A New Lens!

A new lens -- that was my birthday present from Dave this year. For a few weeks now, it's been only a theoretical present, as we didn't have a chance to shop and I wasn't sure which lens I wanted. But yesterday I went to the camera store and finally chose one -- a 400mm zoom.

It's a huge thing, with its own carrying case. How I'm going to lug it around alongside my camera remains to be seen!

I immediately took it over to Covent Garden and experimented with photographing people there. As you can see, it's a nice sharp lens, though I overexposed the photo above just a bit. (What is it with Asian women and those paper face masks? I see that a lot.)

It was freezing cold, so everyone was huddled and bundled and trying to stay warm. Not the best day to stand outside with a camera. My hands got so cold they hurt!

Of course, this lens raises all those ethical questions about the fairness of photographing complete strangers unaware, and then posting their photos on the Internet. That's street photography, and it's perfectly legal -- but is it right? Do people have an expectation of privacy when they're standing in the middle of hundreds of other people on a public plaza?

The law says no, because otherwise there would be no journalism. You have to be able to photograph people in public, even if they're not aware.

I have a few personal rules. I don't take any photos specifically to embarrass people. I try to put myself in the position of the person being photographed, and I only use the picture if I think they would approve. And I always avoid kids.

I'm not sure how much people photography I'm going to do anyway. It's mostly experimentation at this point!

One-Day Deadhead

I just read Nick Paumgarten's article in The New Yorker about the Grateful Dead, the nature of their music, their fanatical followers and their vast body of archived concert recordings. It got me thinking about my own experience with the Dead.

I was never much of a fan. In fact, like Nick Paumgarten, when I was young I thought they were a heavy metal band -- I suppose because of the name, and all those skulls.

But I did go see them once, in Orlando, Fla. I don't remember the date, or even the year, but after doing a bit of research I concluded it had to be one of three shows they did at the Orlando Arena in April 1991.

At the time I was working at a Central Florida newspaper, and one of my coworkers was a devoted Dead fan. Some of the others were casual Dead listeners, and I -- well, I was merely curious. (I seem to remember owning a copy of the "Skull & Roses" album around this time -- or maybe I borrowed it. I don't think I listened to it much.) At any rate, a group of us decided to attend the show.

The night of the concert, I wound up working a bit later than everyone else and driving to Orlando with an intern at the paper, an attractive young woman whose name I don't remember. She struck me as the kind of hippie-ish person who might follow the Dead. We barely knew each other, but talking on the way to the show, I confided that I had never done LSD. I said I was curious.

She exclaimed, "Oh, we can do some tonight, if you want!"

I suppose I kind of wanted her to say that -- but nonetheless, my blood immediately ran cold. My curiosity and adventurousness retreated like a turtle into its shell. I asked her how long an acid trip lasted. Hours and hours, she said.

"Well, I have to go to work tomorrow," I stammered.

Thus revealed to be a complete square, I think I dropped a few notches in her eyes. When we got to the show, she met friends and promptly took off -- I didn't see her the rest of the night. I don't think she even joined the rest of my coworkers.

I did find them, though, and we strolled the arena's parking area, where I seem to remember buying a dinner of vegetarian mash of dubious quality and cleanliness from a woman in a camper. We found our seats in the arena, and here is what I remember about the show: Purple lights and the smell of pot.

I do not remember the music. Not one bit. I don't remember what the band looked like, or even if they were any good. This was obviously toward the end of their long career, a period that Deadheads regard as inferior to the band's earlier years -- and after their tedious song "Touch of Gray," ironically their biggest radio hit. They probably played that.

Not being a Dead fan, I wouldn't have been in a position to appreciate their improvisational playing, so it's no wonder that didn't make any impression. Maybe I forgot everything because I had a contact high from sitting in that crowd. (I don't think I smoked -- at least, not deliberately.)

Last night, I looked in my 1991 journal to see if I wrote anything about the concert. There was a gap in entries around that time -- they jump from March to May -- and from what I can tell, I never mentioned it.

So there you have it: my one forgettable, and mostly forgotten, day as a Deadhead.

(Photo: A heron in Hyde Park on Sunday.)

Window Repairs

The window repair man finally came back yesterday. Sheesh, what an odyssey that's been.

I think I mentioned a couple of months ago that we called the local government council -- which maintains our building -- to fix some broken hinges on our windows. The repairman came, assessed the situation, and told us we had extremely unusual hinges that they would need to special order.

(My mom is fond of saying that whenever you call a repair person -- or a call center, or any similar service provider -- it's always as if you are the very first person in recorded history to have your type of problem. This is a good example. Apparently no one else has hinges like ours.)

The repairman went away and came back a few weeks later with three replacement hinges. By this time, through sheer bad luck, we'd had two more break. (Attention landlords: we are not abusing the windows. I swear.) I'd hoped the repairman would have some extras with him, but no. He said I needed to file a new work order for the additional two hinges. But he added that he would watch for my work order, and would order parts so he could install them promptly when they arrived.

I filed the new work order. But this time the council, for some reason, sent a different repairman. He insisted that the council's regular maintenance staff (in other words, he himself) could not fix my windows.

"But," I protested, "another council worker fixed three of them just a few days ago."

Well, he shouldn't have done that, the new guy said. He called a subcontractor -- a special window-repair company. Several days later, they came and did their own assessment.

Unsurprisingly, they agreed with the first guy -- our hinges are very weird. They needed to be special ordered.

So finally, yesterday, the sub-contractors came back with new hinges. They fixed our two remaining windows. As far as I can tell, all our windows now work, though I'm increasingly afraid to open any of them.

(Photos: Oddities from around Knightsbridge, yesterday. Yes, that's a Christmas ornament in the gutter.)

Urban Moai

I went over to Latimer Road yesterday to find some new graffiti. I was hoping Mr. Styles had been back -- he's done at least three pieces over there, including one a couple of weeks ago that I missed seeing before it got painted over. I didn't want that to happen again. But Mr. Styles had not returned, and nothing else was very impressive. So I ran some errands and came home.

Then, in the afternoon, I walked over to Trellick Tower, my other graffiti spot. There had been a lot of activity, so I took some photos, but again, none of the new pieces knocked my socks off. I decided to take a long walk home along the Grand Union Canal.

That's where I came across these -- definitely the find of the day! They're urban moai, those somber-looking statues gazing out to sea from Easter Island. In this case they're gazing across the Grand Union Canal toward...a big apartment block.

You've got to be a culturally aware graffiti artist to incorporate moai into your work, it seems to me.

Dave and I keep talking about trying to visit Easter Island. Apparently it can be done from Chile, and we do want to go to South America. I'm taking these moai as a sign that someday I might get there.

To tell you the truth -- as you can probably sense from the fact that I took two walks yesterday -- I am a bit stir-crazy right now. We're almost at the bottom of the curve in terms of daily sunlight. It's dark for so much of the day, and it's also been so rainy and cold, that getting out of the house has been harder than usual. (I have gone out, though, every day for the past week.)

I'm also getting a bit discouraged about my photography -- just wondering how to ever make myself known, make my work known. I see so many people on Flickr with photography brands, obviously seeking to create businesses of their own. Am I any better than they are? Does my work stand out? I have followers on Flickr, but not that many. Wouldn't they be banging down my doors by the hundreds if I were making truly great images? Am I just too average?

All this was going through my head yesterday. Perhaps a little bit of Polynesia is just what I needed.

The Airport Schlep

I love this storefront. It usually has a phalanx of cars parked out front, making photography impossible. I got lucky on Saturday!

Busy day yesterday. I took David to the airport, in order to help him with his baggage. He had a big, heavy suitcase and two overstuffed carry-ons, plus a few odds and ends like a rolled-up poster. He could have managed, I'm sure, but I wanted to help out and also make sure he made the tube transfers without a problem.

If there's one thing I've learned while traveling, it's to pack light -- as some of you know, I'm a little fanatical about it. I think it's a good rule of thumb for life in general as well! The less stuff, the better!

Dave and I went to see "Argo" yesterday afternoon. It was very suspenseful and we liked it, though the ending seemed a bit too neat for my taste. I don't remember that episode of American history at all. I remember the Iranian Hostage Crisis, obviously, but I don't remember that a handful escaped -- and apparently they did make news at the time.

There are still several other movies I want to catch -- "The Master" and "Silver Linings Playbook" among them. Then, last night, we watched "Southland," which I recently discovered showing on TV here (did I write about this already?) and we downloaded Season 1 of "Homeland." I'm trying to keep up with my pop culture!

Fin de la Visite

Our friend David is here again, passing through for one night after his European tour. Today he hops back onto a plane bound for the states. (I can hear Dave now: "Don't hop! It's dangerous.")

Last night we went to a neighborhood restaurant, Lonsdale, a place I've long wondered about and wanted to try. (Not to be confused with the Earl of Lonsdale, our corner pub.) Lonsdale is right around the corner but for some reason those are often the places you never visit, right? Well, it was terrific. The lighting was low and the wide banquettes were elegant red leather. I had succulent scallops and a lentil hot pot; David had a wild game terrine followed by duck; Dave had a quail starter and blood pudding atop pork belly. (Quail on a plate always looks so sad to me!) We split a bottle of malbec and even got desserts. Fabulous! We will definitely go back.

Then we came home to the flat and shared photos -- I showed David my pics of Belgium, and he showed me and Dave his photos of Paris, Switzerland and Italy.

I went walking yesterday in Hyde Park and environs. It's bloody cold out there now, but people are still out and about, bundled up and even running and exercising. Fortitude!

(Photo: This is not Lonsdale! It's a random restaurant in Marylebone, on Friday.)

Beatles & Stones

The Beatles are still omnipresent in London, with their own dedicated coffee shop at the St. John's Wood tube station, and a Beatles store on Baker Street. (I assume these are officially sanctioned establishments, considering how tight the owners of the Beatles copyrights are.)

I wonder if that kid is listening to the Beatles? Probably not. Probably Adele or the Arctic Monkeys or whoever kids listen to these days.

Those among you who may be more Stones than Beatles will be pleased to know that the Stones are omnipresent too. I didn't go in this exhibit when I saw it in Mayfair on Thursday -- being more Beatles myself -- but you gotta love the lips made of Coke cans.

It's dipped below freezing the last couple of nights, so I've been bringing in a few of our plants: the horseradish, which is just a pot of dirt at this point, since the leaves have all died back for winter; the potted heather; the plumbago. I think the first two would probably survive if I left them outside, but when plants are in pots it's a tricky business -- if the roots freeze, it's all over. Our lavender I've been leaving outside. I sort of hope it dies, honestly. It's seen better days.

I first brought the plants in on Thursday night, and within minutes the apartment was buzzing with four fat, slow-moving houseflies. I guess they were hiding in the heather, and when the warm air hit them they activated. I managed to herd them back outside yesterday.

Last night I watched an old Richard Burton and Joan Collins movie from 1957 called "Sea Wife." I have a bit of personal history with this movie. Long ago, while in Miami for a journalism convention, I had a fling with a guy I met there. We sat up in his hotel room one night and watched parts of "Sea Wife" on TV. But I'd never seen the whole movie because, after all, we were having a fling and there were better things to do. So last night I finally saw the whole movie!

I suppose it's a sure sign of advancing age -- and wisdom -- when you'd rather stay in with your partner in your cozy home and watch Joan Collins than go out and have a fling with someone you just met. Thank god those days are over.