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 Rays want chinbeards? THEY CAN’T HANDLE THE CHINBEARD!

A few Joe Blanton items designed to please his biggest fans:

A great article on Joe & family: Blanton’s exploits thrilled parents, confidants – MLB – Yahoo! Sports.

The sweet homerun (Youtube will pull it soon) :

And after the jump, two bonus photos. One shows his eyes clearly open when he swung. He knew what he was doing.

(more…)

Play this: “Get Busy” – The Roots

Thank you Jimmy Rollins for putting the Dodger crowd on their heels a bit — the ones that showed up, I mean. From my field level seats, I could easily see over a dozen seats in my section alone that were no-shows for the entire game. But, the fans that did show were hardcore, and I give them a lot of credit for cheering hard the whole game. What a game! I’m unable to bring my writerly skills to bear on it, except for maybe the title I picked for the photo above:

Dodger Fans Tried To Rally Their Team, But the Clouds Turned Philadelphia Crimson and Foretold the Outcome as the Phillies Were Ultimately Victorious

Late in the game, Andre Ethier hurled a ball at our section from a great distance, and it was headed right directly, so perfectly, into my hand — but the guy in the Garciaparra jersey in front of me stretched out and put his hand right into mine and deflected the ball off to the right. Thanks, Nomah!

Now, here’s some bonus crappy video of the final out.

Play it: “Winners Take All” – Aesop Rock

The MLB Playoffs mean way more photogs assigned to cover each game. I was at the Phillies win on Monday night. Quite a tense experience, I can say. I can’t say it was completely fun. For 7 innings, I was the lone red hat in a sea of blue and my team was losing.  I was alone and dejected. Then, when my team took the lead and won, I was alone and a target! But, I survived.

In the post-game searches I thought these four photos were particularly inspiring.

• Matt Stairs’ homer from behind home plate
• Brad Lidge punchin’ suckas out
• Matt Stairs gettin’ mobbed in the dugout
• Manny’s helmet

Other blogs would just steal the photos. I’ll link to them, because they’re commercial. And, I respect the image.

“50 Ways To Leave Your Lover” – Paul Simon

I just wanted to make sure nobody at all missed my favorite NFL player’s wondrous miscue. His name is Dan Orlovsky, and he’s a backup QB for the worst team in the league. Greatest player ever!. Ever? Seriously, are all Orlo(v)skys really absent-minded? Is it a genetic thing? This is so brutal.

YouTube – Dan Orlovsky Safety “Dumbest QB Ever!!” Lions vs. Vikings.

Play: “To Victory” – 300 Soundtrack

Update: What is this?  Well, two weeks ago when the Eagles played the Steelers, there was a highlight of a play when #20 Brian Dawkins had his feet tied up by a defender, but launched himself through the air to strip the ball from Steelers quarterback Ben Roesthlisberger. When I saw the replay in slow motion, it reminded me exactly of a scene in 300 where a Spartan flies through the air to hack a  Persian, (like you do). (The scene is in the trailer) So I whipped up this dumb photoshop.  I will now add the video. The best closeup starts at 1:03.

#20, Brian Dawkins is an old guy for the Eagles. Some. had claimed he was slowing down this season and should be replaced.

Well, I said if Kentucky Joe got a W in September, I’d do it. And tonight, he pitched a piss-poor game against the Marlins, but was somehow bailed out by Jayson Werth’s big bat. Hey, a win is a win! And, I’m taking full credit for it, too. Never let it be said that I’m not true to my word, at least when it comes to ridiculous wagers. Ladies and gents, my ridiculous new chinbeard:

Update: As seen on The700Level

Update II: THis made the lower levels of Flickr Explore. It’s a juggernaut!

My new theme song: “Ugly” – Fishbone

Just think, if Brett Favre hadn’t been so impatient in forcing the Pack’s hand, he might’ve ended up in New England with Brady down.  Now, that would have been a much better story than Favre with the Jets. I picked up Matt Cassel for my fantasy team. It’s a gamble.

“Right Place Wrong Time” – Dr. John

Well, Joe Blanton didn’t have it today against the Nats, getting pulled early. It’s not looking good for the new guy, ol’ Kentucky Joe.  I defended the move when the Phils picked him up, so I’m gonna do what I gotta do to help him be successful.

So, if Joe Blanton records a W in the month of September, I will do it. I’ll rock the chinbeard. I know it’s a drastic measure, but this is a pennant race and I’m stepping up and laying my chin on the line.

Play it: “The Hair On My Chinny Chin Chin” – Sam Sham & The Pharoahs

MLB – Philadelphia Phillies/Washington Nationals Box Score