On a Tuesday
Monday. Zip! Gone. This day.
Tuesday. Another long day, today, but a good day for that. A couple of pictures over lunch for the class tomorrow to be held in a darkroom somewhere on the Berkeley campus. I ordered the chemistry to develop the Tri-X I've been shooting (I have plenty of TMax developer, which naturally doesn't work with Tri-X) and I ordered the textbook for the class, since I couldn't find it anywhere around here looking for it Saturday, but they won't arrive until later this week. So be it.
Mr. Amaya called to ask if this was a step back into the darkroom, a step toward the production of “real” prints (I'm paraphrasing here, he asked in a much more diplomatic manner, but that was the thrust of his query) and although I didn't admit to it, my guess is yeah, I'm going to spend time in the darkroom again. At least that's my guess, based on the two hundred sheets of 8x10 multigrade resin coated paper I added to the order on top of the fifty sheets I'd already bought locally for the class. An indication, anyway. With me it's hard to say.
It's early in the evening and I've just returned after having a Guinness at PCB after work, driving home to realize I'd remembered the camera I had over my shoulder, but I'd left my backpack (with the hot shit 105mm lens and a half dozen or so rolls of Tri-X inside), so I immediately returned to PCB and yes, they had it; and yes, everything was inside, so, $5 lighter to say thanks (you want to encourage people to look out for your shit the next time you leave your belongings in a bar), I drove home again. One beer and I forget the backpack? Sure, why not? The air, after all, is warm; the air, after all, is clear and my head is just fuzzy enough to bring a smile. Class tomorrow and then another two days to end the week.
No bitching about work, OK? I'm to the point I can't take anymore bitching without another shot of whiskey and that's not the way I want to end this day (or, for that matter, this life).
Yes, well, life. Where else might we be on a Tuesday, on a sunlit late afternoon, in Oakland, writing swill and drinking whiskey?