On April 5, there is a FUNdraising event for TransitPeople –  “an all-volunteer Los Angeles non-profit that conducts educational, one day trips for school groups using the public transit system.”

What is it?

“Five competing teams of grown-ups will use public transit trains and buses to race (well, race kind of; how can you race while holding a strap in a bus?) from meeting points in Hollywood, Pasadena, Echo Park, Glendale and the Wilshire district to an ultra hush-hush, super top secret, only-revealed-at-the-start-of-the-race destination.”

Why is this mentioned in RedFishingBoat? Because your humble host, me, will be following one of the competing teams, documenting their every move along the way. One of the organizers is Tim, and he did an awfully kind write-up about me and some other volunteer photogs. Check it out: TransitPeople News.

Play this song now: “Get On The Bus (feat. Abstract Rude)” – Busdriver

I arrived at the address on a bright and hazy Thursday after a long and dreary afternoon drive through muddled Los Angeles congestion. Battling traffic had imbued me with a sense of undeserved urgency, there was no real rush.  Actually, I arrived after missing the place twice and circling back around. For it was a sterile, invisible,  two-story office outcrop that could have once been called Sea Breeze Motel in some other century, but which was now sturdy home to dentists, tax attorneys, and hairstylists. Parking was scarce. In fact, each space was visibly assigned to a specific suite number. The most popular building tenants rated two or even three spaces. There was no space at all allotted for suite number four.

Classic camera repair must not generate much foot-traffic, I thought.

I parked at a laundromat, forced to legitimize my taking up space by buying an orange soda at a liquor store. I considered that it would be a bit surreal to walk in with a Rollei and an orange soda. I stashed the bottle in my bag. Up the stairs past some wooden men speaking Spanish who looked like they knew me, but didn’t. The doorway featured a carved wooden Rolleiflex badge, so there could be no mistake. I looked for any posted information to discourage me from just barging in. I found none, I opened the door, I entered.

I have to confess that I paid too much for my Rollei when i first got it. I didn’t do my homework.  The model that was advertised to me was not what I bought. I think this was not through any malice on the part of the seller, just a matter of general confusion among amateurs. Perhaps this is why I am so keen on making it work for me. I’m self-conscious of its well-worn condition, though Carmen says it’s just well-loved Whatever. I really want the Rollei-tionship to work, and I’m willing to compromise to make it happen.

Inside the door was a tiny hall with a chest-high counter that separated supplicants from the Master. I didn’t have time at all to take it all before a slight lanky greybeard and wire-frames greeted me quietly, and not without some pain in his eyes. I realized I had been counting on waiting a few minutes to be acknowledged, but he was on me in an instant, wanting to know my business.  I insisted first upon introducing myself and offering my hand.  Didn’t he know that he was a legend? Harry Fleenor introduced himself in turn and shook my hand with a worried and awkward curtness. Having done that I launched into a staccato rendition of my problem:

“I have this Rolleiflex  (did I pronounce it right?) I’ve run a dozen rolls through it and the shutter doesnt always want to cock and i think it needs an overhaul (god no why am I telling him just let him check it out) so I was wondering if you could take a look at it, if you wanted. Sir (oh crap i’ve blown it already)” And, I quickly notice the small notice on the wall that there is a ten dollar charge for inspections.

With the jittery slowness of someone who has seen his share of fools like me, he took the camera, popped it open and cocked the –

“Oh, what’s that grinding?” he accused me.

“I can’t say,” I offered mutely.

He fired, wound, fired, wound, fired, wound. He’s going to say it’s fine and why am I wasting his time, I dreaded.

“Oh, yes there it didn’t cock.”

Whew.

“The shutter sounds a little slow, I’d like to test it, if that all right with you.”

Please do.

He stepped back into the office, and I could see it all. Esoteric machinery with Rollei logos, a gaggle of shiny bodies, stacks of documentation, Rollei’s history in posters, magnificent clutter measured by the decade. And, a woman of Italian lineage who was beautiful when the clutter was just a mess, seated at a table with a worklight with some interrupted intricate task, staring at me without curiosity but with unrestrained disgust. Fleenor’s wife? Faithful assistant? I lacked the experience to know just by looking. My life looked pale in that moment.

I noticed the wall with tacked up testimonials and thankyou cards from satisfied customers. I’d seen the same notes at a garage while waiting for a new car window, one that took four hours to replace.  I noticed a printout of a camera mural painted on a wall in Reno — a photo I had seen myself only a week prior. This comforted me slightly, as my circle was not wholly distinct from Harry Fleenor’s after all. I noticed a two foot square print on the wall of greener times with yellower flowers. My only thought was that I could take a better photograph than that.

“The shutter’s a bit slow. And, see here the tripod lug is loose. I can tighten that up for you if you want.”

He quoted a price. I nodded.  He added that based on the grinding, he’d also recommend a transport overhaul, and quoted a price on that. I said okay. This is what I’d feared, but expected.

“Do you use a Rolleikin?”

I thought: Oh course not, whatever that is, What is that? Wait, wait! I know what that is. Yes, I have one Yes I do use one. This is what I wanted to ask him about. Oh God how long am I pausing?

I said: “Yes, well I have. I mean, I do. I want to, but I can’t figure out the counter works. With that. I want to.”

He proceeded to show me how the counter works, that a crucial pin was missing. He could install a new one if I wanted. He didn’t know if I wanted to use thirty-five millimeter film. I said I did. He quoted a price.

I said okay.

At this point, he must have figured he had a boat payment on his hands.

“I don’t know if you want to spend the money, but I have some custom Maxwell focusing screens.”

He proceeded to describe them, but before he could quote a price, I said that I was happy with the the screen, thanks. We both knew the measure of me at that point. I offered that in my limited research, I thought the shutter might have been replaced at some point as I thought that model was supposed to have the Compur-Rapid shutter that went to one-one-thousandths of a second. He looked at me as one might view a child who has spit up creamed peas all over the family photo album. “No, all Rolleis of this model go to one five hundredth.”

So, he got out an invoice and started to write it up.

“My backlog right now is about six weeks. Is that all right?”

Paperwork ensued. He made some small talk about never having heard of Valley Village in the sixty years he’d been there. I assured him that happened to me all the time, as if that were somehow notable given my four years there. He made special note of my mirrored lens cap, and I searched for some hint of approval in his voice for that tiny detail. I may have imagined it, but I think I heard just that.

A significant cash deposit insured an amicable parting, another handshake and I was gone.  I’d taken in my camera to get juiced up, and I’d learned how to use the counter for the Rolleikin. I’d survived Harry Fleenor!

As, I went back down the stairs, the men from before were gone, but a shifty character lumped in their place, he avoided my gaze conspicuously. I couldn’t explain him, and I doubt if anyone could. I resolved that when I returned for the Rollei I simply must bring a roll of film and demand to test it by taking Mr. Fleenor’s  picture. I will try

Incredibly, my car was neither towed nor cited. And, the orange soda was the best I’d ever tasted.

Song of the day: “The Talkin’ Song Repair Blues” – Alan Jackson

The sun is setting in Los Angeles. I’m on the 101 with the window rolled down and I’m cranking the stereo. A song that comes on the radio that absolutely: Blows. My. Mind. But, before I tell you what it is, you’ll need to know some background.

Earlier this morning, I see a post on Craigslist:

FILM!!! MEDIUM FORMAT 120 & 220 KODAK… $1 – (LOS ANGELES)

Date: 2008-12-22, 11:54AM PST

I HAVE A TON OF KODAK FILM THAT GETS LEFT OVER FROM MY PHOTO SHOOTS THROUGH OUT THE WEEK!!! I SELL IT FOR 1.25$ A ROLL.UNLESS YOU BUY 20+ROLLS ITS ONLY 1.00$ EACH!!! I CAN MAKE GREAT DEALS PLEASE CALL #(323)XXX-XXXX

Nice. I appreciate an ALL CAPS post like that, screaming a great deal at me. However, my beloved Mamiya 645E, she is broken. Of course she is. I get a fab new lens for this rad medium-format magicmaker and now, though I’ve been trying for weeks and replaced the battery, it won’t meter. Well it will meter. In dusky twilight: f4 at ASA 160? 1/15th of a second. Pitch black in my closet? 1/15th of a second. Shooting a solar flare? 1/15th of a second. Everything I throw at it says 1/15th second. That ain’t right. So, it’s a good thing I’m getting better at hand metering with my trusty L-208. But, still I’m bummed. The guy who sold me the lens did so under promise that I’d shoot like crazy. I’ve not done so, and I feel very guilty. He even threw in his lucky lens cap! I better start figuring out where I am gonna get this serviced.

Excerpt from a user review of the Mamiya 645E that helped convince me to buy it in the first place, just a few short months ago:

“I do all of my shooting from a tripod and don’t mind advancing roll film via the standard hand crank (yes folks film advance is manual, as is focusing and setting aperture)” – outdoorscenics.

Now, flash back to few weeks ago:

I just got the new 55mm lens for the Mamiya! It’s a wide beauty; I can scarcely be more excited. First, I have a love for good wide-angle photos. Barely less significant is that the lens came from a fantastic photographer and doubtlessly has scads of phojo (photo mojo) in it. I fit the lens to the body, make sure the A/M lever is set to ‘M’ since it’s a manual focus camera and off I go.

And, back to this afternoon:

Hmm, there’s the Mamiya user manual on my shelf. I wonder if it has anything useful about my light meter problem.

Excerpt from the Mamiya 645 manual:

Doh! I assumed from my EOS brainwashing what A meant. And, M meant. Ahhh! Sometimes you think you know, but you don’t know at all. RTFM! And now, the Mamiya, she works! I “fixed” her. Clever boy.

So, I call the guy in the Craigslist ad. I set up the meet in Silverlake. I go down and I pick up fifty-eight loose rolls of medium format Kodak film of all various awesomeness for fifty bucks. Less than a buck a roll. Now, I’m set for a good long while. I have no more excuses.

And, I’m driving back with my booty in a lightproof bag. I’m on the 101, the sun is going down in Los Angeles and everything is golden honey. Preset Number One is the bluegrass station and they kick into a down home Kentucky version of Silent Night: No sir! I am done with Christmas music. I hit up Preset Number Two (the seventies station) and what’s just starting?

This song.

Life’s a trip.

I love to read self-improvement blogs. They’re always filled with great insights and information that completely misses the point, written by people who exult in telling you how this stuff works without actually understanding why. They didn’t get where they are by “tackling the tough tasks first” or “putting a to-do list next to the phone to complete tasks while on hold.” The authors of such advice have already mastered the real question: How to care.

On procrastination:

Oddly enough, I think the film Grosse Pointe Blank is partly responsible for how easily I slip into procrastination. Martin Blank has a target to assassinate that he continually puts off while pursuing Debbie, his love-interest. After avoiding the task again and again, he finally sits down to do it, and as he opens the dossier he says to himself, “You’re a handsome devil. What’s your name?” That line is a subtle recall to an earlier scene where he visits his Alzheimeric mother, who forgets who he is. John Cusack’s delivery of writer Tom Jankiewicz’s brilliant line so completely characterizes the moment of complete bottom-rung despair that is often the true spur to action. When things get so bad that taking care of business is the only bearable option left, that’s when some of us get things done. No, it ain’t healthy or a recipe for success, but Cusack made it so freakin’ cool.  So, when I reach that point, if you listen closely you’ll hear me say “You’re a handsome devil. What’s your name?”

Play this song right now: “Start Today” – Gorilla Biscuits

When times are hard, we look for clues. Clues about the escape route, the treasure map, the method to slay the beast. We seek these clues in the usual places. Or, we don’t look for clues at all. Sometimes clues find us. Every morning, I need to imagine a new reason to get out of bed, seek the treasure. Here’s a clue:

As luck would have it, (or, is it habit?), I found myself looking at photographs taken by a stranger. This time around, an empty and whited time like any other, I saw a plaintive photo among hundreds of other photos, a matter-of-fact image of an old grave with an old name;

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

It’s a name that carries some weight, three names actually, signifying Historical Importance of a High Order. Of course, it’s a name not unfamiliar and, of course, most famous to amateur speechwriters everywhere as the source of many inspiring aphorisms that leap off the pages of your favorite catalog of famous quotations.

Emerson sure could turn a phrase. Hell, I unwittingly cited him with my high school yearbook quote, pulled from Bartlett’s, perhaps:

Whoso would be a man, would be a nonconformist.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ta daa! Profound, yeah? Suits me.

And, for years, Emerson was just that; a clever name. A name that when dropped, lends the speaker the gravitas of One Who Has Read. Of course, nobody I know has actually read Emerson.  Somewhere down the line, however, I did the unthinkable. I actually did.

I picked up Emerson’s Essays at a second-hand paperback shop. My copy has the single ugliest most unreadable cover in the history of visual design — something I take a perverse pleasure in owning.

To read Emerson takes some time. You must dive in to the deep end and immerse yourself in an old prosaic style that takes some getting used to. For me, whiskey speeds this process nicely*. When you break through, Emerson can hurt you. He will call out your foibles and failings and show them to you. But, within that you can find pure inspiration. The reason Emerson is in so many quote books is that he inspired so many, who citied him, and thus inspired others, thus trickling down to be mere caricature, a footnote. But, there is real meat to Emerson. I read and I got it. But, it was a long time ago. It feels like another life.

This is what I was reminded of when I saw the photograph of his final resting place.  And, therein is the clue.

Chief among Emerson’s work, for me, is the essay Self-Reliance. You could run off and read it, but keep in mind my admonition that you need to acclimate yourself to his prose. Im fact, just for now, let’s do what so many have done and distill him to a quote. For me, the ultimate quote:

Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. It is not without preestablished harmony, this sculpture in the memory. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray.

There it is; a mere handful of words that have kept me going in dark times such as these. You may find it dense, dry, or powerful. In any case, let me dive in and break it down:

Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none.

What Emerson is saying here is that when you see something interesting, it means something. Your point of view, your eye, has intrinsic value.

It is not without preestablished harmony, this sculpture in the memory.

He means that it’s all part of a piece. Your take on the world is part of the world. Your ideas are part of what make the world what it is.

The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray.

This line has moved me to tears on not a few occasions. Even as I write about it now, it is with a tight and urgent excitement. (I take a deep breath) Not only is your vision meaningful, it is also unique and necessary. You have to be there to see what you see. And, you have to bear witness, in whatever way you know how; Write, take pictures, tell stores, give hugs, smile, clean houses, fix tacos, till the earth, have children. Testify! Your story, your life is the testament to a the way the heavens have aligned just for you. Only then is the harmony of life complete.

Now, go and read the essay. Understand it, I hope, or don’t. When I feel I can never take another picture, when I feel I can’t rise from my pillow, this is why I can.

* in actuality, may increase the level of difficulty

Play while you read: “Blinded By The Light” – Manfred Mann

Thirty-six hours straight! When someone asked me what I was up to this weekend, that’s how long I claimed I was going to sleep. I figured that was about how long it would take for life to finally leave me alone. If I could sleep for thirty-six hours, maybe my problems would forget I existed and move along.

When I woke up this Saturday morning almost exactly twenty-eight hours shy of my goal, I didn’t feel as if I had failed. Yes, life was still there, a brutal tiger pacing outside my cave waiting for me to show. But, there was no pressing reason for me to go wrestle with it. I slept in and browsed Flickr instead. Ah, visual heroin.

As I clicked around, I also pondered a theoretical brunch of diced chicken with melted cheese in a tortilla — the only food left in the fridge at the moment. Rather randomly, I came across this improbable photograph on Flickr of a fireworks show and crowd that simultaneously captures a spectacular distant lighting burst. What are the chances? And, oh by the way, there’s also a comet right in the middle of it. A freakin’ comet. Really. Here’s the link again. Go ahead click and understand. It’ll open in a new window so you can come back here to finish reading.

So this is what I’m up against, I thought. No problem. I could dedicate my life to photography, but how am I ever going to get a shot like that? Curiously, I wasn’t defeated by this. No, I was moved. I didn’t care what was going on. I was headed out into the world, and I wasn’t coming back until I got my own Lightning-Fireworks-And-a-Comet photo! No sweat! I threw on jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers with no socks, fastened my ballcap to my head, and bolted out the door. I didn’t know where I was headed, but nine times out of ten, hitting the pavement is the best medicine.

Did I mention I didn’t bring a camera?

I walked. I was hungry. I walked by El Pollo Loco which I never, ever go to. But, I saw a poster for their New! menu item. That looks good, I thought and went in. Something New! sounded like just what I needed. After I ordered, in my innocence, I realized abruptly that the New! Grilled Chicken Tortilla Wrap was exactly what I could have made for myself at home.

Like the cat said, I has a pifanee! With strawberry soda to wash it down.

I was back on the street and found myself at the door of the local camera shop that is always closed when I’m near it. I’d never been inside. But, now it was open. I went in just to see what it was. Small, cozy, and manned by someone eager to not have me browse. I asked him for a couple rolls of black & white film, hoping he’d have something besides Kodak and Ilford Delta.

“Which kind do you want, the Kodak or the Delta?” He asked.

“Anything but the Kodak,” I said. As if I had a clue what I was talking about

Another man’s voice boomed out from behind me. “Phillies? I can’t believe you let him in here with that hat on.”

I forced a smile and tried to think of something. “Hey, its not over. You still have a chance,” I said. For some reason I wanted to console him. He said something about how he was used to disappointment, being a Dodgers fan.

“Like, I’m not?” I said, inexplicably trying to establish empathy. Brotherhood in a history of baseball futility? He didn’t get the connection and looked like I was trying to pick a fight with him. Another personal interaction failure for my bag. I left. But, I had some film.

Outside the shop, walking aimlessly down the street again, I reflected on all this: The baseball, the lightning-fireworks-and-a-comet photo, and my quest. I passed a family getting ready for lawn sale. Then, I passed people going to the lawn sale. I said hello to one man. He smiled cheerily and said hello back. Moments later, another man carrying a lamp and looking agitated. I said hello again. He instantly brightened and smiled back as best he could. Time stopped. If there were clouds in Southern California, they would have rolled by.

I knew what I was going to do. I walked to the grocery store. No sweat!

Whitening, Fire (Works!) and, uhh, Comet!

Play: “Wishing (If I Had A Photograph Of You)” – Flock of Seagulls

As strange things go, this is me: a month ago I never would have considered myself a candidate to get into film photography. I was a digital guy for all the reasons digital cameras make sense. Film is tricky, unwieldy, expensive, slow, and requires skill I probably don’t have.

But, a few weeks ago I read up on this classic type of camera called a “rangefinder” and it sounded pretty neat. I read of some enthusiastic accounts by fans of the camera, and decided on a whim to set up a craigslist alert for one specific model – this Canon QL17 “Canonet” .. the budget rangefinder that compares to deluxe Leica cameras ten times its price. I don’t know why I did it, the idea of film still seemed ludicrous to me. The Canonet seemed to go for $40 to $140 bucks depending. At the very least, I thought, if I found a cheapo one, it would be something cool to take pictures of if not with.

“I’ve Got A Miniature Secret Camera” – Peter Murphy

But, not a week in, an ad came down the feed for a Canonet right in my neighborhood — well, the Valley anyway. The price? $50 with case and flash. So on an overcast Saturday morning, I went out to an Encino hair salon — the seller’s place of business — to check it out. As I understood it, the camera had been inherited after a recent passing in the seller’s family. It was screwed into its case and looked like it hadn’t been removed in 30 years. It was gorgeous. I was sold. I got myself an old camera.

Once, I had it, I was still unsure what the heck I was doing. I drove to a drugstore to try to find some film. It was cloudy. I looked through the viewfinder, and: Whoa! The act of focusing a rangefinder camera is an amazing enlightenment. The viewfinder presents the scene in front of you, and a ghostly superimposed version. You slide a lever back and forth and watch as the two versions of the scene merge into one. It’s a transcendent moment of satori.

“Focus On Sight“  Thievery Corporation

So over the next few days, I took pictures. I had no idea if the camera was working. I was using a rule-of-thumb method of guessing exposure called “Sunny 16” — for there is not much automatic about this camera. I went through that roll of film. A film-nut friend recommended I try the cheap Kroeger-branded film at Ralph’s, for it is actually an Italian film notorious for a antique look that some people hate and some love. I shot three rolls of that — still not even knowing if the thing worked. I was hooked. The rangefinder shows a scene in the viewfinder and lets you focus even with the cap on. of course, I kept clicking pics with the cap on. Newbie! I even had a little micro-adventure when I was out taking photos in Santa Monica. I left the cap on when I tried to take a photo of a mysterious photographer.

Then, I had to get it developed. Really? What year is this? Who even does that now? I found a lab near work. I rolled in and said, “I’m here to drop off film. I have never done this before!*” The proprietor was amused and then helpful. I had to wait a day to get the pics back. A day! I still was convinced the camera wasn’t even taking pictures. See with a rangefinder camera there is no “mirror slap” — that’s the telltale mechanical event in a common single-lens reflex (SLR) camera, the reflex! — when you trip the shutter. Very little happens to reassure you, when you use this camera. Every press of the shutter is a lottery ticket into the photographic future. I hoped I’d be lucky.

“Photograph” – The Verve Pipe

But, the next day came. I had been told they’d be ready at 2:30. I called the lab at noon hoping my photos would be early. Nope! “There are no shortcuts! Get used to it,” I told myself.

Fine, enough anecdote! The pictures came back. Some were surprisingly good, even great in my eyes. Some examples? Sure. Even some pictures I was positive that I took behind the lens cap miraculously really happened. very strange. Strange and wonderful, I guess. At least it distracted me from everything else for a few moments.

“Pictures To Prove It” – Mighty Mighty Bosstones

* In actuality I had dropped off film dozens of times when I was a kid — even when i took photography in high school with a film SLR. But that was clearly some other universe. I remember no details.

Song of the day: “Hologram Buffalo” by Brightblack Morning Light

On Wednesday I went to the beach before work. I saw three great morning sunlight photographs I wanted to save but had no camera. Thursday morning I had hand therapy and could not go back. This morning I left the Valley with camera in the back and bright sunshine overhead. But, as I rose up out of the Sepulveda pass coming over the hill towards Santa Monica, I bore witness to the marine layer of clouds bubbling over the coast like new pancake batter. Spooky and symbolic, I go from such bright sunlight to thick griddlecake of overcast in the space of a few hundred feet.

I’ll try again next week, I suppose.

Play this: “Alligator Wine” – Screamin’ Jay Hawkins

It’s just another day in the Valley:

“That’s kind of the problem with wild animals – they do grow.” – Kathy Davis, assistant general manager of Snark & Sarcasm the Los Angeles Animal Services Department

Alligator found in Valley home – LA Daily News.

“Advance Cassette” – Spoon

I took a bikeride in the Valley on a scorching summer afternoon. I rode by this wonderful bit of “found art” near the 170 overpass on Chandler. There was a drug deal going on, so I just kept on going of course. But, an hour later I circled back on the return trip. Damn, but it was hot on the pavement. That’s some street photography, no?