Here's one for posterity. I was looking through old digital files yesterday trying to find something when I came across this. I took the photo in 2003 in San Diego with my first digital SLR camera, the Nikon 700. It had an at the time amazing 12 megapixel files. The image had been sitting untouched since then. When I saw it, I wondered why. I cropped it a bit and added some texture and did some other post-production magic to it and voila! I had one of my favorite images in a very long while--maybe ever. I can't quit looking at it. I want to do more.
But, you know. . . times were different, and so was I.
What I was looking for was evidence of me. Pictures. The other night, I looked in the mirror and thought, "holy shit, dude--you don't look bad at all," and then I did what I've been doing since before you were born. I took a selfie. I was influenced in that by photographers from the '50s and '60s, Lee Friedlander, Diane Arbus, and others. When I looked at the photos I took that night, I wanted to put them beside other photos through the decades. My digital files on far too many hard drives are chaotic, however. I've never organized anything, or hardly at all. I didn't find what I was looking for, but I found lots of other gems. Holy mother, I've taken some pictures over the years. They leave quite a record.
Now, I'm up at five again this morning, and since I'm eschewing political news, and since the papers don't update until six, I didn't read much. I sit in the dark, head still muzzy from the muscle relaxer and anxiety pill I took last night before bed. My back seems to be getting better until four or five in the morning, then the pain starts to build until I can't lie in bed any longer. I've been hitting the sack earlier, though, so I am not completely sleep deprived. But I have not been making any new photographs nor doing much else to stimulate me. Pain is a great deterrent. I was content to sit at home looking through the digital files most of the day as I avoided the heat of city streets.
Late, though, I remembered I had some developed film sitting at the photo store. I'd not showered. I was in clothes I'd worn the day before. My hair needed to be washed. My beard needed trimming. And I, having sat all day, felt my movements were off, uncoordinated and awkward. But I wanted that roll of film, so. . . what the hell. . . I left the house looking disheveled and homeless.
So, of course, I saw people I knew at the photo store. I tried to talk, but my voice, having not been used much at all in the past few days, was froggy, vacillating in tone and pitch no matter how many times I tried to clear it. I sounded like a wounded teenage frog. . . felt more the fool for it.
It was three and the streets were hotter than I could stand. I decided to have something cool to drink at the cafe before going to my mother's.
When I walked inside, I was immediately greeted by the owner. I've known him since he opened the place decades ago, but I rarely see him now, maybe once or twice a year. But he was fairly manic with happiness at seeing me, eyes wide, a giant smile. . . .
"Hey, now. . . look who it is!"
"Hey yourself. How's it going?"
General greeting talk. I was surprised but happy with the reception. He said something about a drinking game which confused me slightly, but I wondered if it wasn't something we'd talked about long ago.
"Do you want your regular?" the counter girl asked. This is the one who serves me cafe con leche. I see her maybe once every two or three weeks, but I am probably the only one who ever orders that.
"You know what this guy drinks?" the owner asked. "So," he continued, "my daughter just graduated college." We chatted about that for a minute, then he mentioned the drinking game again. I was lost.
"What was the movie you were in where you played the teacher?"
What? The ground shifted a bit. I was lost, wracking my brain, trying to make sense. Teacher, sure. . . and movies, sure. . . but what?
Ohhhhhh. This was going to be weird.
"You're thinking of Tom," I said. Tom's an actor who has appeared in a lot of t.v. shows and movies. He and I have been acquaintances if not friends for many, many years. He once asked me to work on a film he was making, but I didn't like the director and so after a few meetings told him I couldn't do it. I got Q an apprenticeship on the film, though. Funny thing, I can never remember the name of the movie. I asked Q once, and he couldn't remember either. It was something like "The Last Wave" or "The Last Surfer" or something similar. Over the years, though, he has become quite the known if not the famous actor. His success has been nothing but exponential.
The last time I saw Tom a few months ago, he looked like a homeless man, long hair, scruffy beard, baggy clothes--like me. There is an actress who appears in a lot of commercials and Hallmark series at the gym who thought I was Tom just weeks ago.
So, when I mentioned Tom, the owners eyes began doing a tap dance. He was realizing his mistake and trying to reconcile it in nanoseconds.
The happiness I felt at his greeting was rapidly turning into an awkward embarrassment.
"Here's your coffee, " the counter girl said.
"I've been getting that a lot lately," I said trying to console the situation, and it was true. Indeed, I had.
When I asked him what he was doing here in the middle of the day, he said the Photo Booth had run out of paper and he needed to change it.
"Oh, man. . . that has to be a little gold mine. Gangs of girls come and stand in line in costumes to get their pictures. "
He grinned and nodded. "That's why I'm here."
After a bit, I said it was nice to see him and walked through the small hallway to take a table. The whole exchange was weird. And I hadn't wanted a cafe con leche, either. I needed something hydrating.
Just as I sat down, two young girls in knee socks, short poofy skirts, and tight midriff tops walked in. They looked around self-consciously for a moment, then one of them exclaimed excitedly, "Look. . . there it is."
This must be some social media thing, I thought. They went through the usual ballet, one girl entering the booth, four flashes, her friend photographing her having the Photo Booth pictures taken. They must all be posting similar versions of the same thing. I watched them for a minute, but I am getting numb to it now. I wrote a bit and drank the coffee, and then it was time to go to my mother's.
It was terribly hot, so we sat inside. I tried to tell her about the incident at the cafe, but even when I talk in a loud voice, she only hears some of the words. I can tell. She smiles that smile of the uncomprehending and nods slightly. When I finished, she paused and said, "It's nice people know you."
Whatever.
I spent the usual hour talking about the day, exercise, meals. . . anything we can think of, then said it was Friday and I needed to go clean up before I go out. We both laughed at that. I smelled my armpits.
"Jesus. . . I stink. I really do," I said wrinkling my nose. My mother got up and we hugged and I massaged her upper back and neck for her.
"Oh. . . yea. . . right there. . . yea. . . ."
"You should go have a massage," I told her again for the manyeth time.
"Would they do that?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Some just kind of rub and shake you. It's a 50/50 chance. I've had some really bad massages."
I was, though, an unreliable narrator. I rarely go for massages.
When I got home, I did think about going up the street and having a beer and a mahi sandwich, but it was hot and I was feeling cheap, and besides, I'd have to shower. I made the usual cocktail instead and gave the cat part of a leftover chicken. I put it beside her bowl of food. She didn't touch the cat food. It makes you wonder.
The heat of the day was done and a breeze from distant storm was shaking the leaves. My back felt better, I thought. Maybe I'd be o.k. tomorrow. I pulled out my phone and looked at the selfies I'd taken the night before. Huh. Sure. "I could be a movie star," I laughed. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame." Then I looked at the photo of the waitress. Jesus, it was so good. I was crazy for it. I knew I would post it on the blog in the morning. And I knew I would post it with this song. It had come to mind right away.
I took that photo over twenty years ago. I wonder what her life is like now. She used to work in a diner.
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