JIMI HENDRIX, TRASH AND RAMBLINGS!
I'm lower than a racing snakes belly, granules of exfoliating sand permeating every orifice I ever knew that I had, maybe even some I that I didn't. The glory of an ultra wide lens fills my heart and eager hands as I push my Nikon's base into the ground, twisting the Tamron's slick barrel wide open to capture the angle that my eyes perceived. Feeling like a pro but looking like a rank amateur, I'd already given it the full 'art house' film makers picture frame in the air malarkey with the thumb and index finger of each hand. How pretentious I must have looked to the clutch of Seagulls that lined the waters edge throwing back their wings and collapsing with laughter. Do gulls laugh? Well these ones certainly appeared to, or am I just paranoid!
It's about this time when I'm positioned and prone that I usually develope an itch somewhere on my body that my arms are simply not able to reach without a knack for self dislocation like a circus contortionist, which I do not possess and I certainly am not! A six foot four contortionist escaping from one of those unfeasably minuscule boxes whilst the vacant looking bleached blonde bubble head accomplice dressed in low cut Electric blue sequinned top that barely covers her finest assets, and sexy fish net stockings, does her best to look attractive and point her well manicured fingers in the direction of the action, now that would bring the punters in. Maybe I missed my true vocation after all.
Sure enough, there's an itch on my ass that I cannot reach, hands on the Nikon body as the sweat pours down my eye whilst I try to focus through the Seagull right angle viewfinder that let's me shoot from such a low angle without breaking my neck or putting my vertebrae out. I try to concentrate on the shot to take my mind off the itch, but suddenly the lyrics to 'Castles made of sand' by Jimi Hendrix comes into my mind and I'm humming, then singing, 'And so castles made of sand, melts into the sea eventually', my feet tapping like celery sticks with a nervous twitch, and I'm fighting the urge to let rip with some air guitar at it's very finest. I resist, and the itch seems to dissolve away as I make my manual settings and position my right index finger over the shutter button.
The elements are all in place from the low angle to the beautiful rolling mountains far away in the distance. The grass sways in the lens and the clouds skip merrily across the blue sky like little woolly sheep following their mother to pastures fresh and new, or maybe the slaughter house where mum will be taken from them and the harsh realities of their short lives given a good kick-start! Finger poised, breath held, heartbeat slow and steady and...... Ah how lovely, a piece of torn newspaper makes an unwelcome appearance in the frame, wafted in on Hurricane Beelzebub that nobody had bothered to tell me about on this morning's CHKL-TV1 Global channel weather report as I sat on the Motel bed counting the body fluid stains like a scene from 'CSI' and waited for my wife to stop screaming as she tried desperately to shower beneath the five sporadic unblocked water jets that ejaculated ice cold water with the frequency of the Yellowstone park Geysers. OK, so it was a cheap and cheerful Motel, the sort of joint that had a sign on the door, 'Sorry, we're open'! The guy on the front desk gave an unnerving smile and seemed to have a wayward eye, one looking at you, the other at the door behind. Was there something he knew that we didn't? Come to think of it, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Anthony Perkins. And though I appreciated the 'cheap' part of the deal, to this day I've never quite fathomed what the 'cheerful' part related to. Maps of Africa forged on the bedspread, dust so thick that even the mites had the Vacuum cleaners out!
Back on the beach and my eyes are trying to adjust as I raise my head up and look at the paper usurper now spoiling my frame. 'Smile, you're on Lisa's camera' so the heading on the newspaper read, albeit upside down in a sort of Australian manner. Actually Love, you're on my camera now, as I play back the frame and curse such timing. Could have been worse, it could have been an overexcited Chiahauhau with a two foot long rasping tongue, eager to give my facial features yet another dermabrasive pounding just in case the sand hadn't left me previously red raw and bleeding. Ah yes the fun I've had with our canine friends whilst attempting to take photographs, including being urinated on as I lined up those killer shots! Do I look like a frigging tree....... on second thoughts, don't even answer that one.
I move the piece of newspaper, and recompose myself which isn't easy with these ageing bones that creek and crack as I lay back down in the sand with the grace of a floundering hippopotamus and the elegance of a dying wilderbeast. I bracket several more shots, though realize later that the muffed frame with the passing piece of newspaper desperately seeking attention, is my favourite. Thanks Lisa, you'll never know how you made my day with your story. Back to the Motel for a cold one or three. Twenty four hours in a day and twenty four Bud light's in a box, I kinda like that ratio. As Hendrix sang: " And so castles made of sand slip into the sea, eventually "....
Yeah baby, be a pal and pass me the Ganja!
.
.
Rewritten on June 22nd 2011
Photograph taken on April 12th 2010 in the South Beach gardens RV Park off Skaha Lake Road, Penticton, in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia, Canada. .
Nikon D90 10mm/14mm 1/500s f/11.0 iso200
Tamron 10-24mmf/3.5-4.5 Di II LC. UV filter. Seagull angle viewfinder. MetaGPS geotag.
Latitude: 49 27\'9.581"N/'9582"N
Longitude: 119 35\'38.442"W/'38.443"W
JIMI HENDRIX, TRASH AND RAMBLINGS!
I'm lower than a racing snakes belly, granules of exfoliating sand permeating every orifice I ever knew that I had, maybe even some I that I didn't. The glory of an ultra wide lens fills my heart and eager hands as I push my Nikon's base into the ground, twisting the Tamron's slick barrel wide open to capture the angle that my eyes perceived. Feeling like a pro but looking like a rank amateur, I'd already given it the full 'art house' film makers picture frame in the air malarkey with the thumb and index finger of each hand. How pretentious I must have looked to the clutch of Seagulls that lined the waters edge throwing back their wings and collapsing with laughter. Do gulls laugh? Well these ones certainly appeared to, or am I just paranoid!
It's about this time when I'm positioned and prone that I usually develope an itch somewhere on my body that my arms are simply not able to reach without a knack for self dislocation like a circus contortionist, which I do not possess and I certainly am not! A six foot four contortionist escaping from one of those unfeasably minuscule boxes whilst the vacant looking bleached blonde bubble head accomplice dressed in low cut Electric blue sequinned top that barely covers her finest assets, and sexy fish net stockings, does her best to look attractive and point her well manicured fingers in the direction of the action, now that would bring the punters in. Maybe I missed my true vocation after all.
Sure enough, there's an itch on my ass that I cannot reach, hands on the Nikon body as the sweat pours down my eye whilst I try to focus through the Seagull right angle viewfinder that let's me shoot from such a low angle without breaking my neck or putting my vertebrae out. I try to concentrate on the shot to take my mind off the itch, but suddenly the lyrics to 'Castles made of sand' by Jimi Hendrix comes into my mind and I'm humming, then singing, 'And so castles made of sand, melts into the sea eventually', my feet tapping like celery sticks with a nervous twitch, and I'm fighting the urge to let rip with some air guitar at it's very finest. I resist, and the itch seems to dissolve away as I make my manual settings and position my right index finger over the shutter button.
The elements are all in place from the low angle to the beautiful rolling mountains far away in the distance. The grass sways in the lens and the clouds skip merrily across the blue sky like little woolly sheep following their mother to pastures fresh and new, or maybe the slaughter house where mum will be taken from them and the harsh realities of their short lives given a good kick-start! Finger poised, breath held, heartbeat slow and steady and...... Ah how lovely, a piece of torn newspaper makes an unwelcome appearance in the frame, wafted in on Hurricane Beelzebub that nobody had bothered to tell me about on this morning's CHKL-TV1 Global channel weather report as I sat on the Motel bed counting the body fluid stains like a scene from 'CSI' and waited for my wife to stop screaming as she tried desperately to shower beneath the five sporadic unblocked water jets that ejaculated ice cold water with the frequency of the Yellowstone park Geysers. OK, so it was a cheap and cheerful Motel, the sort of joint that had a sign on the door, 'Sorry, we're open'! The guy on the front desk gave an unnerving smile and seemed to have a wayward eye, one looking at you, the other at the door behind. Was there something he knew that we didn't? Come to think of it, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Anthony Perkins. And though I appreciated the 'cheap' part of the deal, to this day I've never quite fathomed what the 'cheerful' part related to. Maps of Africa forged on the bedspread, dust so thick that even the mites had the Vacuum cleaners out!
Back on the beach and my eyes are trying to adjust as I raise my head up and look at the paper usurper now spoiling my frame. 'Smile, you're on Lisa's camera' so the heading on the newspaper read, albeit upside down in a sort of Australian manner. Actually Love, you're on my camera now, as I play back the frame and curse such timing. Could have been worse, it could have been an overexcited Chiahauhau with a two foot long rasping tongue, eager to give my facial features yet another dermabrasive pounding just in case the sand hadn't left me previously red raw and bleeding. Ah yes the fun I've had with our canine friends whilst attempting to take photographs, including being urinated on as I lined up those killer shots! Do I look like a frigging tree....... on second thoughts, don't even answer that one.
I move the piece of newspaper, and recompose myself which isn't easy with these ageing bones that creek and crack as I lay back down in the sand with the grace of a floundering hippopotamus and the elegance of a dying wilderbeast. I bracket several more shots, though realize later that the muffed frame with the passing piece of newspaper desperately seeking attention, is my favourite. Thanks Lisa, you'll never know how you made my day with your story. Back to the Motel for a cold one or three. Twenty four hours in a day and twenty four Bud light's in a box, I kinda like that ratio. As Hendrix sang: " And so castles made of sand slip into the sea, eventually "....
Yeah baby, be a pal and pass me the Ganja!
.
.
Rewritten on June 22nd 2011
Photograph taken on April 12th 2010 in the South Beach gardens RV Park off Skaha Lake Road, Penticton, in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia, Canada. .
Nikon D90 10mm/14mm 1/500s f/11.0 iso200
Tamron 10-24mmf/3.5-4.5 Di II LC. UV filter. Seagull angle viewfinder. MetaGPS geotag.
Latitude: 49 27\'9.581"N/'9582"N
Longitude: 119 35\'38.442"W/'38.443"W