Ahh, the first time since the summer started, that i didn't come home form the field all sticky and greasy and moist. Skin is cool and lovely and dry, that is so pleasant. Up until now weather's been densing down the climate until my blood felt like ooze and my blood pressure forgot why it existed. As a result, my reportage on Pivo&Cvetje was the least inspired thing EVER.
I really am the last person you ever want to send to photograph a party. I hate parties, I hate crowds, I hate people, I just like taking photos of pretty things. Okay, spa parties and weddings are easy - people there made an effort to look presentable and are having a good time and want their picture taken, but everywhere else half the time I have to make sure I am not taking photos of children or teenagers smoking or old people who don't like having their picture taken. Which leave me with a program - which, granted, is very nice to watch, but not at all nice to photograph. Everyone is waiting for the night to fall, so the music starts and on come the fireworks and eighty running gallons of beer per person. Everyone's waiting for the party to start ad for all the other 'day' events to go away. And so bottom line, today's attempts to present the 'Flowers' of 'Beer and Flowers fest' has been an epic fail. In the end I just hid in the train station waiting lounge and wrote existential poetry, wishing I'd drink of smoked pot.
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