Macro Monday/Random Ramblings

NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.

As Pandemic-A-Go-Go 2020 weekends go, this one was pretty darn, not bad-ish. I mean, if you take out the facts that for the first Mother’s Day weekend in about 7 years, Wifey and I were not watching B play footy at the Midland tourney, that any time I cough, I briefly spiral into mind-racing thoughts of having “the” COVID, or that I have to mask up to enter a store with no plans of robbing it, only to find myself surrounded by maskless rim lickers showing me that they have the MAGA American God1-given right to not wear a mask and help prevent the further spread of a virus. Yeah, if you take that shit out, it was all pretty normal and sort of fun.

Granted, my definition of fun these days is a lot different from the days of it “hurting pretty fucking bad.” Fun these days usually involves me walking around the woods with a camera (sometimes crawling if I have the macro lens), working in the yard, making homemade Mexican food, playing FIFA 20, goofing off with B-Man, and rediscovering my love of witbier. In other words, my fun weekends are just like they were in the pandemic-free world minus a few differences.

I spent Saturday at Meridian Park (see the previous post), and on Sunday, I spent hours walking, crawling and squatting in the woods of the Hall’s Lake Preserve with a vintage, Lester A. Dine manual focus macro lens strapped on the front of the z6 most of the time.

Despite frozen fingers and numb cheeks from the damp, cold, blustery, un-May-like day, nature continues to come alive throughout the woods, and I have to say, getting up close with a macro lens as it springs forth is mind-blowing! I would never encourage, or discourage, such activity, but if you are the sort to partake in the enjoyment of legalized recreational “herbal supplements,” you may want to add macro photography to your hobbies. Just sayin’.

Even with focus peaking on the z6, getting an accurate focus for macro can be hit or miss, especially when you’re 48 years old, in need of a new contact prescription, and the optometrist is closed until further notice. Add in that I was hand holding the camera, the wind was blowing, and I was shivering, getting a crisp shot was tricky. Still, I took a shit ton of pics, and got a nice file folder full of photos, that will probably never see the light of day.

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Speaking of folders full of photos, I was recently looking at the vast catalog of photos I have amassed over my years of rides, hikes, and walks in the woods, and it is a bit overwhelming. It reminded me of a podcast I listened to about the late British photographer James Ravilious. Ravilious documented the landscapes and lives of the small English village he and his wife lived in, and in 17 years, recorded roughly 79,000 negatives. While I don’t think I’ll ever be mentioned in the same breath as James Ravilious, I am amassing quite a collection of photos. Hopefully, someday I put them to better use than filler for this shit show of a blog.

Lastly, in other news, it looks like I will be heading back to the shop to work some minimal hours. I had fired myself but will be working a few hours a week, possibly before the shop opens, to enter and stock inventory and free Chris up to get real shit done. The shop is doing a great job of limiting customers in the shop and enforcing social distancing and mask-wearing (move along rim-lickers!), so I feel confident that this can be done safely. It also helps that I’ve been getting the itch to get back on a mountain bike, and owning a mountain bike again, might be a great first step. I think helping out the shop during this time can only help me scratch that itch. Or kill me.

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Fun Fact: As a kid I had a wiener dog named Alfie.

OK Monday, what do you got for me? So far, drab skies, snow flurries, cold fingers, hard nipples, too much coffee, and a spastic colon. Onward and upward!

Later.


  1. An American God is not like any other God or god. An American God is a Busch beer-drinking, can littering, gun-owning, immigrant hating, money-grubbing capitalist that only loves, and looks after self-serving white Americans. Brown people, the sick and the poor need not apply for assistance from the American God “That’s socialism!” **shoots AR-15 rounds into the air while yelling, “Lock her up! Yee-yee! God bless America!!”**

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