Adjusting myself.

The results are in and after reviewing over 50 photographs, I am thrilled (and relieved) that there appear to be a few shots that I can use to promote my show (this won't be one of them, but I still like it). Many thanks to the patient efforts and talent of my friend Julie who put up with my vague direction and very poor modeling skills.

I used to laugh at the idea of modeling schools; institutions where characters like Zoolander learned their trade. Guess who's laughing now? Okay, it's still me, but I must admit that a few pointers might have yielded more images than the couple of moments that Julie captured where I don't look like a complete dork.

This afternoon, I boarded the J-Church to retrieve the pictures and my anxiety began to mount. When the train arrived at Church and Market about 10 minutes later, I had convinced myself that every employee at Photoworks had been given the opportunity to point and laugh at the disastrous results of my attempt to look natural in these pictures. As I walked through the door, it felt as though every other customer was smirking, sharing knowing glances with the people behind the counter.

I calmly approached the cash register and gave the attendant my first and last name. After a few taps on the computer, she walked over to a large bin of envelopes and returned with mine in hand. An uncomfortable and apprehensive look on her face—as though she were taking pity on me, fully aware that I was the silly sod with the silly photos and that everyone else in the building was desperately trying to suppresss their church giggles—she began to apologize and I was horrified.

*Please, just give my pictures and let me leave,* I thought.

As it turned out, she was apologizing because they had forgotten to scan the negatives. She offered to perform the scans and said that a disc would be ready in about
20 minutes.

I managed to pass the time hovering outside of the shop, returning a few phone calls and checking my email. As I stood there and pondered how far I could walk before I would need to turn around again, I noticed a store that I have passed hundreds of times in my eight years here but have never seen a soul enter or exit. Creepy. I was ready to pick up my disc.

I decided not to rush home afterwards. Instead, I walked up Market Street through the Castro and did a pass-through of Café Flore (a very sad story for another day) before jumping on the 24-Divisidaro back to Noe Valley where I now sit recounting the experience.

Thanks again to Jules for helping with this.