shooting film for the heck of it

 

 

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I shot a roll of film over the weekend. It’s with a Nikon FM10, with a 24mm f2.8 lens.

I’m going to have to find another place to develop. I dropped these off at Walgreens. They scan them at a somewhat low resolution. And maybe I could have got prints and rescanned them.

The bottom image is of a woman who dropped her phone right about where she’s rolling that carriage.

I ended up taking the phone and waiting for someone to call it. Her daughter happened to call while I was out and I took it to her.

To which she gave me $20 — 20 whole smackers! — for doing what was right.

I refused, but she insisted.

It was fun to do and now I want to try again. I’m a little wonky with the focus, but when it’s on, it seems right.

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Those nasty, dirty wretches deserve hell. Filthy, I tell you.

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Last week, a Facebook friend posted a video of her two beautiful children, a older boy and a younger girl, singing Amazing Grace. And by beautiful, I mean super cute.

If I had to guess, they are 5 and 3.

I don’t feel comfortable plastering their image here, but if this friend’s account settings allow, you might be able to see the video here.

If not, imagine two sweet faced children singing shyly at first. Then gaining some strength before finally running in circles while screwing up the lyrics with mistakes like, “I was lost, but now I’m blind.”

In essence, it’s a REALLY cute video.

 

And that song. It’s one of the most common in our culture. Especially the Yeshua Fog™.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.

What a lovely lyric. Right?

Amazing. Just amazing. And sweet.

Grace. Who doesn’t want grace in their life once in a while.

To top it off, it’s a “saving” grace. It’s one that saves you. It’s amazing. We’re all on the same page right.

And then the next words are, “…that saved a wretch like me.” 

Imagine a little blond-haired, blue eyed boy, who’s never so much as gone without a comfortable bed, in a posh house in some North Carolina suburb saying that he’s a wretch, undeserving of amazing grace, to a camera phone uploaded to a luxury social media site like Facebook.

The closest to wretch this little boy has ever been is shitting his pants when he was old enough to know better. The closest thing to wretch he’s ever been is three days without a bath.

Imagine a little girl, who plays with her dolls, who has no idea that kids her age are born into disease ridden conditions in this country, or Africa, or the Philippines. Imagine this girl doesn’t know that girls twice her age are sold to men for marriage. Or they are sold to brothels to make ends meet.

She’ll likely never know the true definition of “wretch,” except that it might be discussed in a sermon. Because from inside of an SUV, wretches, like kids born on the streets of India, look kind of cool. They are phone photo opportunities.

So you might wonder why do I care how another family raises their children. Really, my hands are tied. I’ll never call this person and say, “What you’re doing could be construed as child abuse.”

Tina’s response was, “Do we call DCFS?”

Don’t get me wrong, kids need to have a healthy perspective on their history. However, teaching kids that they were born evil, pathetic, miserable, dirty, ungrateful, vile, despicable, and savage might — just might — not be the best method of teaching.

It downgrades the efficacy of the word “wretch” when the chanteuse resembles the visual of an angel, rather than demons.

I could be wrong, though. But then again, this is one of those songs that befuddled me when I was their age.

Shame on parents who teach that song to their privileged kids, when wretched children exist, they will never experience saving grace and the rest of us stand by with folded arms letting it happen.