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The first of the following photos is by far my favorite image from the set, but the other two are interesting as well. You can see more on Homotography.
One of my favorite things about being alive is the way the wind sounds and the sky looks and the air smells just before a thunderstorm.
This photo is creepy, but I love it. I have no idea who took this image.
Any good photographer knows that s/he can’t control everything, and that part of making the leap from good photographer to great photographer is knowing when to improvise.
Nick Laham knows that lesson, as evidenced by the fact that even though he was using a DLSR camera to shoot the New York Yankees, it was a photo he took of Alex Rodriguez on his phone and processed with Instagram that landed him on the front page of Sunday’s New York Times. [Click to enlarge.]
I know there are people who consider camera phone photography a legitimate art form on its own. And I also know some people who are really good at it (I am not — my Instagram photos never look that good). Conversely, every time a story like this breaks, there are also people saying that we’re witnessing the demise of photography as we know it.
Who’s to say?
I’ve always thought that I need to be careful with camera phone images (and apps like Instagram). But at the same time, frankly, I want to get better at it.
When I lived in Los Angeles, I hung out with this “straight” guy named Jnani. I put straight in quotes because he surrounded himself with gay friends, preferred hanging out in gay bars, and while he talked about women I don’t think I ever saw him date one. He was a mechanic, but he wore rubber gloves when he worked on cars because he didn’t want to get his hands and fingernails dirty. He had great hair that was conservative yet kind of floppy and even looked good when he was in the garage. There was something kind of James Dean-like about him and in hindsight, I wish I had been a photographer then because I would have wanted to take portraits of him.
But Jnani was so gay for a straight guy what we all called him J-nay-nay.
I was with Jnani one Friday afternoon when he told me that he had to go to Target. There, I watched him walk straight to the section of the store that contained men’s foundation garments, where he quickly picked out seven pairs of underwear and seven pairs of socks. The underwear were white boxer briefs which I imagined would give Jnani a nice basket (I never saw him naked, but I have a feeling that he had a big dick); the socks he selected were five pairs of white athletic socks and two pairs of thick black ones.
After he paid for his stuff, Jnani told me that he went to Target every Friday and did this, because he refused to wear underwear or socks more than once.
I wonder where this guy is now?