I sit here now before the radiant Xenon screen in the dark having slept but five hours. Despite multiple "sleep aids," I could not slumber. I should have, I think, but something has gotten up my nose. I mean, for the life of me, I couldn't breathe and now I sit, a box of Kleenex at hand, blowing. . . gulping air through my open yap.
I got cold last night. Maybe that's what did it. Or maybe it was the extraordinary stress of a crazy busy day.
Saturday was spent getting ready for my photo excursion into the world of little league wrestling. I spent the day charging batteries and trying to get all my peripherals to work and then work together again. I hadn't used some of it for years. How much light would there be? Would I be able to use those Holga lenses. Should I try film? Certainly I would take my old standby, the Canon 5D, with which I shot the overwhelming majority of "Lonesomeville." I pulled out all the lenses. And, of course, the Leicas. And lenses. And the synchronized Leica flash. I spent a useless hour trying to get it to work on the 5D. I watched some videos on how to drag the shutter--all things I already knew. I even watched some YouTube vids on shooting professional wrestling matches. Time slipped away. My dining room table was full of photo gear. I needed to chill. There was no way I was going to take all of that. I pulled out camera bags. I tried to pack what I needed this way and that. It was imperative I make decisions--what would stay and what would go?
I looked at the clock. It was three. I hadn't eaten. I reheated last night's steak and cut up a McIntosh apple. I called my mother.
"Thee is no way I am going to make it over today. I'm a mess."
I stunk. I dropped into an Epsom tub and then showered. I washed my hair. It was after four. I would need to leave the house by six-thirty. What I needed, I thought, was a Canon Speedlight to synch with my 5D. I drove to my buddy's shop. Nope. They didn't have one. I went to the big shop downtown. They had them, but they were too expensive. I drove home. Cameras still lay strewn on the table. Tennessee had texted a brief note earlier in the day:
"Im out on tonight. Make some good photos."
No explanation. I would have no one to watch my gear while I was shooting.
Time ticking, I made my choices and crammed them willy nilly into two bags. It was too much, but. . . .
I needed to get dressed. How does one dress for a little league wrestling show as a photographer? Cargo shorts, I thought. I'd need the pockets--maybe. Funky black and white tennis shoes. A henley. I grabbed a ball cap in case I needed it. I looked in the mirror. Who in the fuck was this?
I had a few minutes before I needed to leave the house, so I made a Campari and lit a cheroot. I sat on the deck thinking myself a fool, not for going to this thing, but for spending an entire day stressing over it. The Campari was familiar. I came back to myself. Was I an alcoholic? Did I need "liquid courage"?
No, I thought, I was a good photographer and knew what I was doing. I could feel some of the old confidence returning. I'd need to be certain. Fuck yea. It was as it always was--anxiety then certainty. It was the only way I knew how to work.
I put the bags in the car and came back to get my phone. I took a shot of whiskey.
The place was hard to find. It sat in a morass of metal shed buildings housing industrial stuff in a rough part of town. The road in was littered with cars parked wherever they could fit--mostly along a fence posted "Fire Lane--No Parking." I found a spot there, but I chickened out. I drove around and found a place between two big panel trucks. I wasn't sure if this was o.k. but I had to go.
The rolling door to the metal building was open. Three rows of plastic chairs sat at the entrance inside and out looking toward the ring. I walked through the entrance, nobody saying anything to me. The ring was big, the room small. There were chairs lining the walls perhaps two feet from the ring apron. The lighting was going to be bad--three overhead fluorescent lighting strips. I found a chair out of the way and pulled out a camera to see what kind of light metering I would get. Holy shit. Even with the ISOs cranked to maximum, the shutter speeds were low. I pulled out my film Leica loaded with Tri-X rated at 800. Somehow, it seemed to be fine. I would have to shoot with a bigger aperture than I would have liked meaning focus would be critical. I took a couple test shots with each of my cameras. A little guy I recognized from his photos walked out in wrestling togs. He looked at me and smiled. I walked over and said hello.
"Are there any places I shouldn't go or stand?" I asked him.
"No, no. . . do what you like."
The fellow standing with him said, "Just remember not to stand in front of people. They are paying to see the matches. And be aware. Sometimes wrestlers come over the ropes. I've seen expensive cameras broken."
"Oh, sure. . . I'll be respectful."
And that was it. I could do what I wanted in the small metal warehouse. A few people came in and took seats, fifteen, maybe twenty at most. After awhile, they began to yell for the matches to begin. They were regulars, I assumed.
The first match was the promoter wrestling a young kid. There was introductory music. There was a female announcer introducing them. There was a bell, and they began the show. The kid wasn't very good, and the promoter carried him along. They didn't do much that was complicated. I was trying out different camera/lens combos. And then, maybe five minutes later, it was done, and the promoter picked up a mic and talked about the kid.
The next match was a woman fighting a young, soft and chubby man. They were practicing their choreographed moves. You could hear very well everything the crowd said.
"C'mon. . . you can't let a woman beat you. Give it to her."
"Ref. . . that was a slow count."
"Give it to him, Bella!"
Five minutes later, the ref raised the woman's hand. She had pinned her opponent to the mat.
I scrolled through the photos I had taken. They looked o.k., but a lot of them were blurry, especially anything taken with the Holga lens. I would need to give up on that. I was shooting mostly with the Canon 5D and a zoom lens, the same one I shot with on "Lonesomeville." I thought earlier in the day that might end up being the case. It is a good camera. I was shooting the Leica's, too, but they all had prime lenses. That zoom lens on the Canon--a 24--105mm--was really good.
The next match was between two blubbery guys. They went through their paces and had a few more things in their repertoire than the others. One fellow had his face painted. That was o.k.
The night wore on. There was a women's title match. Big fat girl was the champ. She retained her title.
We were getting to the main events. Two women, a title holder against a title holder. One was the woman who beat the boy earlier in the night. There they are at the top of the page. They really went at it, coming off the ropes, flipping each other upside down, and putting on a little drama. They were much better than what had come before.
Then the main event. I couldn't figure that one out. Three guys got into the ring. An elimination match, the announcer said. These guys were moving pretty fast and taking some really hard falls. Their punches were a little harder and louder. Two wrestlers were fighting outside the ring and the other came over the top rope on top of them. They all went to the ground. This was looking more like the pro wrestling you would see on t.v.
And then it was over. The thing was done. I packed up my gear and walked over the the promoter to thank him. I said it was a real learning experience for me and that I would send him some photos. Maybe I could come back sometime.
"Any time. Come any time."
Driving home, I was pretty exhausted. And hungry. I stopped at a Chic-fil-a near my house and got a sandwich to go. When I dropped my bags on the floor, I grabbed a Guinness and sat down to eat my sandwich. I wondered if I had gotten anything worthwhile. I was too tired, I thought, to download any photos before bed, but when I was finished eating, I pulled the card from the Canon and put it in the computer. As he photos downloaded, I went to pour a scotch. It took quite a while for the photos to transfer. I looked through them. So much was garbage. Did I have anything at all? I picked one--just one--to work on just to see. Hmm. Then another.
When I looked at the clock, it was one. I needed to make my ablutions and go to bed. I was worn to the bone.
But the "sleep aids" I took didn't work. I woke up at two. I took some more. It was cold in the house, too cold. I couldn't' sleep. I got up and turned on the heat. In another hour, my head was a block of snot. I got up and blew my nose. I went back to bed, but it was hardly worthwhile. I miserably looked at the clock. Six. Fuck it. I got up, made the coffee, and sat down to tell you this.
I have lots of photos to go through and work on. My house is a total mess from yesterday's carnage. It will take me at lest an hour to put things away and clean up. But I am a little jazzed. I took pictures. I'd like to go out into a crowd and make more today. But I am going to need rest. I'll go back to bed now, perhaps. Maybe I'll take an antihistamine. Maybe I'll sleep 'til noon. I don't know.
But it was alright getting out of the house for a minute on my own, a stranger in a strange land doing strange things. "Look at me!" I know I thought, rambling with the dregs on the outskirts of town.
I'm pretty sure I'll go back.
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