the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle
Wanted: Give Me Your Used, Abused, and Broken-Hearted
On the brink of giving up, I ultimately had to bang my camera on my knee this evening in order to get it to work.
A few weeks ago I literally drowned my camera in a pool of vodka, it was instant bad karma for being a bad-bad boy. At the time I tried to think positively about this and figured it was a sign that I needed to get back to writing and focusing on the book. Alas, this poor excuse for fucking up (sorry kids) didn’t last very long, for I began to miss taking photos more than ever.
And with all the traveling lately, I haven’t had a chance to drop it off at the shop. Nonetheless and allthemore, I am not very hopeful that they are going to be able to bring my dear, my darling Canon A60, back to life.
Meanwhile, I’ve been borrowing an A70 that I knew was already dysfunctional, and thus, has only, intermittently, been working for me.
However, I was hopeful this evening, because I had gone for a run last night at the holy hour of twilight time, which is especially magnificent when summer breaks into fall and winter spills out into spring around here, and I was subsequently revved up, utterly exuberant over the prospects of taking some fantastic photos of the neighborhood, the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Morningside Heights, tonight.
For the last few nights, between 8:15 and 8:35 or so, the sky has been this marvelous hue of dark blue, which with the iridescent glow of red and gold traffic lights illuminating the languid strides of tired pedestrians, whose shadows walk even slower behind them—the sight has been exquisitely enchanting to behold.
Alas, when I sprinted out of my apartment this evening into the warm-cool air, at the corner I discovered, to my chagrin, to my dismay, that the camera was acting up and refused to perform and play nice for me.
At first I was a bit frustrated, so that in the beginning I simply ran for a block, and occasionally took out my camera from its case, and shoot a few to see if my luck had changed. Sometimes I would get lucky and get one of two photos before it began spitting up these twilight-zone images on the LCD. It was deja-vu all over again.
Alas, I just didn’t have it in me to give up. And so, time and time again I would stop, take the camera out, turn her on, and click-click-click, most of the time coming up empty.
At 124th and Broadway however, my fortune turned, as lady luck and mister tenacity teamed up and somehow decided that if I banged the fucker on my knee that she would begin behaving again.
What you see here is what I was able to get during the second half of my run.
This guessing game of, “Are you going to work for me tonight or not?” is not very fun. If anyone happens to know any upper echelon folks at Canon (or any camera company executive who wants free advertising for that matter) who are willing to donate an old point-and-shoot, I don’t care if she’s refurbished, second-hand, abused, banged up, or broken-hearted, I’d be a happy photographer to take her in and love her as if she were one of my own.
“Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.” ~ John Quincy Adams
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