Posts Tagged 'Cameras'

A Mask is More than a Mask

You would have thought that the benefits of wearing a mask during this pandemic had finally become settled science. And that only loons would be resisting the call of the mask. But then you’d be wrong.

“Americans are rarely up in arms when they see signs that require them to wear shoes or shirts because abiding by those standards is part of our culture,” says NYU expert David Abrams, a professor of social and behavioral sciences.

“There’s a certain bravado of being angry and defying requirements to wear a mask,” he continued.

“Those who choose not to wear masks may feel a sense of solidarity, like they’re taking a stand against authority,” Professor Abrams concluded.

“Once Trump clearly did not wear mask in public, it transmitted a signal that if you’re a good supporter of the president you don’t wear a mask,” reported Chris Jackson of IPSOS public affairs.

Like the learned persons noted above, I’ve often wanted to be quoted in the media, but I’ve never said anything worthwhile. So, in my continuing quest for a memorable byline, I decided to wander through the Ojai metropolis hoping to capitalize and report on the wear/don’t wear issues facing my fellow citizens.

I thought that taking their photos would be a good way of breaking the ice with them. I therefore armed myself with my most impressive piece of camera equipment as a way of assuring potential interviewees that I was indeed the real thing, and someone to be reckoned with. It also would add credence to my encounters with young women who might have otherwise thought that I was merely a dirty old man hoping to take closeup pictures of their breasts and tight shorts.

I love taking photos of people but am a bit reluctant to approach strangers for fear of rejection. To minimize that possibility, I developed a sure-fire way of addressing the problem that featured an elaborate introduction.

“Hi. I’m taking photos of people wearing masks. Can I take yours?” It was a guaranteed winner.

Slinging my camera over my shoulder (it looks a lot cooler that way than draping it around one’s neck) my adventure began with a mid-morning stroll through the grassy plaza between Bonnie Lu’s and Rains, used primarily by pet owners who have nowhere else for their loved ones to take a dump.

My first encounter involved a young couple and their dog.

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“Why are you wearing a mask?” I pointedly asked, adding, “And why isn’t your obviously disinterested dog wearing one?”

The young man replied, “We formerly were terrorists from Afghanistan and have worn masks since we were three. The dog is a Trump supporter and refuses to wear one. He’s a Birther too. We only take him with us so he doesn’t get pissed and crap on the carpet.”

I next wandered over to the plaza fountain and discovered a bevy of young women who were enjoying the warm day and doing a lot of giggling.

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I asked the cute brunette, “What brings you to Ojai on this beautiful day and why are you covering up that lovely face?”

“We don’t work, and we live with our parents who support us financially. We’ve got everything we need in our big house in the Arbolada. I love these Acai bowls from Revel even though we all know they are worse for you than what you get at Ojai Ice Cream. But I ignore it like everything else in my life and hope it will all work out without me doing anything.”

“But what about the masks?” I said.

“Oh, the masks. We just think they are really cool looking. We pick up guys much more easily and never have to show them our faces. Maybe someday they’ll make a body mask too.”

Leaving the lovely ladies, I decided to circumnavigate the plaza and found this young man standing outside the Tortilla House on Signal Street.

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“You’re obviously an upstanding citizen. What brings you to the Tortilla House and why are you wearing a mask?”

“I’m a big Trumper and I only go to restaurants that fly the flag. I’d dump this shitty mask which has been proven to be of no medical value, but Jose the owner will call the cops on me. Can’t wait till Trump is re-elected and we can trash the masks, get rid of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, ban Yoga, and shut down every Vegan food joint in this town.”

I thanked him for his patriotic insights and moved on. Mid-way on Ojai Avenue, I found this trucker in front of Osteria Monte Grappa.

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“Welcome to our town,” I began. Why are you wearing a mask and aren’t you worried about exposing yourself to all these stores and people?“

“I have no idea if these masks are any good. But I figure what have I got to lose?” And my covered face makes me even more attractive to the girls. In fact, I just picked up a cute brunette near the plaza fountain.”

I was getting tired and decided to call it a day. On my way I found these two women near Rains department store.

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“Ladies, you look exactly like native Ojaians should look. Do you mind if I take your picture?”  (I had dropped any elaborate explanation of why I was doing this since no one seemed to care and everyone wanted their picture taken anyway.)

The more statuesque of the two said, “Yes, please take our picture with our masks. And could we have a copy? We’d love to send it to our kids who live in L.A. and who worry that we are exposing ourselves to the virus by shlepping all over town without proper precautions. They foolishly think we’re getting senile, especially when we tell them that President Wilson assures us that he has the Spanish Flu under control.”

I laughed, packed it in and, after discussing the pros and cons of The League of Nations, I said good-bye to the ladies and asked them who they would be voting for this November.

“Why Mr. Harding, of course.”

In retrospect, I consider my mask adventure a great success. Only a quarter of the people I met seemed to have any thoughts about the medical value of face coverings. Which is probably a good thing since all that does is cause arguments. And besides, the Swine Flu is right around the corner. Good thing President Ford is planning to vaccinate all of us.

Photographic Doldrums

My first camera was a Kodak Brownie. Introduced in 1900 and still available as a curiosity on eBay and at swap meets, it’s one of the few things older than me.

Its original list price was a dollar. My dad got me one when I was about twelve at the budget busting price of about ten dollars. Fond of bringing me used toys on Hanukkah, I think the camera may have had a prior owner.

A basic cardboard or plastic box with a handle on top, it had a viewfinder that you held up to your eye and a single fixed focal length lens that didn’t zoom. You were stuck with an unalterable lens opening and a fixed focus. The camera lens blinked in a fiftieth of a second, making it almost impossible to photograph anything that moved, including my usually stationary Uncle Max.

Using a roll of 120 film, you could take sixteen photos before you had to rewind the film, remove it from the camera and insert a new roll. I remember being very selective before popping off a shot in order to conserve the precious film and avoid the developing charges at the local photo shop. It was a far cry from today’s digital disks that have a nearly unlimited capacity that invites haphazard shooting in the hope that one will be a keeper.

In the early sixties, the next phase of my hobby included a Canon F1 single lens reflex camera. A good deal more expensive than the old Brownie, it was still a film camera capable of thirty-six exposures using interchangeable lenses, variable shutter speeds and adjustable apertures. My friend Harry opted for a Nikon camera and we soon became embroiled in extensive comparisons of the virtues of Canon versus Nikon. In retrospect, the quality of our photos had little if anything to do with our equipment.

A darkroom entered my life with its red safelight, bulky Durst enlarger, pans of chemicals and my perpetually stained fingers. I became relatively adept at developing film and producing black and white prints. I bulk loaded my own film rolls that became a badge of excellence in conversations with friends. I doubt that I saved much money, but I never ran out of film. The darkroom also offered a quiet, unassailable fortress where I warned my kids of the dire consequences of entering it and exposing daddy’s stuff to the perils of white light.

I entered the digital age years ago and quickly discarded the darkroom. I became conversant with the advances in the new technology, megapixels and ISO ratings. I purchased the next generation camera when it became available. Owning several Canon digital SLRs, I traded time in the darkroom for a seat in front of my computer monitor, editing my masterpieces with the latest version of Photoshop. Time moved rapidly and my sweetheart, Ila, often had to drag me kicking and screaming into the real world.

My passion extended to taking hundreds of photos of my kids. I’d often pose Nancy, David and Steven and, instead of requiring the traditional “say cheese”, I’d substitute “say gonorrhea.” It always resulted in blank stares from passersby and a smile on the kids’ faces.

Throughout the years, I regularly took photos. I’d occasionally take short breaks but always returned to my avocation. My photos were well received, and I’d often be asked to shoot an event for some of the non-profits in our town. My images are currently available for viewing in several locations. I thrived on the recognition.

A change occurred when Ila became ill. My zeal waned as her condition worsened. In her last years, I backed away from photography. My cameras began to age along with me. I tried to overcome my lethargy by keeping a camera in the car. By taking it on walks as though it were a dog. Snapping only a few shots, they soon became resident in rarely visited file folders on my computer’s hard drive. I gave away my large format photo printer that had been a constant companion. I don’t keep my camera batteries charged nor do I clean my camera lenses. My visits to photo websites are infrequent. As I tried to regain my former self, I’d seek out photo workshops on the web but never complete the enrollment process.

I renewed my membership in the local photo club in order to gain incentive from exposure to others. But I found myself unable to submit images for critiquing. I took little pleasure in seeing others show their very credible work. I was envious but unable to participate. I’d be depressed at the close of the usual monthly meeting, yearning for what seemed unattainable.

Jackie’s encouragement is boundless. She urges me to re-enter my once adored milieu. She seeks out opportunities for me, but I leave them languishing. I promise myself to do better, but nothing happens. I try to think of subject matter, something with long term viability, but I draw a blank. I fall back on other things to fill my time.

Maybe it’s a phase. Something that will end. Before I do.


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