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Entry tags:
Fire, Ice, What Was I Thinking
California is burning, but DC saw flurries this afternoon. Reactions at work spanned the gamut from horror to gleeful organization of snowball fight teams. My moment of horror today was roommate M. revealing her lustful thoughts about Michael Weatherly. Apparently there's an entire fanbase among my age cohort who don't think he's an annoying frat boy? If only House weren't on opposite NCIS, M. and I could bond over TV!
Yesterday I did not buy film. I called my roommate at the mall and asked her to buy me film, because the grocery store I was standing in didn't have the ISO I wanted, unintentionally sending her to a loving interrogation by the sales clerk / photo hobbyist. I am torn between shame and bemusement that I own such a quasi-hipster item. It's, like, vintage. Vintage happens to other people. I just thrift it. (Except when I realize I haven't thought through the cost of film and development. On the other hand, now I have a camera that gives me manual control over depth of field, which I've been jonesing for since about 3 seconds after I discovered non-automatic settings. This is known as impulse shopping, and is bad and wrong. And yet. Am I ebaying this sucker? No. Instead, I'm buying film!)
My little Kodak film camera is a lot like an inkjet printer: the initial outlay is low, but the consumables will kill your budget. I bought this mostly as an exercise in exploring manual settings, which should keep me occupied until I snap and go digital. If I could control digitized f-stops, exposure times, and the rest on a cheap digital, I would so be there. Unfortunately I've either flunked Manual Focus 101, or it's really hard to get that sort of control on a cheap digital point and shoot. Until then, the arcane mysteries of loading film, setting the exposure, and trying to remember what settings I used when (notebook, here I come) should keep me distracted from the momentum-destroying cold and dark of November through January.
Yesterday I did not buy film. I called my roommate at the mall and asked her to buy me film, because the grocery store I was standing in didn't have the ISO I wanted, unintentionally sending her to a loving interrogation by the sales clerk / photo hobbyist. I am torn between shame and bemusement that I own such a quasi-hipster item. It's, like, vintage. Vintage happens to other people. I just thrift it. (Except when I realize I haven't thought through the cost of film and development. On the other hand, now I have a camera that gives me manual control over depth of field, which I've been jonesing for since about 3 seconds after I discovered non-automatic settings. This is known as impulse shopping, and is bad and wrong. And yet. Am I ebaying this sucker? No. Instead, I'm buying film!)
My little Kodak film camera is a lot like an inkjet printer: the initial outlay is low, but the consumables will kill your budget. I bought this mostly as an exercise in exploring manual settings, which should keep me occupied until I snap and go digital. If I could control digitized f-stops, exposure times, and the rest on a cheap digital, I would so be there. Unfortunately I've either flunked Manual Focus 101, or it's really hard to get that sort of control on a cheap digital point and shoot. Until then, the arcane mysteries of loading film, setting the exposure, and trying to remember what settings I used when (notebook, here I come) should keep me distracted from the momentum-destroying cold and dark of November through January.