Photography Thinks
So, I have had many bad days in my life, ones I prefer not to relive. Said and done some things I wish I hadn’t done but no way I can say I am sorry loudly enough or enough times for anyone to hear or listen.
July 14, 2026 is not one of my dreaded bad days. Happy to be alive for my latest birthday with Sharon. Notelling how much longer I have, but I’d like to live it going forward in peace with her at my side.
So, it was the age of Rudy, the time of stop and frisk. Put everyone in jail, especially those who was windows on stopped cars. The PC was developing community policing which was bringing down crime, but the jails were burgeoning with poor people of color and druggies.
Who knows where the newly appointed ADAs were from or what their connection to criminal justice was or how much life experience they had. No much or any, I suspected. And the bench was packed with EX ADAs from the Bronx, one from Brooklyn who had recently returned from out West where he was a sheriff and a couple of strays, none of whom had ever tried a case or represented a person in custody. There was a politico from Queens whom I was forced to share chambers with and an ex-law assistant, also with no experience in criminal courts.
The newly appointeds knew nothing about the streets. First jobs. Who knows where they live or how many loves they had had. The women knew men through their fathers and none I guess knew anyone from the Woodstock generation. So they, the People (PSNY), were like the kids who had been trained using the Milgram method a program which investigated the conflict between personal conscience and obedience to authority by having participants (often referred to as “teachers”) administer what they believed were increasingly severe, painful electric shocks to another person.
They didn’t understand that alternatives other than jail had to be considered and if they did not exist, developed. And they didn’t understand this look I gave them after listening to their pitter patter following requests for bail and jail.
To be continued.
Mr. Martin, aged 92, still drives a car and still wants to look dapper. Lyric clips him into shape, smiling with every gently swipe.
When I told him I was 78, he called me a baby. I disagree. “You are Old Old; I am just Old!
So, I made it. A year ago, I sat in a hospital bed, didn’t know if it was my birthday or death day. Have regained my spirit, if not my endurance, memory and flexibility. Blood perfect for CLL/lymphoma, but not for humans with good blood. Hard not to reflect on my failed existence. I’ll pass.
Still have Sharon, a few friends and a passion for photographic art.
So, you and I aren’t bartenders whose tip depends on filling the glass, dramatically. She doesn’t use built in measurers or shot glasses. She just pours. Sometimes the martini juice reaches above the rim, held together by capillary action. And, her martinis always come with no fruit, vegetable and only a sniff of vermouth (almost bone dry). But the best thing is that I have to go to the glass for the first sip. The martini is undeliverable. Drink it where you find it.
Once inside, I hope to find myself.
Basel cell carcinoma. Don’t matter if you wear a hat. Well maybe it does if the brim is wide enough. Baseball caps don’t protect enough. But the removal isn’t so bad. Needles. A little scraping and cutting. Plastic surgery to leave no trace. Heals in a week. Be careful out there.
So, here I am, alive at 76. Complicated year health wise, not all resolved. Travelled extensively. Made a few new friends. Kept old enemies. Still no family on my side. Won’t reconcile with any.
Improved creatively. Read a lot. Saw some movies. Learned a few things, but no new tricks. Overall, a good enough year to make me want more.
Gotta live with the hand dealt with. No reformation or rehabilitation on the horizon. Nothing I can do to help anyone or myself.
Just need to stay fresh and interesting enough for Sharon. We all know what a headache I can be. Then we both will deal with aging and our end game.
So, as much as I try, I remain a man with a camera. No new ideas for the art. New ideas for me. To the others who want to see pizazz, I say go elsewhere.
Celebrating a birthday, especially one in the 7os, brings reflections on the past and projections about the future. The good news: my blood, medicated as it is, tests perfect. The bad news: my blood, medicated as it is, has rejected the Moderna Covid vaccine. So, a very happy day, followed by a depressing Doctor visit. Such is life.
I don’t have much of a voice anymore, my career and reputation having been wrecked in 1998. I try to do acts of kindness, everyday which is not always easy. You should too.