« November 2007 | Main | January 2008 »
Making lists helps me keep my fractured brain organized, and I decided it was time to get off my ass and make a list of stuff I've been saying I want to do but haven't actually begun. Here they are in no particular order:
This list will get added to and modified over the next year, so I added a link in the sidebar to remind and motivate myself. To start, I signed up for guitar lessons down the street at Appalachian Bluegrass this afternoon for the month of January. My goal is to be able to play passable rhythm guitar by the end of the year.
A few months ago I was contacted through my Flickr account about possible usage of a photo I'd taken in Georgia during a loooong commencement speech. At first, I was a little skeptical about the whole thing, but the gentleman who inquired explained the purpose and scope of the project, and I signed on board. After negotiation of rights and agreeing on a price, I sat back and waited to see what happened. Things were quiet for a while until last week, right before Christmas, when an envelope with an unfamiliar New York address appeared in the mail bearing a check. I've provided a wide variety of creative services over the years, and now I'm happy to add photography to the list.
I've been thinking about my Mom's Mom for the past couple of weeks, even before Jen pulled Rappin' Santa out of the tupperware container labeled XMAS. Somewhere around Thanksgiving I started remembering the holidays at her house, which were always a high point of the year (except for the drive): the sound of my mom's relatives gathered around the dining room table, the taste and smell of fantastic food, King Kong, The Wizard of Oz, or It's A Wonderful Life on WNEW (Pre-Fox channel 5 out of NYC, "Your choice is FIVE!") in the downstairs family room, the smell of pipe smoke from my grandfather, Pop-Tarts for breakfast (served to us with a knowing, I'm-your-grandmother-so-I'm-spoiling-you twinkle), and the general sense of safety and happiness that enveloped us as we enjoyed the holiday together.
I miss my Grandma, but I'm happy to remember the holidays she hosted and the feeling it still gives me. Everyone should be so lucky.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Something that always brings a smile to my day is a funny little toy my Grandma gave me. It's a fabric Santa who wiggles and does a barely legible rap to "Jingle Bells." I've had him since I was in high school, which means he's been packed and unpacked across multiple apartments for almost twenty years. He's tacky and goofy and he sounds awful, but he reminds me of my Grandma's smile, and that's why he always gets a place of honor on the mantle and a pair of fresh batteries every year.
One of the unfortunate side-effects of living near a school is the barrage of discarded papers that seem to blow into our yard. Yesterday morning I found this one next to the Jeep as I loaded up for disaster recovery—a consulting client got walloped by the windstorm two nights ago, and their servers, printers, and network were down. A solid day of troubleshooting cut into my Cristmas [sic] purchasing time, but I got them back on their feet by close of business. Meanwhile, our dining room fills with boxes delivered by the brown truck, and decorations are slowly appearing around the house. Maybe this year's holiday won't fly past before we get to enjoy it a little.
(Update: Sorry if anyone tried to click on the link and got sent to a stupid dating site. Apparently this is the latest in some form of viral linkbaiting. My apologies.)
This used to be a pole decoration–probably fifty years ago. He has a great nostalgic look to him. Nowadays it would be a product tie-in.
Just kidding. I haven't been out of the house all day.
I finally got around to scanning the medium-format negatives I shot in Oregon last year. Overall, I'm very pleased with the results—amazed, actually. Besides a yellow cast on the film, probably due to the flatbed scanner color-shifting negative to positive, and two examples where I double-exposed the film, I got a handful of beautiful shots on one roll. For these shots, I cheated with the light meter on my Canon, shooting the scene first digitally and then transferring the shutter speed and aperture settings to the Rolleicord. Now that I've got a better grasp of that relationship, I can take full advantage of the camera's potential.
This is enough success to consider buying a flatbed scanner with a transparency adapter and shooting a lot more medium-format film. Can anyone with color developing experience tell me if it's stupidly expensive to do at home, or more complicated than black and white?
Nerd fart tag
Last week, when I took my family to see the, uh, unique display of Christmas cheer that is 34th Street, I spied a small sign in a window high above the busy street: A tombstone-style wooden radio flanked by a pair of antennas, under the title "Retro Radio/Audio-Visual Service". Excited, I patted my pockets for a piece of paper and a pencil, then suddenly remembered I was carrying a camera. Duh.
Today, after getting my Garfunkel cut in the same neighborhood, I stopped back over to 34th Street to investigate. I was met at the door by a very friendly older man who invited me in out of the snow to a landing surrounded by radios, amplifiers, and electronic equipment of all sizes and shapes. At that moment, I knew my ten-year search was over.
Long ago, when I suddenly got into collecting old tube radios, there wasn't a whole lot of information to be found on repair. I cleaned the cabinets up but had no idea how to fix the wiring inside. After some research, I found a guy in the phone book who did radio repair, and drove out to Lauraville to meet him. The shop was old-school to the point of time warp: rickety shelves holding dusty TVs and radios, oscilloscopes, HAM equipment, and assorted junk, old RCA and Emerson signs, and a pleasant musty smell. I remember the proprietor as a wiry old fellow who seemed surprised a skinny kid was bringing him a set to work on, but he told me to leave it with him for a couple of days and he'd see what he could do.
$30 later, I had a working set that sounded as good as it looked, and I started bringing him more as I could afford it—he rebuilt five or six of my bakelite sets, and sorted out the guts of my console (no small task). After about six months of regular visits, other financial priorities kicked in, and I had to postpone further repairs. A few years passed, and by the next time I was able to return, the storefront was completely gone, replaced with a CVS parking lot.
The fellow I met today was friendly and personable, and as I talked with him, I started mentally cataloging my collection to decide which one would get looked at first: the wooden Philco, or the wooden Emerson? Or, maybe the off-brand Everbest?
The 2007 Directory of Illustration, page 510.