One Day Too Late

When someone asks me, "What's so special about Leica cameras?," I'll just point to this.  

Just kidding.  But sort of.  You could do this with just about any camera.  But you probably didn't.  And the reason is that you are not totally infatuated with it.  It's just a camera.  But the Leica has "soul."

Joke.  

Sort of.  

I got "the call" from the Liberator inventor last night.  My camera is ready.  It is more than ready.  It is better than it was when he first built it.  So he says.  I will need to drive up to pick it up.  I don't really "need" to, I think.  I might be able to get him to ship it to me.  But I need to take a drive.  I'm thinking of going to the coast to spend the night, then driving up to some hidden springs with the word "Devil" in its moniker, then on to my old university hometown.  

But first, I have to get my car fixed up.  I went yesterday to make an appointment.  Thursday.  I fret about what it will cost me, but there is nothing to be done about that.  I don't want to have to worry about using my AAA card on a trip out of town.  Did I tell you?  My Xterra is a 2005 model.  Or a 2007.  I can't remember.  I'm just a broke-assed hillbilly when it comes to cars.  I'd rather spend my money buying back stolen cameras.  

I didn't sleep again last night.  Just about not at all.  I woke at one.  Two.  Three.  Got up at four.  I remember that I was dreaming about using my cameras, the Leicas and the Liberator.  Or not.  Yea, that was it.  I couldn't seem to take a picture and the two formats were causing me anxiety.  I think that maybe I am full of anxiety.  

I read that for people over 50 who live alone, anxiety and depression are common and often lead to Alzheimer's disease.  It said that getting a pet helps.  That's what the study showed anyway, but some psychologist said that certain people shouldn't get a pet, that caring for them can be difficult.  

I'm sick of science, if that is what they were using.  Studies, maybe.  Yea, I'm sick of studies.  Scientific studies keep telling me that I am going to die a probably horrible death.  They've linked everything I have, from apnea to blood type to heart attack, stroke, diabetes, and dementia.  That's what they know.  Do they have advice?  Sure.  Eat a Mediterranean diet, meditate, exercise, and get plenty of sleep.  

Really?  That's it?  There is nothing else?  Where's my magic bullet, my miraculous cure?  

It is a game of "Science Says."  This is where literature and science intersect, though.  All stories, carried to their conclusion, end with--"And then he died."  "They," I mean.  

I wouldn't mind it so much if we all went together, but as I've said too many times, it is this taking turns that sucks.  

What?  Oh. . . you want to know how the diet is going?  Well. . . since you asked. . . . 

It is fine.  I'm down to 90 pounds.  It's incredible how quickly fat dissolves when you quit eating and drinking.  Have you ever watched "Naked and Afraid"?  In twenty-one days, some men lose as much as thirty pounds.  Of course, they've only eaten about a hundred calories and have been stressed to their extreme limit.  But yea, it is possible to lose more than a pound a day.  

Yesterday afternoon, I was driving around trying to find a rainy day spot to make some pictures.  I need to "practice photography" they say.  On the YouTube, they do.  I was driving around a part of town where, while I was sleeping, they've added a bunch of beautiful, cool-assed bars.  Oh, they looked so inviting.  

I had to drive away as quickly as I could.  

The eating part, however, has been fairly easy, at least until last night.  I'm not sure I'd eaten twelve hundred calories for the day when dinner was finished, but I was full.  And bored.  So I grabbed my camera and took a night drive.  I thought maybe some slick night pics would be fun.  

This is what I got. 

Oh. . . screw you.  If Eggleston had taken it, everyone would think it "genius."  Whatever.  I drove around Gotham and environs but never felt inspired, so after a long while of driving and listening to the Ellington/Strayhorn take on Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker Suite," I headed for home.  

The moon was just past full, but huge and bright in the sky that had cleared for the first time in days.  And then, passing in front of it, I saw something with two long, red streaks screaming out the back.  WTF was that?  I kept ducking my head as I drove trying to see it through the trees.  Then it came apart, the red fire fading as far ahead something was either leaving or re-entering the atmosphere, or so I surmised from the cloudy penumbra that domed around it.  

I rushed home to put on my tinfoil hat.  You know that any space shot is spewing toxic chemicals all over the place.  People will get sick this week.  It always happens.  Just you wait and see.  

After putting on the hat, I quickly used The Google.  It was the Falconer something or other launching some secret government thing into space.  A Tesla, I believe.  I read that we were trying to catch up with those Commie Chinese who have sent up something very secret weeks ago.  I'm sure that surveillance is at hand.  But who cares?  Apparently not Americans who are happy to use their palms prints to pay for their purchases at Whole Foods.  Of course, I won't do that, but eventually enough of you will that it will be the only way to pay.  

"What does it matter?  You're such a paranoid.  What do you think they are going to do with your palm print anyway?"

Getting out of the house was exciting, anyway.  I got to see nuclear fallout being spewed across the night's sky. . . to further science.  But it made me hungry.  Actually, thirsty, too.  I thought of scotch.  Rather, however, I kind of went over my imagined calorie limit for the day.  I cut up an apple and slathered it in peanut butter.  Oh, brother, oh sister. . . that was heaven.  Then I made some ginger tea.  

And went to bed.  It was nine-thirty.  

Maybe I should get a dog.  

As we approach the New Year--or as it approaches us--we are subjected to the inevitable dreaded"lists" for 2023.  People we lost, best and worst movies, books, t.v. shows, songs. . . party dresses. . . .  There's a list for everything.  And it's important, I guess.  You know. . . 2023 and all.  

It was another crummy year that we are happy to leave behind though we move another step closer to the unavoidable.  You know what I mean. . . another Trump presidency.  

A university chancellor lost his job because he and his wife were putting out "porn" videos of themselves having sex with one another and with others.  They are both "beyond their prime."  They might be lauded for their bravery.  

Russia jailed people who attended an "Almost Nude" party.  Imagine a Walmart where everyone takes off their clothes.  Exciting, right?  Maybe that is why they punished them.  

I always find out these things after the fact.  It does not help my photography.  

But everything is photographable.  That's the wisdom, anyway.  Look what I did last night!  I photographed anything.  

You'll appreciate me one day.  You'll see.  But then it will be too late.  

For me, anyway.