Beer Garden; Bad Grades: Squid Photography

3/27/10

I'm at a tiny foreign resort town or island. Somewhere obscure European. I go to an outdoor cafe and I've noticed an older dork man casting me glances. While I have a drink and ignore him, a very young guy with a Hitler mustache comes up and chats self-consciously. I get rid of him and as I'm leaving, the old guy introduces himself as Phil. I excuse myself. I'm going back to the hotel where I'm doing some important research. Will is there and we're on a working vacation.

As I leave the beer garden, I see Melvin. I shout out to him happily and we go back for a drink. He's brought a bunch of papers of mine he's marking up. My history paper for Fred Smoler is a disgrace, the points I make at the beginning are too vague. The paper is a faded xerox and my typing isn't clear but there are red, blue and purple colored markings in a large looping handwriting all over it. I'm a little ashamed but mostly excited about other projects that made me skimp on history. A philosophy paper and a biology project. I got to photograph a special kind of squid. I almost drop my big glass of beer in excitement.

I'm walking against the crowd in a busy city. Young people partying but I have a mission. To photograph the squid, I don't use photopaper but slabs o carefully folded bacon fat. I'm in the water in some dangerous tropical place. I'm with a scruffy man trying to rondezvous with some other people. I'm both watching and in the scene, scrambling up greasy and seaweedy rocks. The sky is beautiful and the water is kind of gross. I'm Hollywood looking for a minute.

I'm in my house, preparing the results of the photoshoot. I take the bag with the bacon negatives and go into the bathroom, which doesn't have a working light anyway. I'm horrifed to realize I hadn't stored the negatives properly and the bacon has cooked a little. I have to pour off melted fat. The photos are all folded up and tangled with gloves and my silk scarf with the leaf pattern on it. I finally disentangle my pictures. I'm disappointed. Most are fuzzy and faint. But the last batch, on glossy paper, is great. Long wiggly tentacles and finally the face of the squid with a huge brown human eye.

I'm back at school or in the city, on a big stage. I'm presenting what I know about the squid. I give my introduction and then realize my partner, a very small retarded boy named David, isn't with me. I go down to the front row and help him negotiate the steep detachable staircase to the stage. I finally just scoop him up in my arms. By the time I get to the microphone, though, a construction crew has set up and torn up the front of the stage to build a road. I'm miffed, but there are fancy and intelligent people, from college and beyond, all standing around to hear my report, see my pictures and invite me to parties.