September 2010 Archives
The other day I read a very serious article in the very serious magazine The Atlantic Monthly about a very serious problem, the likelihood that Iran will have nuclear weapons sometime soon. I can't solve that problem, I'm afraid. Wish I could, but I can't. The problem I did solve doesn't quite rise to that level of seriousness, but it was a vexing one nonetheless. I made a note to myself the other day to buy razor blades, and when I went to the store, I found that a package of 10 Gillette Sensor blades would cost nearly 18 dollars. This seemed outrageous. It's a bit of plastic with another couple of bits of steel in it, made by slaves in China. I would conservatively estimate the markup as a billion percent.
So I looked at the racks. You could get dual-edge Wilkinson blades that fit Atra and Trac II razors for a much more reasonable price. But you couldn't find razor handles that would accommodate them, so no joy there. Worse, clearly the trend is away from two-blade razors like the Sensor toward blade inflation—four- and five-blade razors that probably give you a nice clean shave, but the Sensor did too and unless the five-blader means you don't have to shave for a week, I don't see that we're further forward. Enough!
I briefly wondered if people were selling used Atra or Trac II razors on Ebay, then shook off the unappetizing image. It turns out that you can use the inexpensive dual-edge Atra blades with the currently available Gillette Vector handle, available online although not in the three stores I went to. This solves the problem of the dual-edged razor blade that costs $1.80 and the four- or five-edged model that goes for $2.50 or so—solves it temporarily, at least. I can't solve the problem of a nuclear Iran and I don't think I can permanently solve the problem of blade inflation but on the second thing I'm at least trying. And you have to at least try, right?
So I looked at the racks. You could get dual-edge Wilkinson blades that fit Atra and Trac II razors for a much more reasonable price. But you couldn't find razor handles that would accommodate them, so no joy there. Worse, clearly the trend is away from two-blade razors like the Sensor toward blade inflation—four- and five-blade razors that probably give you a nice clean shave, but the Sensor did too and unless the five-blader means you don't have to shave for a week, I don't see that we're further forward. Enough!
I briefly wondered if people were selling used Atra or Trac II razors on Ebay, then shook off the unappetizing image. It turns out that you can use the inexpensive dual-edge Atra blades with the currently available Gillette Vector handle, available online although not in the three stores I went to. This solves the problem of the dual-edged razor blade that costs $1.80 and the four- or five-edged model that goes for $2.50 or so—solves it temporarily, at least. I can't solve the problem of a nuclear Iran and I don't think I can permanently solve the problem of blade inflation but on the second thing I'm at least trying. And you have to at least try, right?
A new friend who knows I do photography wrote to me to get over to a field near my house where 400,000 sunflowers were in their fullest glory. And the first morning I was free, I dragged my groggy self over there and felt well rewarded—sure enough, the sunflowers flowed out over the fields until they were quite literally out of sight.
The retreating glaciers that created the field had been inconsiderate enough to do so in a way that prevented me from showing one flower up close with the rest of the mass swooping dramatically away, but I did the best I could. A cooperative bee posed next to one flower, so that's the image I chose to slap up here.
It was only when I thought about it days later that I realized I'd gotten some decent pictures but had missed an opportunity anyway. There were a number of other people there—several of them professional photographers, and a whole photography class of some sort. And for a moment I thought of them as competition, the way you hate to see other fisherpersons at a stream you'd prefer to fish alone. But when I thought about it later, I decided I was glad they were there, and wished I had taken their pictures, because they were part of the story too.
I don't know—I look at the news stories that crowd their way onto my computer screen, and I think sometimes that the world seems to be full of tawdry celebrity gossip, mindless, hate-driven sloganeering, and little else. So it's refreshing to know that a few gentle souls will take some time to gaze at a field of sunflowers. As a race, people do wonderful things and horrible things in what seems to be equal measure, and taking time to gaze at a swathe of blazing yellow because it'll be gone in a few weeks is one of the wonderful things we do. I also like that we, at least some of us, look into canyons and listen to symphonies and learn to name the constellations. Beauty and awe, you know? Good stuff.
And then I further thought about it, and realized that although I think direct experiences are better than media experiences, I have to admit that this new friend is one of those modern friends you make before you've actually met in real life, if you ever do. She has a very cool blog and we seem to have some interests, attitudes and experiences in common. But if it weren't for our hyper-mediated world, I might not have met her yet in any fashion. But I did, which is nice.
And that's all, really. A field of sunflowers, and some of the thoughts you might think about them.
The retreating glaciers that created the field had been inconsiderate enough to do so in a way that prevented me from showing one flower up close with the rest of the mass swooping dramatically away, but I did the best I could. A cooperative bee posed next to one flower, so that's the image I chose to slap up here.
It was only when I thought about it days later that I realized I'd gotten some decent pictures but had missed an opportunity anyway. There were a number of other people there—several of them professional photographers, and a whole photography class of some sort. And for a moment I thought of them as competition, the way you hate to see other fisherpersons at a stream you'd prefer to fish alone. But when I thought about it later, I decided I was glad they were there, and wished I had taken their pictures, because they were part of the story too.
I don't know—I look at the news stories that crowd their way onto my computer screen, and I think sometimes that the world seems to be full of tawdry celebrity gossip, mindless, hate-driven sloganeering, and little else. So it's refreshing to know that a few gentle souls will take some time to gaze at a field of sunflowers. As a race, people do wonderful things and horrible things in what seems to be equal measure, and taking time to gaze at a swathe of blazing yellow because it'll be gone in a few weeks is one of the wonderful things we do. I also like that we, at least some of us, look into canyons and listen to symphonies and learn to name the constellations. Beauty and awe, you know? Good stuff.
And then I further thought about it, and realized that although I think direct experiences are better than media experiences, I have to admit that this new friend is one of those modern friends you make before you've actually met in real life, if you ever do. She has a very cool blog and we seem to have some interests, attitudes and experiences in common. But if it weren't for our hyper-mediated world, I might not have met her yet in any fashion. But I did, which is nice.
And that's all, really. A field of sunflowers, and some of the thoughts you might think about them.
About a year ago, I sat sunk in gloom, staring moodily at the far wall in my living room. Never mind why, multiple reasons, but at that moment I focused on a picture of an apple hanging on the wall. I'd taken it a couple of years before, liked it, and printed it out on a desktop printer. That night, I decided I wanted the damn thing properly printed and framed. I wanted it big, hanging on my wall, daily evidence that occasionally I did something worth doing.
When I got it framed, the gallery owner said I should put it out as a limited-edition print, and that I should do a similar series, and maybe it could be a show. That didn't seem quite real to me—as much as I've always liked photography and the visual arts in general, I've never even dreamed of doing things in the fine-arts world. But I was pleased and flattered, and flirted with the idea that I had some real artistic talent lurking untapped in me. And just for fun, at least in the beginning, I fooled around some more, and a picture of pears in particular turned out well, so I got that framed too. And the gallery owner said put together 10 or 20 like it and we'd do an exhibit in a year or so.
And the show is happening in two days. I still don't quite believe it. I just don't see myself as an artist, really. But I'd better learn how to, I think, or I'm going to be standing around at the reception smiling abstractedly to myself like a mental patient at how funny life can be. From that one evening a year ago, alone and depressed, what comes? An evening two days from now in which your honored servant will kinda sorta be the center of attention in a room full of light and warmth, people coming and going, wine and cheese, all that. Very, very strange, the way things happen, don't you think?
When I got it framed, the gallery owner said I should put it out as a limited-edition print, and that I should do a similar series, and maybe it could be a show. That didn't seem quite real to me—as much as I've always liked photography and the visual arts in general, I've never even dreamed of doing things in the fine-arts world. But I was pleased and flattered, and flirted with the idea that I had some real artistic talent lurking untapped in me. And just for fun, at least in the beginning, I fooled around some more, and a picture of pears in particular turned out well, so I got that framed too. And the gallery owner said put together 10 or 20 like it and we'd do an exhibit in a year or so.
And the show is happening in two days. I still don't quite believe it. I just don't see myself as an artist, really. But I'd better learn how to, I think, or I'm going to be standing around at the reception smiling abstractedly to myself like a mental patient at how funny life can be. From that one evening a year ago, alone and depressed, what comes? An evening two days from now in which your honored servant will kinda sorta be the center of attention in a room full of light and warmth, people coming and going, wine and cheese, all that. Very, very strange, the way things happen, don't you think?
