The Deaf Don't Have It So Bad

The world, as a whole, seems to be very interested in smaller, thinner, sleeker things. Phones, cars, cameras, emissions, computers, independent thought. These are only some of the things that have jumped ship to join the downsize list. It seems now the only big things the world condones are boobs and shoes. And even then, it's go big or go home.
But then headphones said they'd had enough.

Now, there's a time and a place for small headphones. The gym, for instance. A boring class. a funeral. But sometimes you just need a big-ass set of headphones. I, too, have subscribed to this philosophy. And so I obtained a pair. Today, I tested them.

I wore nothing special. Black beanie, blue hoody, black track pants, black, inconspicuous shoes. With roaring headphones. White and black, bulky, shining plastic, huge headband, and skulls. Ah, the skulls. I put them on, and something changed, as I walked down the sidewalk. Students streamed past on either side, but it was as if I had joined the ranks of the handicapped. People immediately assessed the situation, assumed I was hearing impaired, and corrected their path to allow me a straight shot through the throng. I walked for 10 minutes without sidestepping once.

And the looks, ah the looks. Everyone questioned the headphones, because they themselves posessed only their small ones. "What is he doing?" "I have the right fashion, don't I?" "Oh no, should I have a pair of those?" "He looks ridiculous, doesn't he know anything?"

But not a single person said a thing to me. Perhaps because they all assumed I could not hear had they said something anyhow. And that would normally be true. But I can't help but wonder what would have transpired had they known the truth. I forgot to charge my iPod the night before, there was no music.

Plunging

I was asked to go out last weekend and take pictures of the polar bear plunge. For once this semester, I was excited about my assignment. I had mentioned to Andrew and John last week that that would be a really fun event to go and just capture audio for a photo-slideshow. Well, apparently, one of them was listening. I was asked to go capture audio, and possibly take pictures if the staff photographer had to leave early. I would have been fine doing it, but I ended up only capturing audio.

I felt like I did a fairly good job. The only real problem I ran into was that they were moving the media to the side, out of the way. This meant it was incredibly difficult to capture the sound of bodies running into cold water. I could turn my volume way up, but then all the sounds near me were way over-modulated. I settled for sneaking as close to the water as I could. I also really took the time to think of possible nat sound. I got teeth chattering, people squelching through mud, chanting, breathing as people ran to get clothes to put on, inspirational speeches from team captains. It was genuinely a lot of fun.

I also had a new experience, when I was out recording sound. The reporters sent from other media outlets, like KOMU, and KBIA, and the Tribune, I knew. It was a weird feeling walking around a huge group of people, with competing journalists all around, but being able to just walk up and talk to them. I suppose this is an industry standard I should get used to.

When I got back is when the trouble started. There is definitely problems in how the convergence desk works with the photo department. It wasalright at first, they just set me to the task of editing my audio, which I gladly did. However, because their photographer was on assignment elsewhere after the plunge, they couldn't give me an accurate estimate of how long the should be. Luckily, I had vaguely discussed it with the photographer before capturing, so I sort of knew. Then when I finished, I had to wait around for over an hour for the photog to get back. I used the time to tweak little things with the audio, like really getting the fades right and things like that.

Then when he did get back, he wanted huge swathes of audio restructured. I... dislike... how the work that I do can be discounted and changed on the whim of the photographer. I understand that the visuals he had he would like to put a certain way, but my audio also works best a certain way. I definitely prefer doing both portions so that I have final say.

Eventually, though, we hashed out the slideshow. I learned a little bit, as I always do when I report int he field, about technical things, like how to capture far off sounds, and working crowds. But even more so, I learned a valuable lesson. I really dislike working with people who don't have a background in alternative medias. I guess that means real life should get interesting.

facial hair

It has come to that point in the winter when the average person starts recalling hot summer days with nostalgic, altogether too graphic descriptions of pouring sweat. When the remembrance of a heat haze drifting upwards of the white-hot cement brings a smile to the lips. When pit-stains were in fashion. The icy wind whipping at the face forces a connection with days when people began making up new gods to pray to for a warm breeze. The silent, cold nights make a man long for the stifling warmth of a bedroom less the air-conditioning to save on electricity.
It is at this point that the male gender is forced to make a decision in his life. Let the facial hair grow, or cut if off. Now, this might seem like a simple choice. Either look ragged, or look clean cut. Some people can pull off a rockin’ beard, but most of us just look silly. But there are some hidden cons to be found in looking foolish.
For one, if it’s been a windy day, and you’ve been spending a lot of time outside, chances are your skin is dried to about the same consistency as a few of the more recent Pharaohs. The last thing you want to do is take a really sharp razor… or five, in the case of the Gilette Fusion… to your face. Cue the blood, the tears, the bumps and the curses. And then, once you have shaved (and applied a liberal amount of any kind of lotion you can find), when you go back outside, you no longer have that line of defense against the wind. It’s like a prairie. The wind whips away at the ground, and tried to erode the soil. If you cut the grass to short, it rips up your roots and turns the land into dry, scratchy desert.
Second is warmth. Sure, you could walk around with some kind of cotton fabric rubbing and chafing against your skin all day. Or, you could grow the beard. It’s the body’s natural insulation (aside from that holiday weight you put on). The wilder you grow that facial hair, the more skin you cover. It’s a Snuggie for you face. All the warmth, with none of the hassle.
Third, conformity. Walk around and look at all the ridiculous beards and mustaches. Shaving makes you stand out, in the frigid depths of winter. Do you really want to be “that guy” who is so worried about looking good that he sacrifices warmth and comfort? Sure, maybe you shave for a job, but if you’re not working, or your boss doesn’t care, I defy you to present another argument for shaving that doesn’t involve some kind vanity. It’s a case of the looks to survival ratio. You can only look so good without sacrificing your ability to realistically survive the temperatures, but at the same time, you can only look so ridiculous before your friends decide it is no longer socially acceptable to be seen in your presence.
With these thoughts in mind, I have decided to lead a movement. No Shave November should be extended and repurposed. From now on, men should have the option to participate in Stop Shaving till Spring. If it’s cold, this facial hair aint getting cut.

Rethink

Last night was a bad, bad night. Since finally making the choice to turn to photojournalism as my emphasis, I've been moderately pleased with the results. I'm by no means an excellent photographer, and I'll be the first to admit that. But I'm good, and I'm working on it. Last night made me rethink all of that.

I got sent out on a shift to cover a city council meeting on chickens, and whether they should be allowed on city property and the like. We joked about the possibility of people bringing chickens, and it WAS suppose to be a heated debate. I'd never shot a council meeting before, so I was ready to test myself and see how I could do.

The meeting started with Darwin telling everyone not to make any demonstrative acts. No clapping, no yelling, no anything. Which made me worry. I started focusing on hand gestures and facial expressions, particularly on advocates face's when realtors got up to speak. But the lighting wasn't very good, and I very stupidly forget to bring a tripod. Generally, that wouldn't be a problem, and I did get shots that weren't blurred and had decent lighting.

However, I just couldn't get a good, pivotal shot. And then when the meeting ended, I busied myself trying to get names to go with pictures for captions before everyone left. It was only as I was walking back to my car that it hit me. I had my camera at my side, notebook out getting names as people walked toward me in a wave of exultation, clapping hands, giving hugs, sighing with relief. There were the shots I needed. And I had missed them.

Last night was a trying moment for me. On the one hand, it was a huge learning experience. I missed my shot because I didn't plan ahead for the moment when I would be most capable, and instead worried too much about gathering the pictures in a poor situation. It really made me question my viability as a photo journalist. I'm still shuddering a bit thinking about it. But it also led me to make a vow to myself to never turn in pictures of such terrible quality ever again. I am going to do my damnedest to make sure I never repeat that feeling and situation of utter failure.