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The magic medicine works
Feb. 8th, 2009 07:44 pmI think I quite like being stoned on prescriptions. It makes the working week that bit much faster, even if I am very grumpy.
Well, I did have plans to go out today, but they fell through at the last minute (and after I'd made the effort to get out of bed early on a Sunday too), so I grabbed my Holga, jumped on my bicycle and went for a meander about the local warren of streets, narrowly avoiding death on one occasion. I took a few photos - one of an egg factory with some huge cute chicks painted on the side of it, some other brightly painted housing blocks, the "river", and I should have got a snap of the whole 8 year old baseball team cycling along the river either going to or coming back from a game, but I was too intent on getting out of their way.
This afternoon three of the local kids came knocking on my door looking for their baseball, which is somewhere on one of the balconies up here (not mine). They got a bit of a fright when I opened the door, but quickly rallied themselves to thank me in English for looking for the ball. I wish I'd taken a photo of them too.
Having a new camera is good fun. I've been thinking of all sorts of stuff I could be doing with it, and the fact that it's so easy to customize and mess around with presents limitless possiiblities. I have, however, not yet taken photos of my feet (which is good). I'm always painfully reminded of my younger self during a scene in "Lost in Translation" where Charlotte is talking about all the things she tried to do when she was unsuccessfully figuring out what to do with her life: writing, but her writing sucked; photography, but all she did was take photos of her feet. Are we all just cliches? Are we the same narrative repeating itself over and over again?
My plan tonight is to make Laura's magic toaster oven aubergine parmegiana.
Where has the afternoon gone?
Well, I did have plans to go out today, but they fell through at the last minute (and after I'd made the effort to get out of bed early on a Sunday too), so I grabbed my Holga, jumped on my bicycle and went for a meander about the local warren of streets, narrowly avoiding death on one occasion. I took a few photos - one of an egg factory with some huge cute chicks painted on the side of it, some other brightly painted housing blocks, the "river", and I should have got a snap of the whole 8 year old baseball team cycling along the river either going to or coming back from a game, but I was too intent on getting out of their way.
This afternoon three of the local kids came knocking on my door looking for their baseball, which is somewhere on one of the balconies up here (not mine). They got a bit of a fright when I opened the door, but quickly rallied themselves to thank me in English for looking for the ball. I wish I'd taken a photo of them too.
Having a new camera is good fun. I've been thinking of all sorts of stuff I could be doing with it, and the fact that it's so easy to customize and mess around with presents limitless possiiblities. I have, however, not yet taken photos of my feet (which is good). I'm always painfully reminded of my younger self during a scene in "Lost in Translation" where Charlotte is talking about all the things she tried to do when she was unsuccessfully figuring out what to do with her life: writing, but her writing sucked; photography, but all she did was take photos of her feet. Are we all just cliches? Are we the same narrative repeating itself over and over again?
My plan tonight is to make Laura's magic toaster oven aubergine parmegiana.
Where has the afternoon gone?
