B&H: I hand out with this bloke, let’s call him SC – tall, skinny, pinstriped suit guy of a million transactions and titles at the corner of B&H (I first met him at Zach’s party on Saturday where he tried to guess my profession and came up with Lawyer. Genius).
He looked relatively calm and normal, ala Marvin Gaye shirt. He takes me to the video section and talks a mile a minute about all these technicalities that I don’t know about immediately deflecting the snotty B&H people who talk abruptly and don’t bother to hide their eyes, bantered cruelly with them about the relative goodness of this or that tripod. “I wouldn’t get that one,” deigned a cute Hasid looking like he was coming out of a Nirvana shell – what was his name? Marni – lisped “I’m in Williamsburg too.”
So I come away with 100+ dollars worth of stuff which SC has spotted me because I don’t have enough on my credit card: in 15 minutes I know more than I did before I stepped into B&H, namely that I needed a better tripod, a windscreen and how to twirl and expensive camera.
I’m pretty damn happy because frankly I had a sore throat, a headache, and very little sleep all week and the idea of learning something was frightening. He gives me two fat books on digital filmmaking and I think I’m in heaven.