Creepy Old Photographers
I was roaming around Saturday Market a couple days ago when the boldly-colored sign of an empanada stand caught my eye. After pointing my camera and taking a shot, I was immediately waved off by the owner who was upset that I had not first asked permission. I approached him to have a conversation and, after obligingly deleting the photo, I was informed that just that morning some of the vendors had been advised that there were reports of a "creepy old man” taking photos of women and children at the Market.
Without necessarily trying to defend that person’s behavior (whoever he was), I did inform Michael, the empanada guy, that, in this country, people who are out in public are “fair game” (so to speak) and, in most cases, should not have any expectation of privacy; photographers are not obligated to seek permission, however gentlemanly (and ethically-sound) that behavior may be. As long as the photo is not used commercially, the picture is the property of the photographer to do with it as he/she will. (I actually do carry with me photo-release forms in the off chance that I may want to use a picture for commercial use. See "Photography and the Law" for more info.)
I let him know that it was the striking colors of his sign that attracted me and the reason I took the photo in the first place. It turned out to be a very cordial conversation during which, interestingly, he offered me a free empanada! After our chat ended, and strolling around the Market for a bit longer, I returned to let Michael know that my take-away for the day was that at least one Market vendor had initially pegged me for a “creepy old guy.” Ugh. He then allowed me to take this photo. Thank you, Michael.
Soundtrack Suggestion
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away
(“Kodachrome” — Paul Simon)
A Swift Conversion
It would seem I’m in love again. Well, sorta, anyway. No, I don’t have another significant-other in my life. I don’t know if that will ever happen again. As it turns out, I have recently become rather taken with a young female pop star.
Nope, it’s not Billie Eilish. And I said pop star, so no, it’s not Caitlin Clark either. But both of those would be rather good guesses, as I have, of late, become fans of both.
Perhaps you’ve heard of my new interest: Taylor Swift. Ring a bell? Anybody? Well, I suspect you have, so here’s a little bit of the story.
It wasn’t more that maybe four or five months ago that I mentioned to a friend that this Taylor Swift person sure is in the news a lot these days. I had become more and more aware of her with the furor over The Eras Tour. And of course, this was during the NFL season, so Ms. Swift’s involvement with Kansas City Chiefs’ Travis Kelce was generating quite the buzz. Still, I confessed, despite the apparent fame and fortune of this very popular musician, I could not name even one song of hers. Well, my friend is a grandmother of two pre-adolescent girls so is slightly more contemporary-pop-culture aware than I am in this regard; she indicated that she knew one song: “Shake it Off.” So, for the first time, I watched the music video of that song, and said, “yeah, I guess that’s rather cute.” (It was very well produced, I do admit.)
And then, I went on about my life.
Subsequently, of course, there was all the news about Kansas City getting into the Super Bowl and would Taylor Swift be able to make it to the game, given that she was performing a concert in Japan the night before? Such controversy: holy crap! Well, of course, you probably know that not only did she make it to the game (the perks of having a private jet!), but the Chiefs beat the 49ers in overtime – and the game was watched by an increasingly large female TV audience hoping to catch a glimpse of Taylor in her private stadium suite.
Still, I was amused, but rather unmoved.
But then, things took a turn. At some point a few days ago, someone (sorry, I don’t recall who) on Facebook posted a link to a NPR Tiny Desk Concert. And I watched. This session was recorded over four years ago, in October 2019: showcasing a slightly-younger Taylor (can I now call you by your first name?), without the frills of a music video or the glitter while playing to an arena of tens-of-thousands. She played four tunes as, she said, “how the songs sounded when I first wrote them” (i.e, acoustic versions, two on guitar, two on piano). I had never heard these tunes before, of course, though it now seems obvious, given some further research, that most of the rest of the civilized world has. In the comments section, a 70-year-old guy from Oregon (not me) wrote, “I now see the appeal, the truly evident talent and most of all… the genuineness of her personality, and the deservedness of the accolades she has garnered.”
What especially caught my attention was the final song she performed, entitled, “All Too Well.” Right away, it became obvious that this was what could be definitively called a “breakup song.” Arggghhhhh! It totally socked me in the gut. And I immediately agreed with the person in the comments section, as I said to myself, “ah, now I get it.” She is a truly engaging as a person and writes lyrics that speak deeply to the human experience. No wonder she has the immense following she enjoys.
I love you, Taylor. (Call me.)
(And I still cannot name a single Beyoncé song. Sorry ‘bout that.)
Here is today’s Soundtrack Suggestion:
Birthday Blackmail
So, here I am, age 70. My birthday was two days ago. As some of you may recall, in my 20s I was skeptical that I would ever live past 30. Ah, well, I have never been so wrong!
This essay is simply a little record about the 24-hour-run-up to my birthday. I really do love it when being alive is so darn fun. (And, yes, we live in very interesting times, but this report has nothing to do with a rich, orange-colored bigot who is bent on destroying our democracy.)
On the morning of August 16, I awoke to a rather unusual junk email. It was addressed to one of my legitimate, widely-known email addresses (in fact, the one associated with this blog). The author purported to be writing from Germany and was issuing a blackmail threat. He (I suppose it’s a “he”) said I had 24 hours to come up with $290 in bitcoin and deposit it in his account (a bitcoin wallet address was given). He claimed that a keystroke-logging program had been deposited on my machine, and that he knew a lot about me. So, if I did not forward the funds, the consequences would be an email message to everyone in my contacts (and everyone I was connected to via social media) containing embarrassing video of me recorded with my MacBook Pro camera. So, two things you should know: (1) my computer’s camera has been completely covered up for at least the last couple years; and (2) if you see a suspicious email from/about me, you might think twice about clicking on whatever link is provided. On the other hand, who knows how interesting it may be! (Yes, you guessed it: I have not paid him.)
Then, later in the day, while on my daily walk, on a beautiful sunny afternoon along the bikepath between the Willamette River and the Owen Rose Garden, I was approached by a woman approximately half my age, working in the world’s oldest profession. She hesitated, stopped, smiled, and asked if I “wanted a date.” All I could think of to say was “no thanks.”
Anyway, that’s a day in my life. Happy birthday to me.
Decanal Decorum
You never can tell. About anything, really. Don’t you think life is mostly a matter of random encounters and chances?
Which is a rather odd introduction to a little story of laughter and embarrassment during a time of high stress...
Last Tuesday evening I was attending the monthly meeting of the Board of Trustees of my college. I was there because one of the programs within my area of responsibility was going to be eliminated by action of the Board.
It was all high drama. People wanted to have a say in the decision...and many signed up to offer their personal testimony. Although the action item had originally been placed toward the end of the agenda, it was moved up to the beginning so the Board could take its vote while interested members of the public were still in attendance. The testimony and ensuing discussion took almost three full hours.
I was sitting in the back of the room. The furniture in the peanut-gallery section is notoriously uncomfortable, so I had arrived early to get a chair (and a location) that would suit me best. As the meeting got going, more and more people filled the room until it was a standing-room-only situation.
Ultimately, two young women were standing very close to me. I was very conscious of how tightly we were all packed in, and the high likelihood of encroaching on someone else’s personal space. The room started to get warmer and warmer, but the temperature was just right for me as I was sitting next to a very large (but closed) window – which kept cool the air in my region of the room.
At one point, as one of the speakers was just finishing up, another of the audience members came over to me and wanted to see if the window by me would open. I resisted, saying (quietly), “yes, but even if it does open, I’ll freeze.”
The very attractive (approximately 20-year-old) coed standing right next to me, who had not acknowledged me during the entire proceeding thus far, jumped right in. She put her hand on my shoulder and said (or, more accurately, announced) , “oh, don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.”
I snorted. Giggled way too loudly. And blushed wildly
Another speaker had already taken the microphone. Several people, in a semicircle around us, all turned our way, put their fingers to their lips, and went “shhhhhh!”
My face turned even more red, I’m sure.
When things settled down, I turned to my new, attractive, young friend and said, sincerely, “that was very funny.”
So much, though, for The Dean bringing any sense of Decorum to the room!
Soundtrack Suggestion
I don’t like you
But I love you
Seems that I’m always
Thinkin’ of you
Oh, ho, ho, you treat me badly
I love you madly
You’ve really got a hold on me
(“You Really Got A Hold On Me” – The Beatles)
The Society for HandHeld Hushing (SHHH!)
As far back as July 2006 I started talking about my aversion to noise, particularly the annoying cell-phone-user variety. I continually ask myself the question: where do I have to go, what, dear god, do I have to do, to get away from these inconsiderate, loudmouth assholes?
I’m sick. I’m tired. I’m totally frazzled with the “cell-phone voice” that seems to be everywhere. For example, say I’m in the local Starbucks (as I was just today), quietly sipping my cup of tea and reading a book, with the normal background hum of voices and activity. Then, a person a table or two away takes or makes a call, and before I even look up to confirm, I know that voice. Geez, it’s somebody talking on their damn phone. Of course it is. It’s happening all around us! Does she really think I care if she’s running late? Or that he’s hungover? Or that her sister is sick? Or that her husband-boyfriend-significant-other doesn’t “get” her? Or that his college won the big game yesterday? Or that, woe is me, the Dow lost 130 points last week? Or that she thinks “like, you know, whatever…”?
Tell me: how could I possibly give a rat’s ass?!
Well, I don’t.
But, enter: HOPE.
I recently discovered what I think is a “must-have” piece of modern technology: the cell-phone jammer. In a newspaper article last week entitled “Cell-Phone Jammers Can Zap All The Yap,” I learned of these wondrous little (often extremely small and portable) devices. I don’t need to go into how these things actually work, since, if you’re interested, you can read up on that yourself. Suffice it to say that, for not much money, you too can own a gadget that can zap the signal of cell phones in your immediate vicinity.
Think of yourself on a bus or commuter train, in the doctor’s waiting room, in the theatre, or, like me, in the coffee shop: and having actual control over the airspace! You just push a button and, whammo! …instant impotence (technologically speaking) for that useless, harebrained cell-phone user!
HA!
Of course, there happens to be a down side, as use of these miracle tools just happens to be against the law. Alas, cell-phone jamming is covered under the Communications Act of 1934, which prohibits us from “willfully or maliciously interfering with the radio communications of any station licensed or authorized” to operate. In fact, the “manufacture, importation, sale or offer for sale, including advertising, of devices designed to block or jam wireless transmissions is prohibited” as well.
Dang!
So, given this, of course I’m not advocating that you go out and buy one of these things. It just wouldn’t be right, would it? I would never, ever endorse any kind of illegal activity here on my website. That would be terrible of me!
So, how about if I suggest an alternative that IS totally legal?
It just so happens that I’ve discovered another way to start fighting back. I’ve become aware of a method that is neither illegal nor surreptitious, but, rather, totally above-board…and just may win the hearts and minds of those around you.
I suggest you go to the website introducing you to the (unfortunately fictional) Society for HandHeld Hushing (SHHH!). Once there, you will find a pdf file which you can download and print out that will furnish you with some little “business cards” you can cut up and hand to those loudmouths on cell phones.
Imagine yourself, if you will, handing a modestly-sized nicely-printed card to someone stating that:
The Rest of Us DON’T CARE What He Said To You.
or
The World Is A Noisy Place. You Aren’t Helping Things.
or
Just so you know: EVERYONE AROUND YOU IS BEING FORCE TO LISTEN TO YOUR CONVERSATION.
or
Dear Cell Phone User: We are aware that your ongoing conversation with (fill in the blank) is very important to you, but we thought you’d like to know that it doesn’t interest us in the least. In fact, your babbling disregard for others is more than a little annoying.
or, simply: