the things we think but do not say

Sometime near the end of last year, I got it into my head that I really, really needed to get a digital SLR. And that it had to be really ’spensive, and be really cool. And by the time that I ordered my Nikon D70, I was a totally rabid, frothing at the mouth, review absorbing machine. There were times when I couldn’t go to bed without reading another review of a camera: SLR, digital SLR, rangefinders, digital rangefinder (there’s only one I know of), film camera, lens, flash shoe accessories…

But then a confluence of circumstances made me finally bite the bullet and finally commit to a camera. The main excuse was an immenient trip around SE Asia tour (visiting Bangkok, Rangoon, Mandalay, Tokyo, Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong and very briefly Macua). The other excuse was that I just got my bonus.

For those who are interested the only lens I took with me was my trusty Nikkor 35mm f2 (which acts more like a 50mm with the D70’s APS sized sensor). I didn’t take a flash either which kept my travel weight down. The only other critical device was the Epson P2000 digital storage and reviewing tool.

That trip was a huge life changing in a number of ways; one was realising that I could basically go any where, at any time with little to no planning. I distincly remember landing at 9pm into Beijing with Lonely Planet guide, a back pack and a wallet full of Yuan, having no idea where or what I was going to do when I got there. The other thing I did get a great taste for was travelling with my camera and basically living the dream of being a travel photographer. My Nikon and I became very close. The final step I think was going all bad ass by placing black tape over the white Nikon logo and other shiny metal tags so it’s now an anonymous tool like camera.

After nearly 7000 exposures, I’d like to present some of my favourites from that trip and a few others from around the way. I hope you enjoy them.

PS.
As much as I am attached to my D70, did anyone check out the new Canon 5D? It’s the bomb. I’m already getting frothy at the mouth again…

PS. 2
Update: Announced Nov 1st, Nikon’s new D200 camera. It’s going to change everything. And at $1700 I’ve finally got a real alternative to the Canon 5D’s $3300 price tag. Nice. Take a look here:
DP Review
Thom Hogan
Ken Rockwell

After years and years of pedestrian, public and two wheeled transit, I’ve finally got my drivers license. I have some circumstantial reasons for “never getting ’round to it” but for one reason or another I never quite joined the ranks millions and millions around the world that are, litterally card carrying members of this club. I know of about four other adult non drivers left in the western hemisphere.

I think Woody Allen might be one.

You see, I’ve always lived in places that allowed me to function without owning a driver’s license. I’ve lived in Frimley Green (a tiny town in Surrey, England), Bournemouth (for college on the South Coast of England), London, and now Chicago. All places that either were small enough to get around with my bike, or convenient enough to get around on public transport. I’ve never lived in Gary, IN, Des Moine IA, Missoula MT, Gaylord MI (for real yo), Birmingham AL, or Orlando FL for instance.

So it’s an unfortunate set of internal conflicts that strike at my tender heart, when I get invited to my first Critical Mass bike ride. It’s a monthly event that happens all across the country and it’s got at it’s heart in the right place. It’s also a warm, cuddly, FU to all drivers and cars. It’s an attempt for one night a month to effectively take the roads out of the hands of cars and back into the hands of bikers. Personally, I don’t think that the road was ever in the hands of bikers since the Penny Farthing was all the rage, but that’s neither here nor there.

The fact was though, I had only two months previously become one of them (ie drivers). I felt myself in a tricky moral position. I still love bikes and I love riding them too. But because I’d denied myself the pleasures of driving a car all these years I can’t help but feel an enormous desire to go out to get a big, fuck off, truck. A Ford F350 with the sweet ass doule cab, extra wide axle, lots of extra head lights and room for all my, as yet unbought, tools. I’d have a booming stereo and it would play all Ludacris, all the time. “MOVE bitch, get out the way” would be appropriateI think.

But that there lies the rub. I’m riding with all these heart felt riders, blocking traffic, flipping a huge bird to car commuters, while secretely wishing I could start a nice finance plan, with no money down no payments until 2007, on a nice new ve-hic-le.

I’m going to burn in Biker Hell I know it. The next one, this Halloween weekend should be a blast.

See some blurry, under exposed photos of Critical Mass Chicago Oct 2005 here.

More info about the Chicago Critical Mass is here.

My girlfriend spoke at a conference in Toronto this weekend, about her Master’s thesis project (on using design research to give inspiration on products and business models) and it was a very proud boyfriend that watched her clearly an-nun-ci-ate her way through her work. But boy, there were presenters at this conference that make me wince just thinking back to them. Seriously, the powerpoint was so bad in one presentation I’d swear Edward Tufte would have commited suicide just so that he could turn in his grave.

But the best and oddest part of the whole trip was our bed and breakfast. I over heard someone at the conference talking about his own bizarre bed and breakfast experience: “This place makes Faulty Towers look like the Hilton”, and it made me think that he’d checked in to my little hidden gem.

The small photo set that accompanies this post shows you something of the gentile, quaint, historic setting that we stayed in. I think that the the Grannyness of the place would have made even Anne of Green Gables cringe. I mean come on; nothing says ‘we care’ more than a single stemmed fabric rose, sat in a tall vase in front of a poorly fitted window unit.

Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the less than inspiring interaction with public transport individuals or maybe it was just the weird bed and breakfast we stayed in, but Toronto just seemed a little bit like a northern English town, like Birmingham. Nice town, just a little bit beat up in places.

Air fare to Toronto: $350
A nights stay at the Bonnevue Manor: $99
Turning on the space heater so that you don’t suffer from hypothermia: Priceless.

Sometimes for work, I don’t leave town for months on end. Sometimes I’m gone every week. This month has been the latter and it’s driving my girlfriend nuts. I think I’ve been away more than I’ve been home recently. But the worst part of all this travel is the periods of relentless, mind numbingly endless, bouts of boredom.

If I have to read another ‘3 Perfect Days’ feature in Hemispheres magazine, I’m going to pull the handle of my exit row door at 30,000 ft. I’ve actually started to look over the safety pamphlet with a very critical, professionally trained designery type eye, just to look for any continuity errors, like an FAA approved version of ’spot the difference’. I look from one frame to the next to see if perhaps that person’s shirt went from grey to taupe. Or if that person went from being right handed to suddenly left handed! Well, pardon the spoiler but nothing remotely interesting happens in the saftey manual. The only thing of note is just how poor the drawings themselves are. They’re rubbish. And what’s with the little fella with growth hormone deficiency? He’s meant to look like a small boy whos mother is kindly attaching an oxygen mask, but instead he’s just looks like a malproportioned demi-midget with frequent flier status.

But the worst part of it is this: no matter how distracted you can make yourself, no matter how many portable electronics you can bring with you, eventually you end up having to do some self reflection.

And at this point, I’ve had it up to here with me.
I’m done looking into myself.
I’m done with having ‘a little me time’.
I want to stop ‘taking a good hard look at myself’.

I’m dead to me.