You know: the one where lost out in nature but the light's just not right, where odd sounds and familiar silences fog your cerebellum, where the only sensible about the whole damn scenario is the fact that there's a camera next to your head? WHAT? You've never had that dream? You must not be a photog. If you were, you'd know what it's like to schlep metal, glass and plastic across a shifting dreamscape, to wander the confines of your frontal lobe with a reassuring recorder in tow.... Call it Chimeras Lenslingimus. Or don't; it won't change the fact that rent-a-cops dream of roughing up skateboarders, newspaper reporters dream about scribbling in skinny notepads and TV news photogs dream of dragging lenses into trivia. Then again, maybe it's just me. Perhaps my overactive vocabulary, cinematic imagination and well-worn shoulder groove make me an easy mark for occupational hallucinations. Or, perhaps that late night goat-cheese enchilada was, like Sarah Palin, a poor choice. Either way, it's time to end this little delusion. So, at the count of three I want you to begin opening your eyes and s-l-o-w-l-y wake UP. But remember...
Those aren't pillows.
(Big ups to Kentucky's own Jon Smith for letting me riff on his pitcher)
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