I don’t know about anyone else who has a camera, but when I was shopping for my Nikon D5100, I knew once I got my hands on it that time would stand still like I was Barry Pepper as Joe Galloway in “We Were Soldiers”. Head on a swivel, in slow motion, click-click-click, prominent cheek bones, misty background, my own somber theme music….with a PURPOSE; newly energized and reborn with laser focus in capturing timeless photographic truths. Yeah, I guess, kind of a DICK when you think about it….I mean, Mel Gibson was pretty cavalier about that one napalm canister frying half his guys, but Barry Pepper could have put down his camera for a couple of seconds to help that one Asian dude. But that’s the thing- good photography has a body count if you’re doing it correctly. That’s just the way it goes. If you have a good camera, you get to be like Barry Pepper.
But you DON’T get to be like Barry Pepper. You get to be like the dozens of 70 year old women with the exact same camera pushing past you to cockblock the picture you’re trying to take in Thorncrown Chapel. And THAT…is the beginning and the end of the glory. The added bonus is when you realize how long it’s going to take to process the gigantic fucking files you created after hearing people say “oh, you have to shoot in RAW”. The inferiority complex that is created by having a rig with limitless settings yet choosing to shoot everything in Auto-mode (without flash) is only compounded by your lack of Photoshop software knowledge and the growing fear that you are colorblind in various ranges of pigment. By the time your little preciouses are posted on Facebook or distributed via various electronic methods, you are totally sick of them and convinced they look like the work of a beshitted, cataract-heavy chimp.
YAY! A closeup of my sandwich with the cool fuzzy background look to it! All you really do to yourself is realize how much better everyone else’s pictures look. One of those idiots who holds their iPad out like it’s a board their kung fu nerd buddy is about to roundhouse kick as they snap photos ends up with better pictures than your dumb ass.
The one small comfort I have found as I beat my head against the wall is the strange sense of legitimacy that comes with owning a “real” camera. Other than the old battleaxes who order their family members in and out of shots between you and your subject, people generally get out of the way when you are taking a photo….in a sea of cameraphones, whip out the Nikon and boom- people must think you really mean business. Plus, you get to look like slightly less of an asshole taking pictures at the dinner table…real camera = real pictures = you are part of some level of media that requires your photographic prowess.
While I’m working on lining up the next installment of The Squander Logs (which has given me a new respect for people who acquire, execute and document interviews BTW), as well as a yearly check-in with “3 Years Sober, and a Church at My Grandma’s House”, I thought some decent filler would be my photographic holocaust over the last couple of months. I’ve got some “artsy” shots from our recent anniversary trip to the Ozarks, and food-nerd glory courtesy of The Rieger.
This might be my favorite picture I’ve taken thus far, because it’s just creepy. It’s a decrepit Kewpie Doll in a display at the Ralph Foster Museum at the College of the Ozarks. I used a 10x macro filter and put it right up against the display glass. Lesson learned here- $10 filters only exist to show you their limitations and make you want a dedicated lens.
Nothing special here other than the fact it was early enough to get the photo without the five billion cars and people that would be arriving in downtown Eureka Springs within the next couple of hours.
Sometimes I just fuck around with foreground/background focus (I have zero comprehension of actual photography terms, so fuck off) and the picture usually sucks until you put it in black and white, and then all you’re missing is the guy to advertise for London Fog.
When processing your pictures in Lightroom, it gets boring fast. But you can always depend upon your friendly saturation settings to make any picture say “Welcome to Jamaica!”.
One of my favorite photos, and I call it “Go Fuck Yourself Instagram”. I got up early as hell and waited to make sure the sun was coming up and there were zero cars or people. This is one of the rare moments where I actually thought of the picture the night before and went out to acquire it…..but none of that shit matters, because essentially all I did was reproduce one of the gajillion Instagram settings.
It was at Green Dirt Farms, at the Rieger dinner, that I discovered my nice zoom lens wasn’t just for shooting things that are far off…like zebras and shit. I bought a good fixed focal length lens in addition to the zoom, and it takes great photos like the creepy Kewpie, but with the zoom I find you can be both lazy and sneaky….and very artsy. Just look at these bottles for instance. I was a good ten feet away with people on all sides, but I got one of those close-ups that allow you to delude yourself into thinking….hey, I am acceptable at this.
When visiting Green Dirt Farms with more than just your cameraphone, you are pretty much a dick if you don’t get a shot of the knives. That’s just how it works. And these are ACTUAL Laguiole knives…not those knockoffs that SOME restaurants use….you know who you fucking are. Quality cutlery on a farm provides a dichotomous context in which you can think of all sorts of crazy shit to feel fancy about.
You see this quaint corner of the barn and it makes you forget it wasn’t that long ago that sheep placenta reigned supreme in this space.
If you take many pictures I don’t have to tell you why this one is shitty. Is there something even flatter than one dimensional?
It’s lamb. Up close. But not so close that it blows your mind. I have those pictures too. But you couldn’t handle them.
The Bossa from Green Dirt Farms is one of the finest sheep’s milk cheeses in all the land. This photo is all about the quantity of cheese. It inspired me to start using Bossa cut like this as a bun.
Bossa meets The Rieger….this will definitely make my “Best of 2012” list. A mushroom frittata with half a Bossa sunk into the middle of it shortly before it’s done. The quality of the photo doesn’t matter, this is a test to prove whether or not you have a soul……no love, no soul. You don’t have to want to eat this dish, but you need to think really hard before you open your fucking mouth with anything less than pure reverence.
This isn’t a photo, it’s a cheesy obligation whenever the sun is setting. No context, no depth, I can’t afford the camera it would take to make something like this a panty dropper.
Next up- a few shots from the night of my “White Trash Picnic” Birthday Party at The Rieger. The Rieger is my favorite restaurant in Kansas City, and I have zero obligation to food journalism or the food critic gods to be measured or evenhanded in my praise. The party was a smashing success, but the important thing here is the degradation of quality from photo to photo. I’m never going to be Barry Pepper in We Were Soldiers. I can’t even keep my focus long enough to spend a few seconds setting up a shot or taking basic details into consideration. Then you turn me loose in Adobe Lightroom, and I do some shit like turn the restaurant walls bright green.
Now this looks pretty good….housemade cheese bugles and corn nuts. Not too bad with the available light.
It’s deviled eggs. And that’s it.
Hey, cool, you can keep switching lenses in the middle of dinner….at least the extreme closeup of the Pasta Primavera Salad (with housemade mortadella!) masks how boring you are.
No, it’s not my dick in a box. It’s pimiento celery. I am NOT kidding you!
Man. All on an angle and shit with the crockpot meatballs. Sunday Schools across the nation will be lining up to hire me.
Sorry, I was nodding off for a minute there…..the wheels were officially off the bus at this point. Sure, it’s a white trash picnic, but no need to disrespect wonderful food like this…especially the Shake n’ Bake pork chops. I’m new enough to put part of the blame on available light, but I can only milk that bullshit for so long.
What’s good for a Kewpie Doll doesn’t necessarily work for onion rings. Lose the filters. How is it possible to make something round so goddamn flat?
This had to be seen to be believed. Creamed corn or the set from the movie Dune? You decide.
It’s a fruit cocktail icebox pie from Tasha Goellner. But you would never know that because I apparently suffer from photographic Asperger’s Syndrome.
The End
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