To be perfectly honest, there’s nothing I enjoy more than having someone tell me how to operate my own equipment. I mean, a suggestion is one thing. That I don’t mind at all. It doesn’t make any presumptions. But when that short, older man (wearing a Yankees cap!) told me, “you can’t shoot directly into the sun, son”, I could scarcely contain my rage.
I took him to the nearby corner of Yonge-Dundas Square and I showed him a few things.
“You see, sucker”, I thought to myself. “There’s enough ambient light on the sidewalk”, now out-loud, “to illuminate subjects from the front. They’re kind of shadowy, but I think that’s kinda cool. All thanks to this iContrast thingie.”
“Ah!”, he marvelled. “What camera is this? I have an EOS Rebel XSi at home. Is that a Rebel too?”
“No”, I replied, “it’s a … umm …”. I’d forgotten the name. Flipped it over. “Oh, yeah, a Powershot … SX 10 … IS. Fixed lens (can’t stick another lens on there) … but what a lens!”
I went on to extole the virtues of the camera and its lens while flipping through the other photos.
“So, it has all the same software?”
What an odd question.
“I dunno. I guess so. I just know that I can manually control everything – seems pretty complete anyhow”, I explained. I can see the virtue of being able to focus by grabbing the lens and twisting, but the jog wheel isn’t a bad second option. That, I explained slowly as we stood in the brilliant golden sunshine, is the only regret. By the way, brilliant golden sunshine; you know what that means? I was outside before 8:30! Hoe lee crap.
Haha! All-you-can-eat yucky sushi. Who wants that? Man, they really should think of a new name.
At this point, the astute reader who may frequent the areas herein pictured would point out that the sun is actually shining from the west. My diversionary tactic with the funny sign will have failed. “Golden sunshine of the morning my ass!”, they may say. And right they would be to do so.
The images were actually taken later in the day. My second outing. So far in my listless bobbing on the ocean of unemployment, I’ve gotten into the habit of going out at least twice a day. Twice at the nice times. I don’t know if this is a habit I should be getting used to. You know, what if I end up back doing the same mind-numbing labour? Having now tasted the nectar of sweet freedom with its restful nights, that’d make that pill extra hard to swallow.
Should I be getting my hopes up?
Oh wow. That guy totally reminds me of me. Leering. (Good word suggested by a friend’s wife upon sighting my mug shot in the about section. — Thanks, J.) Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe angry. Look at those smug dipsticks in the back. I dunno who they are, but I’m sure I already do, and I don’t like ‘em one bit.
And, just like the narrative, the older man had disappeared at this point, presumably to go flip through his Rebel’s manual. I think his point-and-click days are over. Fight: won.
I let the adrenaline subside, jiggled my neck muscles loose, and breathed deep. Ah yeah, that was one fine beat-down. Old bugger didn’t even know what hit him. I wasn’t feigning ignorance, I really don’t know if the software is the same or whatever. I just know my own camera and happen to know it enjoys the sunshine. God, hadn’t I just gone through this with someone else recently?
Guess I’m gonna have to edumacate them all one at a time.