February 11, 2003

we can’t stop here

I dashed up the Shore this morning to shoot some photos, and I have a newfound appreciation for anyone that does winter photography.

First off, you need to have gloves, nice warm gloves, that you will remove every five seconds to snap a shot and forget to put back on for ten minutes afterwards. When your hands start to hurt, or worse, when they stop hurting, you need to cram them back in the gloves which are now full of snow because you threw them to the ground in a fit of photographic passion claiming, “I will never need to wear gloves again! This picture will finally throw open the gates of hell and warm humanity!”

Second, you need glasses, and glasses have a nasty habit of fogging up when resting on a 98 degree body surrounded by a 5 degree atmosphere. Third, you find yourself sucking air that’s so cold it feels like your breathing through a rag soaked with rubbing alcohol. If it was soaked with ether things would be different, but winter is a cruel, cruel season that has no room for a man at Circus Circus in the depths of an ether binge.

No, with winter photography it would be best to go with the film canister of cocaine. Even without, I still found myself slipping on ice and falling off cliffs into the Lake.