Contemplating the Drop-Off
Nikon FE, Vivitar 28-90mm F2.8, Kodak Tri-X 400
Em taking it in at Loch Raven Reservoir. The opposite side isn’t actually the bank; it’s an illusion. That’s the point at which the water cascades over the immense drop of the Loch Raven Dam.
Artist and Sandwich | Lunch, before going out to shoot some Tri-X.
Nikon FE, 50mm F1.8, Kodak Portra 160
Em is the sort of person who, stately and classy as she may naturally be, would never let an air of superiority presume upon her countenance. Hence, here we are, just eatin’ a sammich. She walked in front of that wall, and the light was just perfect, so I scrambled to get out the camera and focus before the moment disappeared.
Taking a Break in Hard Bean | Shooting Annapolis, MD with my sister
Nikon FE, 50mm F1.8, Kodak Portra 400
Going on a real live photo-walk with my sister is some of the best fun. I’ve done it again since we went for the first time in Annapolis, and it proved lots of fun then, too. And that time she even showed me how to develop B&W film, something I’d never done. Photos from that adventure reside on the rolls pictured in the previous cell phone shot. I can’t wait to see them!
The Window | Cumberland, MD
Nikon FE, Vivitar 28-90mm F2.8, Kodak Portra 400
The Woman in the Yellow Ferrari
I am leaving work on a sunny afternoon. I leave the parking lot with the usual bow to local law by entertaining the idea of a stop at the stop sign, then pull out into the always-barren cul-de-sac, thinking of possibly taking a walk with my wife and daughter through our neighborhood, and potato chips.
And then, just as I kindle the idea of whether it is clever or devious for Utz to invent a barbecue chip called “Maui”, I am staring into a pair of very expensive-looking sunglasses perched on the very lugubrious expression of a woman wrapped tightly in a very yellow Ferrari 360 Modena.
The woman and her artwork on wheels jerk to a halt to avoid collision. Adrenaline. I stare. Drive! Move, you sod! I resume cognitive stability and step on the pedal, moving forward as she follows behind me. Too many thoughts to finish race through my mind:
What kind of money does…Who is…Around here…?
Then thoughts swing toward the man-competitive side: something about how I’m probably a better driver; I’m still driving a stick and she’s in an automatic; a feeling of superiority about her not having any cup holders, then the realization that I don’t either; laughing (inside, of course - one never laughs out loud at the driver of one of these automobiles) at how for so much less money I can fit several more persons and things in my car, then the realization that she could buy 20 of my car if she wanted…
But all these sobering realizations are not enough to stop the adrenaline searing through my bloodstream. I am man! I am fast! I am Bobby Rahal, just in a 1992 Integra with a 1.8 liter four-cylinder at 250,000 miles! I run gears high and long before shifting! I downshift at every stop sign! Skill! Manliness!
I listen to that sweet, slow Honda four-cylinder scream its love song as I drive the fastest 30 MPH home I have ever driven.
“But - but whatever happened to the woman?” you demand, impatient to hear how the tale ends.
“Ah, yes - the woman in the yellow Ferrari!” I reply. “She turned right at the light.”
Hi. This is a picture of my head.
