Bummer, Dude
So, there I am, cruising the dusty road in spurts, getting out to shoot the turbines that were appealing to my eye when I finally decide that I gotta get moving again. Y'know, the "one last round of shots" syndrome. Those who know me, know I can be a distracted spaz when excited -- which led to me a familiar event event in life: I set something down for a moment and forgot about it. To be more precise, I set my beloved fisheye on the trunk of the Elantra and stepped off twenty or so paces to get a better perspective of turbines in the previous shot. Back and forth I go, eyeing the subject until I conclude that I have the best shot I am likely to land. Half a mile down the deserted road, the bulk of my digestive and reproductive parts tighten up in horror. AHH! MY FISHEYE! I shot a pointless glance in the rear view mirror and stop the car. A frantic search collapsed the denial of reality. The first level of acceptance engages my automatic movements to backtrack a few thousand feet at a crawl to look for an out of place object on the gravel road. Then I see the first vehicle in the hour or so I had been photographing headed my way -- from the direction where I had last had my precious lens. My ego stopped me from flagging the Texan down and I just return the two-finger-from-the-steering wheel salute. Back and forth I drove and walked to only collect heavier and heavier burdens of self-loathing. Gone. Rational thinking crept back and I commanded my legs to take me back to the car. I looked up before getting in the car and this dude with horns sticking out of his head was just staring at me from perhaps 20 yards away. Without much enthusiasm, I gripped my Nikon and took the shot. Until I secured a replacement in Las Vegas, self-pity fed the circulating mantra in my head, "boy, this would look great with a fisheye..."
I have yet had the courage to tell my wife....
Bummer, Dude
So, there I am, cruising the dusty road in spurts, getting out to shoot the turbines that were appealing to my eye when I finally decide that I gotta get moving again. Y'know, the "one last round of shots" syndrome. Those who know me, know I can be a distracted spaz when excited -- which led to me a familiar event event in life: I set something down for a moment and forgot about it. To be more precise, I set my beloved fisheye on the trunk of the Elantra and stepped off twenty or so paces to get a better perspective of turbines in the previous shot. Back and forth I go, eyeing the subject until I conclude that I have the best shot I am likely to land. Half a mile down the deserted road, the bulk of my digestive and reproductive parts tighten up in horror. AHH! MY FISHEYE! I shot a pointless glance in the rear view mirror and stop the car. A frantic search collapsed the denial of reality. The first level of acceptance engages my automatic movements to backtrack a few thousand feet at a crawl to look for an out of place object on the gravel road. Then I see the first vehicle in the hour or so I had been photographing headed my way -- from the direction where I had last had my precious lens. My ego stopped me from flagging the Texan down and I just return the two-finger-from-the-steering wheel salute. Back and forth I drove and walked to only collect heavier and heavier burdens of self-loathing. Gone. Rational thinking crept back and I commanded my legs to take me back to the car. I looked up before getting in the car and this dude with horns sticking out of his head was just staring at me from perhaps 20 yards away. Without much enthusiasm, I gripped my Nikon and took the shot. Until I secured a replacement in Las Vegas, self-pity fed the circulating mantra in my head, "boy, this would look great with a fisheye..."
I have yet had the courage to tell my wife....