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I shouldn’t be surprised, one comes with the other. Tomorrow I turn 30 years old. Such a monumental birthday if ever there was one. No longer twenty-something, rather a whole decade older. What a fucking slap in the face.

With old age (ok so I’m not that old) comes health problems and so today, as a prelude to my special day tomorrow, I chipped a tooth by doing nothing more than breathing. It just decided to fall apart. Yesss! Oh woe is me and all that.

I’m a keen street photographer. I find it exciting to steal a moment off an unsuspecting subject. When you don’t know you are being photographed you give me an honest representation of who you are. I’m doing you a favour by capturing an honest image.

Sadly, not everyone will agree with that last sentence and some will even furiously disagree and call you a prick. I met one such person yesterday. I was doing my thing taking pictures when a middle aged man saw me and took it upon himself to rescue my subject from an unholy act of having his picture taken.

He first asked me what I was doing and before I could answer he angrily demanded to know if I had asked permission to take the photo. I politely told him that it’s not a commercial work and that I didn’t need to ask permission. At this stage he had too much invested in the confrontation and as I walked away he ended it by shouting out ‘prick’ to me.

This isn’t by any means a really bad encounter but one that gets you thinking. Us photographers often receive strange looks and one can only imagine what they think of us as we snap away in public.

If you are a regular street photographer it might pay to research and know your rights in your local state. Here is a comprehensive resource for New South Wales photographers, an old SMH article, and a general information sheet on privacy law. It might be worth printing some of these fact sheets to give to police officers, concerned strangers and maybe use it to block the rare fist as it’s about to hit you in the face.

I hate money. We are such slaves to it.

It looked like this year I was going to get audit for my income tax. It was more of a pain than anything. Today I received the letter and opened it with a deep breath. As with all things in life the opposite of what I expected greeted me. It was my return and there will be no audit. I was over the moon. It basically got a huge load off my shoulders. I can also forget my concerns about ho I’m going to pay for my Europe trip later this year. The return was most generous.

There was a second letter today. I could have thrown it away and nearly did. It’s from the bank and it’s usually some crap they want to sell. Again, things are the opposite of what I expected. It wasn’t junk mail at all but rather a notification that my mortgage interest rate is to go up a quarter of a percent due to ‘increased financial costs’. I read that as ‘bend over tax’. This isn’t even a normal interest rate increase in line with our RBA! They’re to meet in a fortnight and the talk is the interest rates will go up again. That’s the third increase in about 5 months from them. All up that’s going to be a 1% increase in less then half a year. 1% doesn’t sound like a lot but it makes a massive difference. I’m well off in some ways and can absorb these added costs. I pitty the countless families that are suffering and the many that will lose their home.

I really do hate money.

My God some people are so stupid! I started visiting a new hairdresser’s near my home because my old regular one is a bit far away now that we’ve moved. This place has about 3 to 4 people working and they are all good. Except for the village idiot. He looks and talks like an import. Fresh off the boat off some little country far off where a hair cut was a special treat once in a year. I’m not sure this guy is qualified to be holding a butter knife let alone scissors next to my head.

So there’s this silly thing when you’re getting your hair cut even if it’s horrible you smile and agree and pay them their money. Even Seinfeld used this for one of his episodes so it must be true. They could be butchering your hair and all the while you are staring at the mirror with a smile on and fuming inside. It must be something in the air at these places. Maybe some chemical found in hair spray that immobilises all common sense. Anyway, this chemical has prevented me from saying no to getting a hair cut from this fucking idiot. With 3 people working there it’s luck of the draw as to who you get and I’ve drawn him 4 times now. The first time he cut my hair so short I think I froze to death that winter. Had cold ears for a couple fo weeks at least then. I promised I would speak to him more clearly next time. So I did. And so he did. And so I had no hair left after again. You can guess the third time was the same. Today I specifically looked at his face and repeated it like I was speaking to a child. Do NOT cut my hair short. Just a small trim please. I obviosuly left the place with very little hair.

You would think a person would just stop going there right. Well it’s not so easy when a beautiful girl works there and it’s close to home plus the price is right. I just have to find a cure to the chamicals they use to subdue us and say no to his hair cuts. I’m actually looking forward to the next time I draw him. It will be my pleasure to say no.

/rant over