Project 365

I always intend to post to this blog more often, but it's often hard to find the time, the motivation, and something "worth saying" (my biggest hurdle!). I got new inspiration today that addresses at least the second concern.

I attended part of a nature photography expo hosted by local photography clubs. I couldn't imagine devoting Friday evening through late Sunday afternoon to the same activity, but in retrospect, I should have.

The lectures left me wanting to run out and put new principles into practice, but there were barely 30 minutes between lectures, not much time to wander the gardens where the expo was hosted. And there were so many other things to do! I left a trail of drool through the vendor exhibits - macro lenses! sharpening software! exotic tours led by professional photographers! I spent an hour analyzing the members' exhibit, trying to figure out what made each photo work. Although I was tempted to buy several stunning shots, I was equally motivated to try to recreate them.

It was a packed day, but I still wanted more! Surfing the web after I came home, I found something called Project 365. The idea is to take and post one photo per day for a year. Members of the group on Flickr provide each other with positive feedback, encouragement, and ideas for the next day's subject.

I don't have the discipline to do this for an entire year, but I'd like to try it for a bit to see how the blog and photos will inspire one another. If nothing else, I'll have a brief record of my daily life for a week or so. (Perhaps you should prepare yourself now for a lot of office shots.) Today's first shot is a patch of snowdrops from the grounds of the gardens that hosted the photo expo. The second photo is from my yard, the first crocuses poking up to say hello to the recent warm weather.

Man on Wire, redux

Man on Wire is one of those movies that has stuck with me long after watching (see my previous post). The movie and its principal character, Philippe Petit, crop up everywhere. I heard Petit a few weeks ago as a guest on a segment of NPR's quiz show, "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" This morning I heard him in an interview (I even recognized his voice) about his wire-walking. He calls his wire-walking "writing in the sky" and compares it to poetry.

His last big stunt was between two building in NYC for the David Letterman show in 2002. Asked whether he (at the age of 60 now) had retired, he said he'd stop walking in the air when he was no longer able to walk on the ground. 2009 minus 2002... Hmm.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds herself fascinated by this brash, arrogant, irrepressible man. His film was awarded Best Documentary by the Academy a few weeks ago.

Standards of Service

Recently, I received services from someone who did a decidedly substandard job. He was rude and acted like he was doing us a big favor by performing his basic job functions. He neglected us and refused to meet our basic biological needs. Nevertheless, I tipped slightly over the recommended amount. My friend, equally annoyed, topped my tip by 30%.

This friend consistently tips more than I do, making me feel cheap even when I tip well according to American standards. I've never talked to her about it, but perhaps her philosophy is that she has it and they probably need it, so why not be generous?

That makes the money a charity rather than a tip, in my mind. (Note: This is not intended as a criticism of said friend.) My philosophy is that a tip is a "thank you" for a service provided. I start with what I think is a healthy tip for an adequate job and then adjust based on whether the person added or detracted from my experience.

I reward effort: musicians, jugglers, the "bushman" at Fisherman's Wharf. A recent friendly waitress ("waitron" in South Africa) approached a friend and me outside the restaurant, answered questions about the menu, and then proceeded to do everything in her power to make our dining experience a pleasant one. She went above and beyond, so not only did we give her a generous tip, but we sang her praises to the manager before we left. It was without a doubt the best dining experience of my month-long vacation. That's effort that should be rewarded.

My acts of charity are less ambiguous. I donate to organizations, or I donate my time. I liked the attitude of a recent tour guide. Confronted by several beggar boys at a petrol stop, he refused to hand out change. "Next time I come through, you wash my windows or carry groceries, and I'll pay you." His rationale was that if he gave them money for nothing, what's their incentive to ever do more than panhandle?

Reading for Sport

"I am not the sort of man who goes to prostitutes."

So begins The Partisan's Daughter by Louis de Bernières, an unlikely and surprisingly chaste (so far) love story of a middle-aged married man and a young woman he mistakes for a prostitute. I'm enchanted so far. The book is provoking thought, and I'm only on page 24.

I should not be surprised. I was also entranced by other de Bernières book I read shortly after returning from Turkey, Birds Without Wings. My 2+-year old memories are of the story of a mixed Turkish-Greek community during WWI; neighborhood dramas and gentle religious conflict deteriorate into tragedy when the government decides to relocate half the community based on ethnic lines.

Aside: De Bernières also wrote Corelli's Mandolin, which I was reluctant to read (based on my opinion of the movie) until I read his reaction to the movie: "It would be impossible for a parent to be happy about its baby's ears being put on backwards."

Sadly, there are apparently very few Turks who will read any of de Bernières' books. I heard on NPR World tonight that although 88% of Turks are literate, fewer than 1% regularly read. Reasons for this (as presented in the NPR segment) were grim: Turks are "culturally lazy" and prefer other activities to reading, books are too expensive, and the Turkish publishing industry is "unprofessional."

The Ministry of Education has taken on this deficiency as a project. Mosques preach the value of reading (an interesting collaboration between the government and dominant religious institution for a country that's nominally secular). Coffee shops and other gathering places are offering free books, but the books they offer are by Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Goethe, and Pamuk (a Turkish Nobel winner), none of whom are an easy starting place for people not accustomed to reading for enjoyment.

This is in striking contrast to the U.S., where reading has been elevated to the status of sport with The Morning News' Tournament of Books. Starting in March, sixteen books will face off in brackets, with the winners of each round determined by a panel of reviewers. To keep it interesting, the rules include a provision to bring the readers' favorite back into the running in the fourth round.

My friends have good taste in books. One recommended the tournament to me, and two others gave me contenders for Christmas. I'm not sure I'll make it through all sixteen by March, but I'm sure I'll enjoy trying.

Disclaimers: I may have botched the details of the NPR broadcast since I don't have access to a recording. The de Bernières quote is from Wikipedia, but there wasn't a citation. Also, I am pretty sure that Goethe should have an umlaut (Goëthe) but was not able to find it spelled that way online, so maybe not.

Africa 2008 and 2009 Photobook

View Project at Shutterfly

Almost Done

Over the past two and a half weeks, I've spent days (literally) with the photographic memories of my trip.

I've downloaded all of them to my computer, deleted duplicates, deleted blurry or boring or tilted shots, and classified them into categories from A to Z: airports, birds, camps and Chobe, downtown Cape Town to Twyfelfontein, warthogs, wildebeest, zebras, and Zambia.

The next step was separating the good from the mediocre. Topic by topic, location by location, theme by theme, I uploaded them for my memory book. Occasionally I dipped into the mediocre pictures to tell the right story, and I requested permission to use a few pictures from other people.

I decided which photos could stand alone and which ones would make good collages. I cropped and labeled and wrote descriptions. I spent hours researching bird and antelope names that I could no longer remember. I made the font sizes consistent throughout the book and double-checked my spelling.

The whole exercise has been a great way to relive the trip. I miss the daily variety, the sights and the people, having time to read every day, the hot weather, hiking, and exercising my photographic skills. It has also lent some structure to a month's worth of jumbled memories. Almost as important, it's given me an answer to "How was Africa?"

But now the book is almost complete, the emails with the group are slowing down, and work is picking up. I'm left trying to figure out how to keep the trip alive just a little longer.

I'm Back!

Back after a month of traveling, pitching tents, wearing short sleeves, being surrounded by people 24x7. Back after a month without high heels, the gremlin, or driving. Back after a month of wearing shoes to the shower and carrying toilet paper and a trowel everywhere I go.

I've come home to cold weather and financial cut-backs at work. More importantly, I've come home to a city hopeful about the next four years, to friends and family, and to fast internet connections. It's good to be home.