I was at the dentist for about ten minutes. They took an X-Ray and a picture, then the doc said he thought he could fill it and another spot where I had lost a veneer.
"Today?"
"No. I jammed up today. Make an appointment at the desk. I'll see you in a week or two."
I got an appointment for Monday. One X-Ray and one pic--$127. The two fillings--$1K. If he has to do a crown instead--$2K. A little on the steep side, I think. And he didn't seem to like me much.
So I was home early and the sun was shining and the air was very pleasant. I decided I would go walk around the lake where Tennessee and I had eaten the other night. I felt light.
But first, and I don't know what got into me, I looked up some of the oddball things going on in my own county, things I've thought over and over again to photograph. I found two things of interest. One was a gym that trains people to be pro wrestlers. They have a BIG EVENT on Saturday night. I wrote to them to see if I could come take photographs. Then I wrote to the women's roller derby team asking the same thing.
The day was moving along, so I got on my togs and drove to the lake.
I'd thought to walk/run again, but the day was pretty and my legs were sore and my knee was hurting, so I decided just to walk and look and think about the pictures I might make. I was up again.
There were other walkers and runners and bike riders on the trail, but not so many. I walked by the dog park where people can take their dogs to run and play and swim in the lake. It smelled of dog poop, and I wonder about the wisdom of doing such a thing. My old dog, Wiley, would have just gotten into fights with the other dogs. She was a lot like me--a loyal loner. She was true blue, that girl, a one man dog.
I passed beautiful old oaks and brand new pine saplings. This was good. This was fun. But I swear, this was the longest few miles I had ever walked. I think it was because I was walking in a huge circle around the lake. My bearings were off, maybe, and I wasn't sure how close or far I was from where I began.
But I wasn't tempted to sit. Just to pause to make phone artifacts.
Then there were homes again decorated for Halloween. I figured I was close.
And I was. I'd left some electrolyte drink in the car and chugged that right down. It's called Electrolit. It isn't so sweet and tastes much like the original Gatorade before it was bought by Pepsi and given the big sugar makeover.
I got a text. Billionaire Boys going out at five. I was down for that.
When I got home, I was hungry and opened a can of sardines and spread some crackers on the plate. I sat down to check my mail. Uh-oh. I had a message from the wrestling gym.
Thank you for reaching out and would love to have you at our event this Saturday. Come down. Come in for free. Can show this note at the door. Feel free to reach out as well (phone number redacted).
Great! Now I was in for it. What if it all turned out bad? What if I couldn't make any pictures that were worthwhile? Now I was full of self-doubt. Big shit. Big man. Ugh.
I finished eating the sardines and put on some music, sunk into an Epsom salts soak, and started thinking. Which camera? Which lenses? Should I just go for the weirdest look or should I. . . I wasn't sure.
A trip to mother's, then to the bar. The boys were already there. Drinks, talk, food. . . the usual witticisms and banter. More people showed up, then some left. We went across the street to the Irish pub to finish up the night.
When we walked in, a waitress who has served us before came running over happy to see us. Sure. There was nobody in the bar. It was a ghost town. She would be making money. And she remembered everything we'd said and done. You know. . . hip "older" guys. I think that's what she said. What she meant, though, was "Cha-ching!" The boys don't care. They think she's fun. She is a couple semesters away from graduating with a business degree. I told her she needed to give the big spenders her resume. They could help her, I said. And oh, those boys were happy to take her LinkedIn page where her resume resided.
"I don't need it," I said. "Unless you want to read a good book."
She didn't.
Alain asked her if she wanted to get a master's degree.
"Oh, no. I'm ready to make some money. My boyfriend is majoring in economics," she said. "My brother is a political science major. What are they going to do with those degrees? It's like a waste of time."
Tennessee got her IG page.
This is what they all do.
This morning I read an article in the Times--'For College Kids, Giving Up On Books Is A Perfectly Sensible Choice" (link). The author used to assign nine books a semester in his classes. For years now, he hasn't assigned any because, for many reasons, kids don't read. They see college as a means to a career. Yup. Our waitress was a perfect illustration of the article. But she is a fine girl. When we called for the check, she took it right to Alain and said, "Am I going to split this up--a pain in my ass--or are you paying as usual?" Good girl. She knew right where the money was. I made an obvious attempt to give him some cash in front of her which he, of course, refused.
Did she wink at me as I put the money back in my wallet?
This morning, when I checked my email, I had this from the women's roller derby team:
Thank you for reaching out to us. We don’t have a problem with it, we love any opportunity to collaborate and get some promo. We have had more than one photographer before. Would you need us to sign any releases or anything?
H-o-l-y S-h-i-t!
I was in for it now. My stomach kind of fell. I didn't want to do this anymore. It was just too much trouble and I was sure to fail. Then what? Oh, man, oh, man. . . what the fuck had I done?
Yea, yea. . . I'm a baby. I'll do it. I'll make myself do it. I think. 50/50 anyway.
T said he showed the waitress a couple photos by me. She liked them, he said. She said she wanted some pictures like that.
"I don't have a studio anymore."
Yes. . . I need to open a new page. I need to shoot the wrestlers and the roller derby girls and some burlesque dancers and boxers and body builders and circus performers--anything I can get.
If, you know. . . if I can figure out how to make good pictures again.
O.K. Let's listen to some music to calm my troubled soul. If I had this talent, I'd. . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment