Polaroids: July 2009 Archives

These ones were all from our last night there. I think everyone was kind of exhausted from the change of routine back to one very similar to our shared college experience. Staying up all night, drinking and watching YouTube at all hours, annoying the upstairs neighbors. We're old now. It's harder to do that sort of thing.

The next morning, we were gone. I went to the airport, Max to the train, Justin to do some kind of work involving a gay beach party. I think the thing I hate most is the dissipation of the magic and adrenaline that surrounds travel and vacations and picking up a comfortable friendship right where it left off.

This one didn't turn out all that well, but Justin has this weird glowing Jesus nightlight. It's actually a little creepy, and in that respect it's also quite wonderful.

I told Max to use the last Polaroid in the cartridge, and he took a picture of Justin's ear. That was lame.

Polaroid photography was exclusively limited to indoors in the morning or at night, mostly because I generally didn't have it on me after I ran out of Holga film during the day. I had to shoot the Holga during the day; the thing only has two settings, "sunny" and "slightly less sunny," and anything taken indoors on that camera was a dark, muddy mess. I had to play to my machines' strengths.

I mention this because though these are delightful snapshots of my friends, they aren't nearly as interesting as the outdoor shots I took on the Holga and the digital camera. You've been warned.

We spent most every evening (and in fact most of our time, since we woke up so late and I am such a slow-moving beast when I travel) in Justin's apartment, watching videos on his giant computer monitor.

Max had brought along his banjo, so I finally got a chance to hear the dude play. He's not bad. That's right, Max, I think you're pretty good at this. For the record, Cathy is also good at the banjo, but I didn't actually manage to get a Polaroid of her playing.

The above sequence is fairly representative of that evening. One minute, we're just sitting around, watching something on the computer. The next, we're still watching videos, but the boys have their shirts off. We were drunk, sorry. I think we had been watching Troll 2, and the only appropriate way to watch Troll 2 is at least mildly soused.

A little about my trip last week. I woke up bright and early on Saturday morning after very little sleep (pre-travel anxiety, you know). To make things easier for me, my boyfriend, who also watched my pets for me while I was gone, offered to drive me to the airport. Otherwise, I would have had to drive into Boulder, park in the Park-n-Ride and take the airport bus. So yeah, I accept this offer.

Turns out, that wasn't such a hot idea. Steve's car is my old car, the maroon Chevy Lumina. I guess a coolant hose had rusted out and was leaking. But yeah, we're driving on the highway and the temp sensor comes on. And so we pull off and are headed to a gas station or something, and the car starts smoking. We can smell it burning. Stop, hazards on, in the middle of traffic. Call 9-1-1. The fire engine shows up to make sure it's not on fire, the cops show up to move it out of traffic. For the time being, it's looking like I'm stranded, but through pure providence, we've pulled off a mile or two from where Hiram, one of Steve's co-workers, lives. The dude is kind enough to not only get out of bed and drive out to help us, but he actually drives me all the way to the airport. I am in eternal debt to Hiram.

ANYWAY, a dull and rather uneventful plane ride and layover and other plane ride later, wherein I notice a profound change in the type of passenger present (Denver to Chicago, then Chicago to New York--at the layover I saw that the latter flight included a fellow wearing a collared shirt and tie, sporting an Achewood "Dude and Catastrophe" tattoo on his lower arm, and I carelessly forgot to photograph him), and then I am in New York. A short shuttle ride, and I am in Grand Central Station. Immediately in, I am pretty sure I see a pair of pickpockets doing a pretty transparent shtick of colliding with people and running away.

This is New York. I try not to look terrified. I loiter by some empty ticket windows and wait for my friends to come fetch me.

Enter Max and Cathy, Masters of the Underground. Justin and Jennifer, the fine friends with whom Max and I were staying, were at a party with some of their friends. It is in perhaps the richest section of town. That night, I got a chance to see how the other half lives (ans: they have cookouts on their patio and drink pretty awful beer--basically they live like most people, except in very nice houses).

Our host for that evening was a fellow named Matt, pictured below in a photograph carefully arranged to look like it was taken in 1981. We were talking about Polaroid, and that's when the cameras came out.

I admit I am so shy unless I'm inebriated--and sometimes even then--so I spent most of the evening just talking to Cathy and Max. Which was all right because I had not seen those two in a dog's age, and Justin in even longer, I think. But since Justin knew all these guys, he was out mingling most of the time.

Below you can see our attempt to create a Sears-style studio portrait with Justin, Jennifer and Cathy. Max left to have a long telephone conversation for most of the time that the camera was out, so he does not appear in the photos. Sorry, dude, this is what happens.

I have no idea what's going on in the next one. No idea. All I know is that is Jennifer's hand reaching into frame, and it makes me so very happy.

Anyway, we ate some hamburgers and then we ate the best ice cream cake. And we hung around to help clean up after most of the other guests had left, because we're good kids. Max spent some time talking to Matt about guns. There was some Xbox playing going on in the dungeon (basement) for a while. Eventually we left and went to Justin's keen Manhattan apartment and I slept on a futon. Max slept on a terrifying air-bed that partially deflated during the night.

None of this is all that interesting. I'm sorry. The next NYC post will be better, I promise. I have some Holga photos that will be coming back on Monday. My first color roll. I'm excited.

TO BE CONTINUED