Gorgeous Girls

Feh. I finally gave my one week's notice at Hard Rock that I can't make it over to shoot their bikini contests anymore, at least not with any kind of regularity. Considering that I didn't get actually paid anyways but did it as resume-padding and as a favor to a friend, I guess I'm a little dense to have put up with it this long. As far as gigs go, it wasn't bad. The manager and all the staff were great, and generally the atmosphere was nice. I just don't care for football, which is what Monday night is all about (That's the weird game Americans play with a oddly-shaped thing that clearly is not a ball. A ball is round. Like the one in soccer.), and frankly most of the other photographers made me feel like I should shower after being in the same room with them.

Which leads me into something else that I should probably write while I'm actually awake, but since it's on my mind right now, here goes. It happened at the convention on Saturday, at Hard Rock tonight, and many a time in the past at various occasions. Passersby commenting rather jealously about what kind of a dream job I have. Apart from the fact that I generally don't get paid (because I'm a sucker), there is a disappointing point I want to make.

I love photography. Even when I'm all grumpy and uninspired, if I find myself somewhere with a camera in hand, it's hard for me to not get into the mood. Why this is so is a topic for another post.

Guys look at swimsuit models and pinup models and either admire their beauty or do something about it/with it. The technical aspects of said pictures are transparent, and in some ways it's good. However, when you're behind the camera, confronted with a (half) naked girl doing her utmost to be as appealing and beckoning and tempting (yeah, I want to use the s-word but am too polite) and such as she can, and you have to concentrate on lighting, depth-of-field, composition and making sure that there are no distracting details in the shot, it leads to an absurdly clinical situation. Especially since chances are that one talks to the girls, at least a little, and discovers that their personality really holds no appeal. I'm not saying they're vapid, because many aren't. They are just people with different values and attitudes towards life than mine or those I tend to like.

So yeah, there's someone people will fantasize about and go "wow" and "ooh" and "aah" about or get a towel, and you wonder if you need to keep the highlights in the shirt or lighten up the skin tones, and can't find not an ounce of erotic or sensual tension anywhere. Guys, all the Playboy photographers are right when they say it's a tedious job and they're happy to get home to their wife and kids when the day's over. At least I flatter myself by thinking that this is the professional reality; obviously there are people in the business for different reasons. And no, I'm not dead either, it just takes something different to get me to pay attention.

I do wonder if I aren't getting anti-porn-addiction from all this, to the effect of overt, direct booty-shaking leaving me cold. At least that's what happened at a recent bachelor party visit to a strip joint. I didn't want to disappoint my friends or ruin the mood, but boy it was boring. The only girl that held my interest at all was one doing acrobatics on the lighting rack, and it were the athletic feats that made me pay attention, rather than any of the traditional assets.

So, I figured that I need my time back, and do my homework (Deutsch!), and get enough sleep to try have a useful social life, maybe with people that give me something I care about. Though, considering all the assignments and papers due next week, I don't quite know where I'm fitting that in. But it's always good to have dreams!