When I was in elementary school, I had a sticker collection that rivaled those of most of my classmates. We all vied for first place sticker collector, seeing who could out-do the others in terms of unicorns and glitter and puffiness and, occasionally, scratch-n-sniff.

And then, one day, my mom came home with the sticker that would trump them all. The sticker that became the centerpiece of my collection, the ultimate, the most desirable, the one that catapulted me to Numero Uno Sticker Star.

It had neither glitter nor unicorns, puffiness nor scent. It was simple, large, round, white, with text, and it read, very clearly:

I ♥ BOYS

Well. Every girl in my fifth grade class wanted it, you can bet on that. And I wouldn’t trade, not even for entire collections. Because when it’s right, it’s right. You don’t need bells and whistles and sparkles when you’re that totally awesome.

(Taken with a Nikon FM2)

Years passed, and the sticker collection disappeared, and with it went the beloved sticker. Of course, the sentiment stayed – I do heart boys. But along with hearting boys, I’ve grown to love something else: boys’ toys. Yes, I know, the world has changed, and women can do anything, and just ask Barbie who has had 50-some odd careers now that she is 50 and featuring some hot Botox injections in her brows.

But be honest. There may be way more women doing photography than ever before – and there may be more women into stuff like cars, too – but being a gearhead is still a kind of a sausage-fest. Yes, the ladies are getting more and more involved, but it’s the gents who are more likely to be found geeking out over some form of equipment or other at a gathering near you.

Whenever this happens – this geeking out business – I find myself wishing I could participate, and eyeing the equipment (ahem) enviously from outside the inner sanctum. Before now I haven’t felt comfortable injecting myself into any major discussions; not having much (or any) knowledge makes me feel like a Big Dumb Girl standing there Looking Pretty while the boys all talk about their toys. And y’all know that’s not how I roll.

(taken with a Hasselblad 500 C/M)

I’m both a researcher and a bit of a geek at heart, so I’ve been trying to learn more about all this incredibly cool equipment we see around us all the time. I’ve learned more, sure, but it’s also done something terrible: Now I’m the girl who wants the sticker I don’t have.

That’s the thing about equipment and toys, isn’t it? There’s just never an end to what you can get. I’m beside myself here, falling in absolute panting lust with the Hasselblad SWC (oh dear lord, the red one?) and the Leica M6 and the Rolleiflex 2.8f and the Nikon FE and the Nikon 700. And lenses? Forget it, I definitely want more lenses. Yep, you all predicted it: further down the spiral.

But shut up a second, Leah.

I know very well that it’s not the camera that makes the shot great, it’s the photographer – the equipment just enables you to do different things (if you know how to use it). Who needs all this stuff? You can do a lot with what you have, and with what you ‘re offered.

So in an effort to reel myself in – and to get real – a little while ago I decided it was time to choose a camera and work with it as much as possible. Get to know it intimately, become best friends, know exactly what it could produce when, where, why, and with what film (if I stayed with film).

(Taken with a Yashica Lynx-1000)

Luckily for me, I have a few cameras I already love. And even luckier, I have wonderful parents who have decided for this birthday to get me a camera. The budget is generous (although not so generous as to allow for a full-frame digital or a Hasselblad SWC, so unless you’re prepared to help pitch in, just forget it). So the question is: which to choose?

I mean, we all know about my love of Polaroid, and I do use a Polaroid 195 which has a decent variety of film options.  I do love 35mm, and with the Pentax K1000 and the Nikon FM2, I feel comfortable. Recently too I got a little steamy with a rangefinder for the first time, a Yashica Lynx-1000, and ooh.

And medium format – it calls me like nothing else. Borrowing that Yashica Mat 124 was just the beginning. Then came the trial on the Hasselblad 500 C/M.

But of course, there’s always the possibility I could switch it up altogether and turn to digital.

Oh, decisions! I’ll figure it out eventually.

What’s your favorite camera, and why?

Here is something you may not know about me: I’m not very bright.

I know what you’re going to say (and not because I’m full of myself, believe me). “Leah,” you’re going to say. “What do you mean you’re not very bright? You’re getting your PhD! You’re a smart lady!”

So look. I’m intelligent. I can’t argue with that because I’ll look like a jerk who’s fishing for compliments – hey! look at me and my false modesty! I can do things like research, and I can write and teach and work hard, and I can read big books and use fancy words and have super great discussions on health care and organizations and 1960s soul and the importance of grammar and manners in a civilized society. I can sell pointy hats to the Pope. And I can win debates. Oh boy, can I.

(Potential employers? Hi!)

But y’see, intelligent and smart are two different things. And sometimes I am dumb as a box of rocks with the clever ones on lunch break.

If you want to be in my life, you should probably be someone with a sense of humor and a healthy dose of patience. Because when I’m not hyper focused on whatever task is at hand, there’s a small chance I will have jet-packed off to Clouds 9, 10, and 11. For instance:

It was a sunny, albeit slightly blustery day in February. The very last day of February, to be exact. I had been invited on a great adventure by someone I was excited to meet – the fabulous Chinako, who many of you will know from her incredible photos on flickr. It wasn’t just any adventure either. Oh no.

We were going to the Polaroid House.

Chinako had been before, but it was my maiden voyage. She was bringing two other first timers with her as well, Amanda and Andre. Because I was coming up from Orange County, and they were driving from Los Angeles, I decided it would be better for me to meet them there. This is where the stupid begins.

Have you ever looked at a place on a road you drive with some frequency, but because it’s a new destination, your brain doesn’t comprehend what’s going on and decides: THIS IS A TOTALLY NEW WORLD!! And you have to drive there as if you’ve never driven to such a location before?

No? Then you are smart.

Even though I very clearly knew where this location was, based on the map, and had basically driven by it many times, my brain didn’t get it. My brain said: This is somewhere far, far inland! A place you’ve never been! You must be cautious and careful. You must take the freeway you loathe.

You must drive… the 5.

Oh, it started out well. There were balloons on both sides of the freeway, and I was singing along to Brendan Benson and AC/DC and Jean Wells. But then it happened, like it always does. Traffic. And traffic. And traffic.

Over two hours of traffic later, I was finally on the other side of Los Angeles, and realized my mistake. My first mistake, I mean, which was taking the 5 in the first place. Because just up ahead the freeway split. The 5 continued to the left, and to the right, the 14.

Now, my directions were very clear. They were about four lines long, direct from the internet. Stay. On. The. 5. Nowhere had I written down “take the 14.” But somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, there was this panicky voice:

WHAT IF YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE THE 14 LOOK!! IT HAS THE SAME NAME AS THE PLACE YOU’RE GOING

Five minutes later, I’m on the phone with Chinako. “Am I supposed to take the 14? I’m not, am I.”

“No! Don’t take the 14″ I could hear her say through the phone.

“Um. Okay. I won’t. I mean, I’ll turn around. If I can.” Three miles later, I did just that. And zoomed back down to the 5, up over the hills and down to the unassuming exit I’d passed without a second thought so many times before.

While driving between Orange County and the Bay Area. Same freeway, same area, same everything. Just a different exit a few hundred miles south of my usual. My brain is so easily confused.

But I forgive it, because it does eventually get me to my destination, and it allows me to meet wonderful people. And it allows me to do more stupid things, like almost put my eyeball out while trying to help a friend get fabulous shots.

And it helps me think about the strangeness of sitting in a ramshackle abandoned house – almost no longer a house, the structural elements crumbling down around you as you gingerly walk through doorways and almost fall through porch floorboards – and feeling a sense of being “at home.” At home because you feel right being in the middle of nowhere. Being in an abandoned place. Being with people who are eager to explore and drift off into their own “hold on… I have to take a shot” reverie. Being inside something that was cast off – perhaps unwillingly – and has been resurrected. Being a part of something that feels like creation. Or creativity. Or maybe even art, if that’s how you’d like to see it.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the drive home took about half as long as the drive there. Including traffic. I may be dumb, but I learn right quick.

xoxo

PS – there are more of my shots of the Polaroid House on my flickr stream. I also have a few more I have yet to upload, so if you’d like to see them, please let me know. Or heck, I can go back (you know I will), take more, and put them all together in a Blurb book.

As a number of you know, I’m lucky in some ways. No, I don’t win contests and I have rotten luck when it comes to raffles (ask me about this some time) but when it comes to friends and family, the goods are definitely canceling out the bads. Which is saying a lot because there have been some pretty craptacular bads over the years.

For instance, I have a very nice friend named Chris. On flickr, he goes by deadslow. You should really check out his stuff (when you’re done reading this, of course) because he takes exceptional photos. The reason I mention him is that Chris decided one day to lend me his extra Yashica Mat 124. Right? I told you. Lucky.

However, luck can only take you so far. Unfortunately for me, the pretty little Yashica Mat had a problem with its shutter, which I discovered only after running some film through it. So I took it to a camera repair shop in downtown Oakland, told Chris how much the repair would cost (a reasonable price for a quality repair), and we decided to go for it. Yes, I’m this responsible with anything I borrow. I take very good care of your things, friends. Just beware they don’t turn into my things…

And then I waited.

And waited.

About three weeks later, the camera was ready to pick up. I anxiously zipped down to Oakland, parked my car, and tripped to the corner near the shop. When I saw the car. Yeah, this one.

It just so happened I had a camera loaded with Agfa Precisa 100 in it that I was planning to have cross-processed. And what better way to shoot a cherry red Malibu Classic? As I was ogling it, the owner of the barber shop you see behind it came out and smiled at me.

“You like that car?” he asked.

“Oh man. Are you kidding?” I replied. “And the film I have in here now, it’s gonna make the car look like candy. Like an Easter egg.” I took another shot. I turned around to say something else to him, but he’d already disappeared back into his shop. So I took a photo of the car reflected in the window, and went to pick up the Yashica Mat.

When I picked up the camera, I straightaway loaded it with some expired 220 (sent to me by the lovely Jen). I wanted to go back and shoot the car with the Yashica Mat. But when I walked back to the corner, it was pulling away. I stood there for a second, watching it go, and decided it was time.

I walked up to the barber shop and opened the door. It was cozy and tiny, with two chairs, the walls covered with snapshots and photos, the shelves crammed and cluttered with products and tools of the trade. It felt comfortable inside, masculine, but not affected. Just a regular shop, with a regular way about it. A few wooden chairs were lined up against the wall with the big windows looking out onto the street; a man sat in one of them, perhaps a customer waiting, perhaps a friend sitting and chatting with the barber. Another man was cleaning, trash bag in hand, moving around the chair farthest from the door, tidying up the sink behind it. There was a customer in the chair closest to the door, a black drape covering him and much of the chair, and the owner was busy working away on his hair with a razor and a comb. They all looked up at me as I stepped inside.

“I was wondering if I could take a shot or two in here,” I said, somewhat shyly, removing the cover from the Yashica Mat. The barber stood a little taller and said it was no problem, started fussing around the place, trying to tidy up a bit and give me some room to shoot. The customer looked at me askance, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what to do. I told the owner not to worry, I didn’t need much space and wasn’t going to shoot in that direction. And I told the customer I wouldn’t get him in any of the shots; I could see his shoulders relax, and the barest hint of a smile skipped across his face.

Just then a tall, imposing man walked in the door, his sunglasses on. He looked at me and paused for a second. I imagine it was surprising to see me there after all, an unfamiliar face in a familiar place. I doubt many white women meander into this barber shop too often. I grinned at him and said I was just taking a few shots. He smiled back and said, “Knock yourself out.” And then everyone went back to whatever it was they were doing, and ignored me.

As I was leaving, the owner told me he’d love to see the shots. I told him I’d bring a print of any that came out, as well as any of the car I’d shot earlier. He told me I was welcome to take a shot of the front window of his shop. I’d already done so, with the reflection of the red car in it, but I went ahead and took another. I’m glad I did.

Luck is great, but it’s even better when you manufacture the opportunities that bring you more.

xo