“We are going there.” Saturday was yard sale day in my neighborhood and the community center published a list of everyone participating. Number 85 on the list described themselves as “ex-hipster stuff cheap.” I’m there.
1. I wanted to know what an ex-hipster looked like.
2. I wanted to know if they were protesting hipsters and if so where they going to have a mass burning of Kinfolk and if they were could I join in.
3. They used the word cheap. I liked them already.
We rolled up and sat there. Nope. They looked very hipster to us and like they didn’t have much. My husband ran over to scope it out. Moments later he ran back “You’ve got to see it.”
There is was. I found the freaking pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. (The secret is to not look for the rainbow. Damn those sneaky Leprechauns.) There was a whole table of cameras. The most expensive one was $5 and it was in its original box complete with flash and four lights. Holy roller skating catfish. I died a small death and had been reborn in the realm of magical dreams.
“What?” I stammered.
“They work, or at least the last time we used them they worked. We just don’t have the room anymore and aren’t looking to make money off of anything.”
I don’t know if it was the jaw on the ground or the fact that I was caressing the cameras like a mother with a tiny baby, but he started answering all my questions before I could even ask them.
They are all film. I love how they feel in my hand. They have that subductive click of the shutter button that only a film camera has. The sound of film advancing. Oh, my.
I can’t wait to start relearning all that I have lost since shooting digital. This summer I’m breaking out all my film cameras to see what they can do.
Have you used any of these cameras? I would love to hear your tips or suggestions if you have. I’m hoping to have one or two of them ready for the Solstice Parade next month. Oh, this is too much excitement for me.