Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Man, did I get lucky

So, I didn't have to work today. Yesterday I went home early with my lower back all in an uproar; I think I pinched a nerve in it or something. Having spent all of yesterday afternoon drowsing in bed with a heating pad on, I decided to go out today and goof off a bit. I snagged my camera on my way out, because…well, I don't know. Every now and then I like to think that I'm a creative guy and that, eventually, something cool will happen if I point my camera at something at the right time. Never mind that this has never been the case; hope springs eternal, and so forth.

Anyway, I grabbed a sandwich at Sub Terminal, then headed to my favorite place in the entire world. Now, the strange thing about this place is that I have no idea if it has a name; I've always referred to it as "You know…that dam down in Graniteville" and most locals will say "Oh, yeah, that place!" Today Kate referred to it as "Flat Rock", which seems as good a name as any. I discovered the place while I was in college here in Aiken and, every now and again, I drop down there just to make sure it still exists. In my head, I go there all the time―it's been my official "happy place" ever since I discovered it (you know…the place your therapist asks you to imagine whenever she's about to hypnotize you?), but I hadn't actually been there in probably seven years or so, so I was glad to find it hadn't been torn down or anything.

Now, the place is really just a very small, old dam on Avondale property. Why is it there? I have no idea. It's a posted "No Trespassing" area, so I've never encountered another soul down there―including anybody who looked like they might enforce the whole trespassing ban. There are no generators, no recent signs of life, nothing. Basically, the whole place just sits there, pours umpty-dozen gallons of water over a bunch of rocks, roars deafeningly and proves damned intriguing to people like me. Or maybe only me. Who knows?

I started out just taking some snapshots; you know, "Here's what it looks like as you walk up to the place; here's the lake; there's the abandoned shack; here're the bizarre and huge metal screws that make the gates go up and down"―that sort of thing. But, as I kept snapping pictures, I started taking more and more risks and getting into weirder and weirder places. Eventually, I found myself sliding across moss-slimed rocks with water rushing around my ankles. At one point, I almost broke my ankle when I slid my foot into an underwater crevice that I hadn't seen. All this time, I was experimenting with camera placement; holding it over my head, zooming in on weird little bits of color and lowering the camera so that it was just above the surface of the water. As I did this, I couldn't actually see what the image looked like; I don't mind wet feet, but I wasn't about to lie down in a rushing stream of water that's owned by a textile plant.

Anyway, a few of the shots I took from that weird shoe-level view turned out pretty damned neat, if I say so myself:



Isn't that great? Sure, I ended up with soggy sneakers and risked not only a broken ankle but a soaked camera to boot but, man, when I saw that thing pop up in my viewscreen when I was reviewing the pictures later, I nearly burst out laughing with sheer joy!

The funny thing? This shot is pure, dumb luck: I took over 350 photos today. Today, man! Seriously, take a look at them, if you want. And, out of all those photos, I got one, maybe two really good shots. So, with that kind of ratio, I don't think I'm going to quit my day job.

But I will be carrying my camera with me a lot more often.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Kurt's last story

Kurt Vonnegut, Novelist Who Caught the Imagination of His Age, Is Dead at 84 - New York Times

Yesterday a man came into work. He was a country-looking guy: work jeans, t-shirt, ballcap, cheap glasses. He had a dumpy looking woman with him and a truly enormous infant slung on his hip, smiling and pawing at his glasses. I greeted him and he said "Is Kellie here?"

Kellie is my manager. Her aunt died recently and requested that Kellie sing at the funeral. So Kellie had gone to do just that.

"Nope," I replied. "She had to go to Waycross for a funeral. She'll be back in tomorrow."

"Oh, well," he said, and then went on to explain that he'd known Kellie when she managed the store in Waynesboro, that he'd heard she was at this particular store in Martinez now, and that he wanted to introduce her to his wife and son.

"Okay," I said. "I'll let her know that you dropped in. What was your name?"

"Billy Pilgrim," he answered.

So, no matter what you've heard, folks, Billy Pilgrim is alive and well. He's married and living in Waynesboro, Georgia. He has a huge baby boy with a huge head who constantly smiles and waves at people around him, including complete strangers like myself. All in all, Billy Pilgrim seems happy.

At least that's the impression I got yesterday. And that's the message I'm passing on from him today.

Good night, babies.