Okay, okay, today is not the Fourth of July. It is not even the third, nor the second. It is the first of July, the beginning of the month. It is, or better yet, was a hot day in which I cowered at home and did next to nothing except scan negatives and also, develop a few rolls.
The people around the area where I live are, for the most part, of working-class Mexican background. They might not all be Mexican, but most of them share that background, especially their kids who were born here in the United States. As is usual, and what I remember from a long time ago, they have been setting off big booming fireworks weeks in advance of the holiday. There is a thrill behind this that is irresistible to Mexican-American teenage youths. They thrive when they set off fireworks.
We have to put up with it because, quite frankly, it is an irradicable custom that can't be eliminated. Same goes with the discharge of firearms at midnight on January 1st. Mexican men love dangerous, booming weapons. The teens will graduate from fireworks to guns very shortly.
I was going to venture out to a big cosplay event, the biggest one, even bigger than San Diego Comic Con, that is being held this weekend, but I just didn't want to go. I thought, this is a Saturday, part of what will be a long, four day (yep, you read correctly, four day, not three day) weekend because July 4th falls on a Tuesday. Of course the companies will grant their employees Monday off, so it will be four days to escape the burden of consumerist society and go out and clog the freeways even more than they are usually clogged already. This goes for Los Angeles, which I call the heart of darkness. It is the center, the place to and from which emanate arteries of traffic that are so clogged, one feels like just driving off a cliff to be able to escape. I know, it was this way when I was young, thirty years ago, and the feeling has only intensified. God, how I hate Los Angeles traffic.
So, no going to the Convention Center today. I cowered at home and felt kind off all right. It wasn't bad. I don't know if I will have the courage to go tomorrow, but I figure, the worst of the "get-away" traffic should be done by then. People aren't absconding to their hideouts in the middle of their rest period, and Sunday counts as the second day of a four-day weekend.
Today I scanned and scanned and scanned film. I developed three 120 rolls on Friday and left them to dry overnight, and today, I developed two more rolls. The photos that follow are from a roll of Cinestill color film that I mistakenly developed in black and white chemistry. Trust me, I would have sent them off to the Darkroom with my other color rolls if there had been a label to indicate this was a color roll, but no, it just looked like black and white. It gave my disposed developer the strong color of piss, a very intense orange.
But, looking at the scans, I am actually not that angry. I love how sharp they appear. I was using a camera I took out of the retirement home, my Pentax 645. I had problems, it didn't roll correctly and it skipped three frames, so I only got 12 instead of 15 photos. But I like them! They are of a hill on the way to Perris, CA. There were poppies on that hill, and I was hoping for good color. Well, at least I have shapes. These were taken shortly before my hernia surgery on May 19th. If the camera didn't weigh like an anchor, I would take it out again tomorrow, but you know, I won't. It is just too heavy, man. (Delivered in my best stoner accent.)
Here are a few frames.
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