the wells fargo wagon . . .

As a child, I would read the back of my morning cereal box with relish, looking for the latest offer diabolically imagined by the corporate suits at Kellogs to stimulate continued sales of their cereal line (but I digress). I just loved the marvelous and wonderful toys you could receive for just the price of cereal box tops, which were, in my mind at least, free. I ate cereal every morning and knew that each bowl I consumed would bring me that much closer to ordering and receiving a new magical toy. One such  toy I specifically remember was a plastic submarine that would surface and dive with the help of baking powder (not soda, as you would expect, but baking powder) tamped into a little chamber in the underside of the hull. Once I had placed my order (the ritualistic sealing of the envelope, the licking of the stamp, the strategic placement in our mailbox for the mailman to gather and send it on its way), the wait was simply excruciating. "Did it come yet?" I would ask my mother each day as I returned from school. It was frankly difficult to focus on anything else.  Nights would be especially difficult for me. The quiet of the night would only amplify my apprehension and anticipation. Had I made a mistake with the number of box tops I had enclosed in the envelope? Had the mailman stolen my package for his own child? It was too painful to recount the various permutations of disaster that occupied my tormented mind. My preoccupation for the arrival of my package was much like the scene in the "The Music Man," where a gathering of people sang jubilantly of their anticipation as they peered down the street awaiting the arrival of the Wells Fargo Wagon. Inwardly, I was one of those singers. This was the song that played over and over in my heart. "Oh, it could be, yes it could be, something special, just for me!" I lived that song for much of my cereal-eating childhood. Such is the world of a young boy.

Four weeks ago, on September 14th at 12:01 A.M. PDT, Apple and its various Cellular Phone partners began taking orders for the newly unveiled iPhone 5. I had been avoiding a purchase of the iPhone since its first iteration was announced, opting instead for the iPod Touch. The iPod Touch simply offered virtually the same level of functionality of the iPhone sans the relatively expensive monthly data plan that accompanied it.  Needless to say, I was instantly smitten with the technology proffered by the iPod. It provided access (via Wi-Fi) to the Internet, e-mail, and a plethora of apps, in addition to its native ability to provide the soundtrack to my daily life.

Sadly, after a time, the iPhone began to outstrip the iPod Touch in features. Undoubtedly this was a marketing decision by the powers at Apple. Each iteration of the iPhone widened the gap between itself and its lesser sibling. The iPhone incorporated a camera and more importantly, apps that could simulate some of the artistic "looks" that I worked so hard to create via traditional photographic methods. As an example, the Hipstamatic app provided filters that closely resembled the look of plastic toy cameras, or images taken with infrared film or pinhole cameras. I was annoyed that an artistic venue had been denied me simply because I did not possess the right technology. I anxiously waited for the new iPod Touch to incorporate the same capabilities in its next incarnation. In a fashion it did, only the resolution of the camera was laughable. While the iPhone was offering a built-in 5 megapixel camera, the iPod was offering less than 1-megapixel resolution. The gap between the iPhones and the iPod Touches widened. The difference between the latest incarnation of iPhones and iPod Touches is reported to be already one generation different, owing to the different processors incorporated in each. The iPod Touch camera now it sports 5-megapixel resolution, a noticeable improvement over the previous generation (which I had told myself would be enough to warrant my next purchase), but again lags behind the iPhone 5 which offers a (second-generation) 8-megapixel camera. This was the tipping point for me, coupled with the annoyance of searching endlessly for free Wi-Fi spots in the cities of our travels to access the internet for information. I finally decided to make the leap to the iPhone. I had been reading the cereal boxes long enough regarding the popular smartphone. It was time to commit.

Once resolute in my decision to purchase the "5," I was not rabid about ordering it, unlike cereal-box-top boy of so many years ago. True, I had considered staying up until the designated hour to place my order online, but decided instead that a good night's sleep was more important than the possible three to four week delay it would cost me to wait until the next morning. I had waited for 5 generations of iPhones to place my order, I could easily wait a few more weeks. Eventually, at around 10:00 A.M. the next morning, I accessed AT&T's site to place my order.

That day, the media was overwrought with reports of the frenzy of iPhone orders that accompanied the pre-order opening day. As suspected, the anticipation and fervor immediately outpaced the available supply and all of the websites were reporting 3-4 week delays in deliveries. It was mildly amusing to read the articles about the queues and server difficulties encountered by the onslaught of Apple fanboys (and fangirls). I couldn't help but feel a little superior as I was calm and comfortable with the anticipated delay until I noticed my confirmation e-mail. It stated simply without a hint of irony, that ("Congratulations!") my order would be delivered September 21st! WHAT? Could this be a mistake? Most likely it had to be the result of an automatic reply geared toward the best possible scenario embedded in the AT&T order confirmation response system that would undoubtedly be corrected later in a subsequent e-mail. And yet, when I entered the tracking system, the order stated that not only had it been processed, but that the iPhone had been shipped! How could this be possible? Could I really be one of the first to have the iPhone 5 in my hot little hands? It could potentially be delivered to my door without having to endure three (or more) nights and days of camping out in front of an Apple store? Cereal-box-top-boy was back! Sleepless nights ensued. Each day, I checked the status of my order and to my dismay, there was no tracking number assigned. The tracking number was the designated next step in the process and its absence hinted of a system error that would dash all of my now falsely-raised expectations. I searched the web and found a forum of people who were in the exact circumstance that I faced. They had received a confirmation with the 21st delivery date with no progress in the tracking system beyond "shipped." The general consensus was that it was simply not to be. I cannot calculate the number of times I would check that system in a given day. I became resigned to the fact that I would indeed have to wait for 3-4 weeks prior to receiving my iPhone, a now intolerable waiting period. Resignation grew to depression. Then, on Thursday, at about 9:14 P.M., the evening before the 21st, my tracking number appeared! Clicking on that number revealed that my iPhone had traveled from Fort Worth, Texas to the FedEx distribution center in West Valley City!

As per the tracking status, the iPhone would be delivered to my door no later than 3:00 PM. I called in sick as a signature was required for the iPhone 5 to be delivered and I did not want to jeopardize a first day delivery. I had to run a quick errand first thing that morning and hurriedly set out to quickly return. While I was driving, I spotted several FedEx trucks in the neighborhood prowling the streets no doubt loaded down with iPhone 5s in their cache. I returned home, thankfully with no note of a failed delivery awaiting me. I was confident the wait would not be long and I could go to work having benefited from a miraculous recovery. And so I planted myself on the front porch armed with my newspaper and Kindle Fire to keep me occupied while I occasionally peered down the street feigning indifference. Time passed slowly, but eventually, my particular FedEx truck arrived, clocking in at 2:23 PM. FedEx cannot be accused of "over-promising" on their delivery times. When I interrogated him about his other deliveries of the day, the driver reported that like me, others were outside awaiting their deliveries and that they too, were very, very happy to see him pull up. The next day I read numerous reports of others who recounted their wait outside. And so, it appears on that Friday, September the 21st of 2012, scores of people across the United States paced impatiently outside of their homes while they awaited their own Wells Fargo Wagon and similarly, they waited for it to bring something special, something very, very special just for them.

the legendary nikon f4

Please note: this is only for camera aficionados. Specifically, Nikon fans. It goes into way more detail to be of interest to anybody but the most dedicated of photography fanatics.

There's nothing like my reverence for fine products to inspire me to post anew. In this instance, I'm paying homage to the legendary Nikon F4. When this product was introduced in 1988, I could not help but fantasize about one day owning one of these cameras.

My first camera was a Nikkormat (in my case, the Japanese model "Nikomat") FTN. This was a heavy, beautiful camera that by its nature just seemed purposeful. I had made this decision at the last moment switching from my initial impulse to order a Minolta SRT101 (another fine camera which still gives me pause whether I made the right decision or not, but that's fodder for another posting). In any event, the Nikomat naturally influenced my lens purchases as manufacturer's lenses were not portable across other lines (yet, another topic worth discussing since that has changed somewhat today with the micro 4/3rds standard, but I digress). It was only a natural progression to one day migrate to the F4. In the years between my Nikomat and the Nikon F4 I had purchased other Nikons. Notably, the FM and then the 8008S and finally, the F100, an amazing camera in and of itself. (The F100 is easily one of the best cameras I've had the privilege to own and I'm still amazed at the build quality and beauty of the sound of the shutter release each time I shoot with it) 

The Nikon F4 was the flagship model of the Nikon line-up. It boasted 1850 body parts, a communication network with a maximum of 7 CPUs, sophisticated software holding 43 million ways of operating conditions and 4 motors. It was the most advanced camera of its time and represented the largest technological leap from one model to the next EVER. At the time of its introduction, it cost $3600 (in today's currency). It was targeted specifically for the professional market and was therefore built with durability as well as ease-of-use in mind. Production was halted in 1996 when Nikon introduced the F5, an evolutionary model (not revolutionary, mind you). The beauty of the F4 is that it is compatible with every Nikon lens ever made, including those produced AFTER the camera was introduced. This is the only camera (with the exception of Leicas?) that can boast this capability. Canon, Minolta (now Sony), Pentax, all changed their lens mounts somewhere along the line to the annoyance of devotees of these respective manufacturer's product lines.

As you can image, with an 8-year production run, there a number of used Nikon F4s available on the market. With the advent of digital photography, such cameras have rapidly lost re-sale value as film has been relegated to near-obsolescence status. Thus, I have purchased my dream camera, now 24 years later at the cost of $295!  Yes, perhaps it can be viewed as sad that I have been unable to let it go after all of these years and have to satisfy that obsession when a newer technology has emerged. To me it's very fulfilling that after all of these years, I can satisfy that obsession EVEN when a newer technology has emerged. Since the camera was built for longevity, many F4 owners firmly believe they will be able to continue to use it through the rest of their lives. As proof, the F4 was built for a minimally reliable shutter cycle of 150,000. To put this into perspective, shooting the Nikon F4 for 10 years at a rate of 15 rolls (36 exposures per roll) per month, the shutter would have gone through approximately 64,800 cycles, roughly 43% of its rated minimum life. At the same rate it could be utilized reliably for another 13 years. I personally do not think my Nikon has been put through such a pace judging by its condition. So I suspect I will be able to utilize it for many, many years to come, especially since it has undergone inspection and had the requisite cleaning, lubrication and adjustment.

And so, I anxiously await the delivery of this latest purchase (my birthday present). It is on its way to my awaiting hands as I write this, having departed Seattle at midnight, via UPS with a scheduled delivery of Tuesday. It is in remarkable condition having been owned by an amateur rather than a professional, who undoubtedly would have put it through its paces on a daily basis. The high resolution photos of my particular camera  betray just a few minor scuff marks, with the seller describing it as "mint." I'll of course be anxious to inspect it, but I'm hopeful the photos accurately depict its present condition and that there will be no surprises.

Admittedly, I'm shooting again with film in preparation for the opportunity to utilize the F4. I love digital because of its immediacy and "disposable" image ability. By that I mean, I can review my images and erase them with a push of a button, allowing me the freedom to shoot without discrimination. Film is a little more precious to me. I tend to be stingy and perhaps too careful with the images I shoot with a film camera. However, in spite of the resolution advances of digital photography, there is still a quality of film that I believe cannot be reproduced in any other medium. I know there are many "traditional" photographers who would agree. There is a silkiness or smoothness about a film image that is just plain beautiful. Hopefully, one of my next posts will include some images taken with my new-old camera. 

keith richard's skull ring

The first time I spotted Keith Richard's (of Rolling Stone fame) skull ring, I believe was on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. I immediately responded to the "cool" factor of that ring and vowed that one day I would possess one. Occasionally, I have scoured shops, usually on vacation when I happen to be in one that would feature such items. You know the kind I am referring to: "biker" shops or "head" shops or "wicken" shops. It has not been an ongoing obsession. It is only when I am reminded of that iconic ring that I momentarily remember my vow of oh-so-many years ago and resume my search for the PERFECT skull ring.

Fast forward to today. Lately, I've been making a number of purchases on the wonderful site known as Etsy. Etsy features crafts people and artists from all over the globe. It is both the blessing and curse of Etsy as it is often difficult to find the real gems that exist on the website. You often have to perform very focused searches in order to discover some truly wonderful finds. Sadly, it does not occur to me to search categories that contain such finds. As an example, there is a wonderful artist who makes little dioramas that have a mechanical component to them. In one of his series of dioramas, you crank a little handle to animate the waves of a small ocean with a wonderful little sailboat perched atop the water. What keywords would you enter into a search box to uncover this? I'm not even certain how I stumbled upon this artist which makes me wonder how many more are out there in the cyberspace of Etsy. But I digress . . .

Recently it occurred to me that Etsy might just host the artist who has crafted my ideal skull ring. After several pages of scrolling through the results of my search, I stumbled upon an artist, Paul Phillips, who makes a wonderful skull ring of either sterling silver ($300) or bronze ($140) that can be silver plated. His skull is different than the one  worn by Keith. If anything, I believe it to be a more accurate representation of a human skull, but before I go any further, below is the information I managed to uncover on the original ring produced for Keith as per the Courts and Hackett website:

"In 1978 the celebrated London goldsmiths David Courts and Bill Hackett were working on a small scale silver sculpture of a human skeleton. Using a real skull for reference they carved a perfect miniature replica which they then moulded. When the hollow wax skull was removed from its mould the inspiration for the ring was born. Further experimentation led to the creation of the original silver skull ring. At the same time an invitation arrived from Keith Richards to his birthday party in New York - so Bill and David decided that the new ring would make a fantastic present. From the moment he put it on his finger, the magic began and he has worn it ever since


Since Keith put on the original Courts and Hackett skull ring in 1978, David and Bill have received countless requests for a copy but their original decision that the ring should remain unique has meant that there is no replica mould and no duplicates.

Now, for the first time and only available from them is a magnificent new deaths head ring sculpted from the same human skull used for the original.

Using unique techniques developed in their workshop they have created the ultimate skull ring. Exquisite details include an immaculately carved bone structure, individual teeth and finely engraved cranium.

Crafted in solid 925 silver each ring will be stamped with the Courts and Hackett hallmark guaranteeing authenticity, date, materials used and country of origin."

Me again. The Courts and Hackett ring goes for approximately $477, not an unreasonable price at all. However, to me, the original looks just a little mean. Although professed to be an accurate depiction of the human skull, I swear the eyes look menacing. While I want to adorn my finger with a skull (to express my inner Rock Star), I don't necessarily want my ring to be any more off-putting by looking menacing. (Yes, yes, I know; a skull ring is inherently off-putting, but hopefully you know what I mean. Incidentally, if you're interested in purchasing the same ring, Paul's Etsy shop can be found at: http://www.etsy.com/shop/noformdesign?ref=seller_info.)

Anyway, to make a long-story short, I am now sporting my newly-purchased skull ring (shown above). And yes, I now look like a Rock Star, thank you very much.

higashi

Recently, a co-worker presented me with a pink box of obvious Japanese origin. The box was wrapped in a rice paper skin with one of those gold elastic bands with the neat little bow on top with Japanese script. Inside, beneath a leaf of delicate textured rice paper lay neat rows of little sculptured delicacies in various muted tints of color. She told me someone had presented this to her as a gift and she thought I might like to have it for its aesthetic qualities as a subject for one of my photographs. I accepted it, put it in my kitchen drawer (containing my candy supply) and promptly forgot about it.

This month, my issue of Saveur magazine arrived and contained therein was an article on "Higashi," the very confections I had sequestered away a few weeks earlier. Briefly (and this I did not know until I read the article), Higashi is composed of tinted sugar and rice flour. It is an integral part of the Japanese Tea Ceremony, but only from around the 18th Century when it was first introduced to the royalty and upper class ranks of Japanese society. The Japanese Tea Ceremony itself dates back to the 15th Century. Traditionally, Higashi  was sculpted to reflect the season. In Spring, as an example, Highashi were crafted to resemble cherry blossoms. Higashi is rarely found outside of Japan, but there is an American company, Chambre du Sucre (so why do they have a FRENCH name?), that imports these confections. Incidentally, these delights are made by the same Japanese company for 268 years.

And, I have yet to photograph them in a way to do them justice.

the lost city of atlantis

Today an article appeared in Wired magazine's on-line blog detailing how the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) create maps of the ocean floor. Some years ago, the data they collected was integrated into the data utilized by Google Earth. Some observant aficionados of this app noticed a grid of regular lines in a portion of the undersea floor northwest of the Canary Islands. They immediately proclaimed these grids to be an indication of civilization in the form of streets. It was not long before they speculated this to be the streets of the sunken city of Atlantis.

Purportedly, as reported by Plato in 360 BC, the city of Atlantis sunk into the ocean "in a single day and night of misfortune" as a result of earthquakes and floods.

Sadly, Google Earth was displaying an error that resulted from the sonar method that oceanographers used to map the ocean floor and the way various maps and data were integrated. As NOAA cited, "the lines show the paths traveled by the ships that gathered these higher-resolution sonar readings." This week Google updated their maps with the corrected images.

As I've stated in a previous post, I sincerely want to believe in such mysteries. I still hold out hope for the discovery of the Loch Ness Monster, Yeti and the Abominable Snowman. I would like to think that there are such things that remain undiscovered even though modern technology seems to continually and brutally advance solely to dispel the romantic notions of mythical creatures and legends of yore.

And yet, there are after all, new species that have been discovered and continue to be discovered (which I celebrate). And even more importantly, the discovery of heretofore previously thought extinct species. Why then, is it not possible for the Loch Ness Monster to be swimming happily in the murky waters of the Loch? Or for the Lost City of Atlantis to be a historical fact rather than a mythical tale? Regardless, I will continue to believe in the possibility of such wondrous and awe-inspiring things.