New Direction

My name is Rob, and I'm glad I didn't wear my suit. It seems as though for the last few weeks everything has gone my way. No matter how hard I try, I just can't manage to screw anything up. This sort of feeling doesn't happen very often in my life. This time I thought of a metaphor to help me express it - parallax.

Parallax error occurs in photography when the viewing angle for the photographer is different than that of the camera. You can witness this first-hand by holding your finger in front of your face and closing one eye, then the other. Notice the difference? Your finger is in the same spot but it appears to be in a different position because each of your eyes is viewing from a slightly different angle. When this phenomena occurs it can cause distortion in converging lines, and can cause real problems in stitching panoramic photos. In panoramic photography you alleviate this by rotating the lens in such a fashion that the no parallax point is always in the same point in space no matter what direction it's facing.

It would appear as though I've found my no parallax point. Everything is in perfect focus. There is zero distortion. No parallax. I'm managing to view everything from exactly the point of reference that's needed.

The focus ring came into alignment after I felt like I'd nailed a job interview on Wednesday. It happened despite a serious series of unfortunate events spanning more than 24 hours before hand.

I woke up Tuesday morning to the power at my place being out. It's not really an uncommon occurrence when you live in the sticks, but a pain in the ass nonetheless. I set off for work knowing I had a photo-shoot that day, and thinking the power would be back when I got home.

It wasn't. It wasn't to be back that day either. Awesome.

So let's make a list. I had no power. No water. No way to process the photos I took, and thusly no way to show them off at the interview. No way to charge my cell phone(read: alarm clock). No way to get a hair cut, or trim the beard. No A/C.

But, you know what I did have? Awesome friends who let me crash at their house. Problem solved.

There were another few minor snags. Like the fact that I only slept for 4 hours that night. And I forgot my dress shoes, so I left for the interview in my sneakers.  And that I used every minute of the two and a half hours I'd allotted myself for a drive that should only take an hour and 45 minutes.

No matter. I was bound and determined to impress the guy that was interviewing me. It helped a bit that my friends and family bombarded my cell phone with good luck's and you'll be awesome's and You got dis!

My head was held high as I entered the building, scanning the room for someone who looks like they might be looking for someone looking for them. I came up empty handed. The place was filled with people in suits playing with laptops. And people in casual clothes playing with laptops. And people wearing other things - playing with laptops.

As I reached the front of the building again, I see  this bearded guy covered in tattoos at the cash register. I didn't think anything of it at first. There was a pair of black thick rimmed glasses sitting on his nose. He was wearing flip flops, cargo shorts and a plaid short sleeve shirt with a messenger bag draped over his shoulder.

"Rob?" he says, as he turns toward me.

"Casey?" I say back. "Nice to meet you!"

"Holy shit, this is the guy that's interviewing me?" I thought to myself.

"Man! I'm glad I didn't wear my suit!" were the words that actually escaped my lips.

"Me too!" he chuckled, as he glances down at his nearly bare feet.  "I'd have felt really under-dressed if you had."

Check mark. 1 point for Rob.

During the course of the interview I got the impression that Casey was the sort of guy who could take a joke. I mentioned, off-hand, that I hacked off nearly two inches of beard that morning expecting that I'd be meeting with some corporate stiff who would look down on the artsy-fartsy photographer dressed as casually as could be.

This statement wasn't met with awkward laughter, nor genuine laughter. There was no witty retort. A distinct look of actual concern came across his face.

"Dude! I'm so sorry. I feel for your loss."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction.

Check mark. 2 points for Rob.

We chatted for nearly an hour about what the job entailed, and my background in photography. He seemed genuinely impressed with my concert and landscape stuff.

Toward the end of the interview, he kept making inferences.

So, you'd start training on this day, if you get the job.

You'd be training under so-and-so, if you get the job.

Ya know, you'll have to take a drug test, if you get the job.

If you get the job.

Check mark. 3 points for Rob. What if? There's no if. I've got this on lock down!

I drove back to Huntsville feeling on top of the whole world. I knew I just nailed that interview. I just knew it. I was a better fit for this position than the other two guys. I didn't even know who they were, and I didn't care.

Fast-forwarding to Friday morning, I received a call from my contact at the company in Chicago offering me the job.

Elation doesn't begin to describe what I felt. I didn't know what to do. I texted everyone I could think to, and frantically paced around my house smiling and giggling for what must have been an hour or so.

The following weekend I spent nearly every waking moment, and a few non-waking moments with a lot of the people I care about most.

This story is a just a small part of life, and how well it's been going for me. It's been through no conscious effort on my account, either. I don't know if it's luck, or fate, or the stars aligning in my favor, or what, but I'm glad I didn't wear my suit. This path I've found myself on has me feeling happier than I have in quite some time.

Here's to continuing my journey down that path.

Good Ol' Days

My name is Rob, and I remember the good ol' days. Through out high school and most of college, almost my whole life was consumed and surrounded by one thing: drumming. I know you're probably thinking of Animal from The Muppets, or that guy from Def Leppard, or maybe even Neil Peart. I couldn't care less about anyone who played a drum set. I kept up with people like Jeff Queen, Nick Angelis, and Bill Bachman - all famous guys in the world of drum corps.

I took the opportunity to attend a couple of drum corps shows this year. By attend, I mean stand around in a parking lot for several hours watching various drumlines warm up before they take to the field. People familiar with the activity know this is where the action is - behind the scenes. Watching up close is where you really witness the dedication,  hard work, the pursuit of perfection, and the immense complexity of what really goes on during the show.

Before this summer, it had been several years since I'd been to a show. Every summer I had thought about it, and every summer it seemed to get lower on my list of priorities when the time rolled around. I always remembered how fun they were. The diesel fumes, and the heat, and the walking incredible distances from rehearsal site to rehearsal site. It doesn't sound like much fun, I know, but it was worth it to see the intensity and the talent that the performers had.

I also remember a certain sense of somberness at the end of the night. I was never able to march with a corps in DCI. I attribute it largely to a back injury I sustained my senior year in high school. It all went down hill after my surgery. I'd always regret not working harder, and pushing myself further to able to partake in what a lot of people consider a life changing experience.

This year was different. Maybe I'm older, or my outlook on life has changed, or maybe it was seeing people that I haven't seen in years. There was still that twinge of regret. But more than that, there was an overwhelming flood of positive vibes and good memories that sprung to the front of my thoughts.

I remember sitting with my practice pad, playing until I couldn't feel my arms anymore.

I remember keeping a keen eye to avoid dog piles my freshmen year.

I remember being in arc in the band room, playing the same legatos exercise for hours. Every single person was concentrating to the very best of their ability on "blending" and being able to produce one single sound from a group of 10 individuals.

I remember shaving all the freshmen's heads on my buddy's back porch.

I remember the band director showing up in his underwear and screaming at us at midnight because we were still rehearsing in the gym the night before a competition.(Yes, that actually happened.)

I remember having bon fires and playing Twister in the section leader's back yard.

I remember the competition where we stood at attention, unwavering and not speaking, for 20 minutes in front of another line waiting on our warm-up spot, and their drum instructor asking us to turn around because we were intimidating his students.

I remember all the good times, and good friends I've made through the common ground of playing percussion.

I remember after the show this year Russ, Jimmy, and me standing around one practice pad trying to hack our way through some old school exercises. We suck now. We suck hard. We're past our prime. We'll never be as good as we used to be.

What did all those years of sweat, and practice, and hard work amount to? Nothing really, but three old guys grasping for what once was.

It doesn't matter, not even a little bit, because I love it. Nights like these are the good ol' days.

Detour

My name is Rob, and equipment failures make my day. Equipment failures are a part of the life of a photographer. Sometimes you can prepare for them, and sometimes you can't.  On this particular day, I didn't even realize I'd had one until I got home to find that both of my memory cards had been corrupted and were not recoverable.

Needless to say, I was less than happy. I was going to have to inconvenience the business owner, and spend another 5 hours in my car for what amounted to 60 minutes worth of actual work. Fortunately, when I informed the business owner that I was going to need to make another trip down there, she was incredibly understanding and wouldn't be inconvenienced in the least. That conversation made me feel a bit better. We scheduled the re-shoot for the following week.

On the day of the re-shoot, I was bound and determined to make the best of a crummy situation. It was a surprisingly mild day for August in Alabama. My GPS was set to take me down AL-33 straight through Bankhead National Forest - an absolutely gorgeous drive that I'd discovered on my way back from the first shoot.

Enjoying the scenery on the drive down, I made the decision to stop and shoot some of that scenery on the drive back. My mind was filling up with ideas of things I could capture from the roadside. Today was going to be a good day.

I managed to finish up the photo-shoot in just under an hour. I double and triple checked everything as I was leaving to make sure there couldn't be any other problems.

I started my trek home excited about what I'd be able to photograph on the way back.

At the intersection of AL-13 and AL-278, something caught my attention. An enormous wooden sign with the words "Natural Land Bridge - 1/4 mile" carved into it.

I paused at the stop sign for much longer than I should have. As I'm sitting there, probably holding up traffic, I thought to myself:

"It's out of the way. It's a tourist trap. It can't be that impressive. I've got more important things to... Wait a minute. No, I don't. I've got the rest of the day to wander about and see what I discover. FILDI."

Left-hand turn-signal initiated.

Following the signs, I pulled into a gravel parking lot with a cabin on one side, and a gift shop of magnitude I had not expected on the other.

I collected my tripod and camera bag from my back seat, hoping there wasn't some 10 mile hike to get to this "bridge". Speaking to the lovely young lady behind the counter of the gift shop, she tells me it's only about a hundred yards up the trail. I fork over my $3.50 admission, accept my pamphlet, and head up the trail.

There is only one word to describe what I saw: Magnificent.

Formed by an underground river millions of years ago, there's a 148 foot span, 60 feet off the ground. Enveloped by a thick canopy, the sun is peering in from all different directions creating bright beams and an overall soft backdrop for viewing the bridge.

One beam, in particular, drew my attention immediately.

I explored the surroundings for nearly two hours, trying to find the best angle, sometimes perching precariously in places I shouldn't, and just enjoying the splendor of nature that you can't find in the city.

When I decided I'd taken every picture that needed to be taken, I found I couldn't give a damn about stopping on the side of the road in Bankhead. I found something truly amazing by taking just a small detour.

The next time you're out and about, or on a roadtrip, or whatever, and something catches your eye, stop. Take the risk. Explore. It will make your day.

To see what else I found that day click here.