The Boulevard to Misery

Exciting news!  Stop the presses!  

"What does that mean. . . stop the presses?"

What would be the digital equivalent?  

Whatever.  It won't turn out to be anything anyway.  But. . . . 

I was able to limp from my house up to the Boulevard yesterday afternoon.  I took two film cameras that each had about a quarter roll of black and white film left to expose.  I was very indecisive about taking them at first.  I packed them up in a bag and left the house, then returned and ditched the cameras thinking I didn't want to take them, then, halfway down the block, I decided to retrieve them.  And so onward I began to trudge toward the crowd at the Autumn Art Festival.  

I sauntered down the blockaded Boulevard among and through the throng.  The day was gorgeous, blue skies and dry air, and the weather had enlivened the masses.  As I walked, however, camera in hand, I was met with suspicious glances.  It seemed that each and every person I passed looked me directly in the eyes.  And they weren't smiling.  WTF?  I simply held the camera by my side as I walked through the street.  I hadn't once put the camera to my eye.  

I need to be more incognito, maybe.  I've thought about wearing a big, old lady's dress and clunky shoes, but the beard would be the give away.  

So I walked sometimes shooting silently from the hip.  I looked at the booths full of schlock. Then I saw a fellow I had dinner with once at Travis' house, a fine artist of some repute. His booth displayed about ten large works, all very detailed graphite drawings.  I made a note to Google him when I got home.  

I walked the length of the Boulevard and when I reached the end just past the park, I sat down on a planter to watch the people roll by.  I finished up one roll of film sitting there, but I'm sure my settings were all off, for the small Leica CL has neither autofocus nor auto metering.  Yes, I'm sure everything will be out of focus and underexposed, but I was happy to finish a roll.  

I put the camera back into the camera bag and pulled out the other one, got up and began making my way back up the Boulevard toward home.  Somehow, very quickly, I managed to finish the remainder of the second roll.  It was late afternoon now and the crowd was thinning.  At the end of the Boulevard, I cut across Country Club College and onto the streets of my 'hood.  

When I got back to the house, I grabbed a water and went to the computer to Google the artist.  Then I had the idea to ask A.I. to create an image in his style.  Voila.  That is it at the top of the post.  

I took this from his website.  "Mild Nudity."  It's the Harsh Nudity that is the killer.  Stuff like that shocking painting by Courbet.  

But I'm excited to develop the film today and to be disappointed later on when I scan it.  And then, once again, I'll think that shooting film is stupid and will stick with not taking pictures with my digital cameras.  

It has become a vicious cycle.  

I am never free to pursue anything for very long now anyway.  The afternoon had worn on and the urgency of getting back to my mother was weighing upon me.  

She had had a bad day.  

"When was the last time you had a good day?" I asked her.  

"What?"

"Are you wearing your hearing aids?"

"No.  You weren't here."

"What did the audiologist tell you?"

Just a stare.

"Did she tell you to wear your hearing aids just when I was around?"

"When was the last time you had a good day," she spat.  

I nodded grimly, "Well. . . it's been awhile."

I fixed bowls of soup for our dinners and brought them outside to eat in the fair weather.  

"This sure as hell beats eating in front of the television, doesn't it?"

The pretty woman with the two big dogs walked by and waved.  

Later I cleaned up the kitchen and put my mother's eight o'clock meds together.  Even later, I searched for something to watch on t.v.  What was this?  "Just Friends" with Naomi Watts and Bill Murray?  2025?  Hell yea, I'd watch that.  

I'm not recommending it, but it had some details and themes which kept me interested. And then, at the film's final scene, the music began.  I love this song.  I've been intrigued by Blossom Dearie for awhile.  She seems to have been ahead of her time.  

My mother just got up.  She tells me she fell during the night.  Twice.  She got out of bed and fell into a nightstand, then, confused, she said, she did it again.  She says she might need to go get X-rays.  What I thought might be a day developing film may be spent in a hospital waiting room instead.  I don't know what to do about my mother.  I really don't.  I am here, and yet, shit happens while I sleep.  She was miserable in the best care place in town, so I brought her home.  

And you know what they say about misery.