Damn them both.
First off, let me explain this old bastard a bit. He certainly earned the attention. First, he smelled like a baby, in that a soiled diaper mixed with baby powder. Yes, he smelled like sickly shit, quite literally. I think babies are horrific smelling (the older ones cause the new ones don�t smell, apparently) and this guy smelled like one. It was terrible.
Of course, he claimed to be the head of the Wells Fargo that was looming over the small coffee shop down in the business district. He just randomly started up a conversation when I was on my LAST FUCKING PAGE of a book I�ve been reading. Goddamn asshole. So I ignore his prattle for the minute it took me to finish my book. He was going on about how he decides who gets elected for president, and he only votes for southpaws.
Right, well... Fine. And then he goes on to say that all the �hustlers� in town are loosing millions because it�s �better then communism�. Er, okay. Oh yeah, lest I forget, he also mentioned about he throws anyone in jail who doesn�t pay their taxes.
Now, you have to understand this freaks demeanor. He was jumping around, waving his arm, laughing pretty maniacally, and basically being a really strange old, rotten smelling, freak. He was so animated; you could almost call him a cartoon character, albeit a nasty one.
Of course, me being the bastard that I am, I informed him that I was a right-handed communistic tax dodger. That was basically like telling some religious zealot that I was the Anti-Christ and my appearance preceded the destruction of all that we know.
And to back it up, I even scribbled some words on a napkin to PROVE that I was, indeed, right-handed. My small devilish miracle. He was mortified. Eyes real big as he hunched over and backed away from me, telling me I was going to be in jail by sun up tomorrow, yadda yadda.
But hey, I thought it was funny :). So he accosted every customer coming in and out of the place, informing them of what a despicable right-handed communistic tax dodger I was, and how they should hate me, and denounce me. I shit you not, he actually suggested this rather tall and striking woman to denounce me.
Of course, we both exchanged amused glances as she got into her big SUV. It was great.
And then there is the weather. I wanted warm early morning light, which is why I got up at 4am on a Saturday. Did I get it? No, of course not. There just happened to be a big nasty purple cloud planted squarely in the eastern sky, blocking the lovely early morning light.
So I think to myself, �Okay... so the morning shoot is fucked up, but at least I�ll have clouds for my afternoon shoot, that�s good!� Uh.. Right. The clouds are all but gone right now. God damnit!
I�m such a slave to weather. No wonder most photographers prefer studio work. I still won�t give up, though... Fuck the studio! Grrrrrr.
Oh yeah, and as I was scouting the location (a fountain in the business park), stern looking gentlemen in suits descended upon me like flies. Apparently, the area is a prime target for terrorists, so they don�t like some scruffy looking fellow wondering around with a light meter. Jeez. So now I have to go get permission to shoot there from a manager that won�t be there till Monday. But fuck, I wanted to, at the very least, shoot there tomorrow. Fuckity!
It�s only like, 8am and it�s already been a strange god damned day.
Ohh, and it�s not even done yet! One of the neighborhood cats apparently decided to slaughter something in the vines out in front of my house, so when I walk outside, I�m greeted with the sweet smell of death and decay... lovely! I just have to deal with it unless I decide to go on some morbid �Where�s Waldo� hunt through the vines, which I really have no interest in doing.
Hopefully it�s a little animal as opposed to a big one, and the bugs will eat it up shortly so the damned smell will go away.
So far, my general comment for the day would be: Shit.
-G