I hate to say it. . . the weather lingers. Woke to the sound of rain last night. Woke to a gray morning. Bad stomach, too. Leaky gut syndrome? I haven't cooked a meal in days. I have to quit eating my meals from the prepared food trays at Whole Foods. But I am too lethargic to cook.
Not sure what kind of car this is/was. Something hideous. The '70s were hideous, that transition from hippie festivals to discos. Bell bottom leisure suits, for god's sake. People who never worked out wore track suits when they went out. Chemical colors never seen before concocted in the laboratories of DuPont.
Yes. . . and Earth Shoes.
You might have been part of Ziggy Stardust Enterprises or, if you were urban, part of the Punk Rock scene.
Nixon, Ford, Carter.
You get my drift.
Some day, I'll show you photographs of Nixon's first public appearance after the breaking of Watergate. He disappeared for awhile, then flew in for a graduation at a small, unremarkable college. I went with my camera. Of course, there needs to be much scanning.
The more I look at these slides from those two rolls I shot in 1978, the more I am convinced that I had been looking at William Eggleston in my photo class. It's my best guess.
A Pinto? Could that be a Ford Pinto?
It is a warm, drizzly Sunday. Nothing here to cheer me up. Much more of this and I will be on the street trying to score some H. I begin to understand the mood of those living in the Midwest.
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