Means To Live in Berkeley parade.
October 1st, 1999

Big Deal
Curious day, yesterday. Got a good night's sleep the night before, but really dragged my ass all day going to bed around 8:30 (hence no journal entry). Got up today, felt great. Feel good right now, clear headed, ready to rock (well, you know, in a chair). Any chance the bad spell had to do with the new Cajun restaurant we found? Great food at a low price in a nice area, but there was only one other occupied table during the noon hour. Authentic to the point of, I don't know, not washing the bean pot? Good beans, some of the best, but perhaps some of the best because they added all that bacon fat and the grown in the swamp where the bad mosquitoes breed jambalaya peppers? Or then, maybe not. Nice people, nice place. I won't write the name. They're probably innocent.

I've run two of the naked people in the parade photographs. What a let down. I had two pictures on the roll of black and white, both of them shot from too great a distance. I remember walking through their group and (I think) shooting many more, but obviously being faced with a rag tag crowd of naked people I flaked out. This is not how industrial strength photographers are supposed to act. When the pictures start marching down the middle of the street, real photographers grab their cameras, analyze the situation (light, background, framing, exposure) and shoot before the pictures pass them by. Best I keep my day job.

As a small aside, and you can't necessarily see it from these two photographs, many of the men wore masks while none of the women did. A lady at the office commented on the chicken shit aspects of this.

There isn't much happening this weekend, so maybe I'll do a little aimless wandering The What It Means to Live in Berkeley parade. to see where I end up. Maybe hop on a train or a bus and ride to the end of the line. I've been thinking of buying one of these fanny pack things you see everybody wearing to carry my film and batteries, so maybe I'll make a trip to a store I've never been to before. I don't like them for their aesthetics (well, really my aesthetics), there's a certain dorky aspect I don't like, but that's probably an old fart speaking. I'm wearing the same stuff I wore in high school. Old fart stuff. I occasionally wear jeans and a t-shirt with tennis shoes during the summer, but mostly these Docker things or Gap things with all the panache of a pancake. I still have some nice Borsalino style hats I wore in the 70's, but I don't wear them anymore (except in photographs) so otherwise I'm hopeless. Ordinary hopeless. Serious hopeless starts to get interesting again. I still know some rules about hip and not so hip, but as I get older I care less and less. There's actually a story here that I'll tell one day in the journal. Probably tomorrow if I can't come up with a better idea. So I'll buy the fanny pack. Big deal.

The photographs were taken at the "What It Means To Live in Berkeley" parade.