A guy leans across a couple empty seats on a Muni J train and asks me if I am a professional photographer. I nondescriptly nod and say yes.
He asks if my digital camera falsifies images automatically and says he can't trust pictures since digital photography. I tell him no and I try to explain to him that photo manipulation isn't anything new. I explain, photomontages were being created as early as 1857 and that the only thing that has changed is the technology has become more accessible and much more precise. I add that ethics are taught and the person behind the camera is ultimately the one responsible, not the technology or medium.
Unfortunately, he then begins to tell me a story about how the City of San Francisco is screwing him out of a patent and has contracted someone else to build his invention. He accuses practically every city official of being corrupt and out to get him. I try listening politely and when it's my stop I wish him good luck and he says "Good luck to you too." I wonder why I’m the one that needs luck.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
The Angry Ambulance Chasers
So I meet some trial attorneys on a deserted road on the outskirts of Fairfield. Their client, driving down this empty road was suddenly struck by a vehicle careening across Interstate 80, crashing through a flimsy fence separating the frontage road from the interstate highway.
One of them curses Caltrans, theatrically kicking the ground, for just replacing the fence and not putting in a guard rail and he quickly follows that he doesn't want to stand here too long because a car could crash through at any moment.
I shoot some photos and they keep asking if I am getting the road in. I am yelling "YES!" over the top of the roar from the interstate. I finish the shoot and start to break down my equipment while they climb back in their shinny, silver BWM with the license plate "9 Jurors" and peel out.
One of them curses Caltrans, theatrically kicking the ground, for just replacing the fence and not putting in a guard rail and he quickly follows that he doesn't want to stand here too long because a car could crash through at any moment.
I shoot some photos and they keep asking if I am getting the road in. I am yelling "YES!" over the top of the roar from the interstate. I finish the shoot and start to break down my equipment while they climb back in their shinny, silver BWM with the license plate "9 Jurors" and peel out.
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