Polaroid Big Shots, so far
Category: Futile
Mr. Big Shot
I got super lucky a couple of weeks ago and scored a Polaroid Big Shot at the local antique shop for around twenty dollars. It was buried under a shitload of older more common cameras. Try to imagine my surprise and pleasure when I pulled this mint mofo out of the wreckage of torn apart Polaroid 200 series. Still in the box with the manual. What a score. Shoots great. Takes Fuji packfilm FP-100C (BTW- Fuji is discontinuing the film but I suppose someone will pick it up and charge three the price for a less superior product. Alas – I guess that’s how analog rolls nowadays.
Here’s a nice photo of Hannah taken with the Big Shot.
The consistency of its fixed focal point and exposure made this camera a favorite of Andy Warhol for planning out art projects. It was one of Polaroid’s cheapest cameras ever made. Featuring a plastic lens, refracted dual image focusing system and sans battery for instrumentation to measure light made the production costs low. One thing though to know if you want to pick one up – this camera is only meant for portraits that are chest high. Must be shot indoors. Must use a magic cube flash. The film and cubes are all in limited quantities on the market right now. I’d move fast if you want to try one out. More about The Big Shot can be found here.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
– Dylan Thomas
Lozl. This is a Tor Exit Router
Who’s the clown hitting my site with the Tor browser? Get a life weird stalker.
Intermission
No matter the time of day. It’s just bad form to watch a Grace Kelly movie unshaven and in your pajamas. I take the opportunity to make myself presentable during the intermission for Dial M for Murder.
The red dress is a nice touch on Hitchcock’s part but the significance is probably lost on today’s audience.
The Dream of Tedfoo
Polish composer Krzysztof Penderecki’s “The Dream of Jacob” is featured during the scene in which Jack Torrance (The Shining) is having a nightmare after falling asleep at his desk in the cavernous Colorado Lounge. Here’s something to try. Real fun to walk around the workplace while listening to it on headphones. You too, can start your own horrific screaming, just like Jack around the 2 minute mark when you realize that you’re losing your mind, endlessly walking the abandoned halls of your workplace, searching for an existentialist exit that will never, ever materialize.
Turn it up for maximum freak out.
Also check out this tumblr site for all thing Kubrick related to his horror masterpiece “The Shining”. Apparently the guy who curates it works for Pixar. Makes sense.
http://www.theoverlookhotel.com/
The diversion will prevail
Stare past the spreadsheet on your computer into the middle distance and let everything wash away when the tears rain down.
Thoughts before my next flight around the sun
Hey there – the untimely passing of pro skateboarder Dylan Rieder hit me hard and I just about damn near wept later that day listening to his Jenkem playlist featured a few months ago. I kept the playlist rolling for a couple of days ensuring interruption free listening by keeping the continuous loop setting activated on my player. After awhile I started to loop particular songs on the playlist. Pitseleh by Elliott Smith was one of them. Elliott Smith I thought. Never heard of him.
Historically- the last two decades of alternative music make a lot more sense to me now. Death Cab for Cutie makes more sense to me. The National. Bright Eyes. The list grows and continues as I pick through my music collection.
Elliott Smith’s heyday was the 90s. Music was generally shared and discovered through mixtapes gifted by friends. It would be easy to miss someone as influential as Elliott. Still easy to do so now.
I think of the gifts that Dylan gave to skateboarding. His power, speed and style were undeniable. You felt good about life when you watched him skateboard. The fast and strong lines of kickflips over tall stair sets followed by Smith grinds on the tops of picnic tables. I also think about the music Dylan listened to and shared with people. Like a good friend saying, “You need to listen to this. You’ll thank me later.”
Broody songs by Elliott Smith flutter into my ears as I walk through the remaining days of my 43rd autumn. The spent leaves crunch under my feet. The air unseasonably warm and lush with decay. The days are darker, quicker. I feel quieter. Elliott Smith lulling in my background as I think about growing older and what I’ve gained and lost. One thing I still know. I am thankful for the people that still share and open their arms to the life around them. My family. My friends. Skateboarding by Dylan. Songs by Elliott.