Category: California

You Want Bridge? I got Bridge.

Today’s Theme Thursday is bridge, and since I have a mild obsession with photographing bridges, this is right in my wheelhouse.

I like to photograph bridges from a car while traversing them (an iPhone camera is perfect for this task), which is both fun, and creates some unique shots. Here are a few of my favorites.

Let’s start with photos of the Golden Gate. It’s so beautiful that honestly, it’s hard to take a bad photo. The challenge is creating something that’s not been done before.

I have a lot of photos of the Golden Gate since I can’t be in the vicinity without snapping a few shots, so there was a lot to choose from.

The most unique of all my Golden Gate photos came from the QuadCam iPhone app. The balance of blue sky and orange bridge knocks me out. This exactly how it looks when The Good Man drives and I hang my head out the window to see the bridge as it goes by.

I never get tired of it.



Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth

For years I was so enamored of the Golden Gate that I all but ignored the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. It’s an odd ball bridge, a mash up of two styles. But the more I drive the bridge, the more I appreciate both halves of the Bay Bridge and just how hard this poor bridge works every day.

Here’s the eastern span (soon to be replaced by a new design):



Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth

And here’s the western span, a fascinating suspension:



Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth

How about the lesser known but still really cool Carquinez Bridge? Like the Bay Bridge, it’s got two looks depending on which direction you are driving.

Heading north, it looks a lot like the eastern span of the Bay Bridge:



Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth

Heading south it has a simple but elegant suspension design:



Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth

Northern California has so many beautiful bridges to keep me and my lens occupies for years. And then, every now and again, I get a chance to get out of California and photograph other bridges.

I fell head over heels in love with the Brooklyn Bridge the instant I set foot on it. That stone structure is so incredible and powerful. And again, it’s so often photographed that I tried very hard to see something different through the lens.

I’d love to go back and try again since my photography skills have improved a lot since this was taken.



Copyright 2006, Karen Fayeth

There is a little bridge that crosses a bit of the Bay inlet near where I work. I’ve been thinking about that bridge for several weeks and it’s next on my list to photograph. It’s a short pedestrian bridge but comes with no small amount of charm.

I do love bridges

If you want more of a New Mexico flavor, keep an eye on Jim Baca’s blog, Bridges on the Rio Grande. It’s a project to document every bridge over the sometimes muddy sometimes mighty river from the Head Waters to the Gulf of Mexico.



All photos copyright Karen Fayeth and subject to the Creative Commons license in the far right column of this and every page of this blog.


A Party For A Glass

There are a lot of adjectives that can be used to describe the City of San Francisco. Some flattering, some less so.

One word that always leaps to my mind is nostalgic. For a big bustling city, on the forefront of technology and food and lifestyle, the town can get really bundled up about the past.

From toppled clocks to fiberglass dog heads to the preservation of graffiti, the town will vehemently unite around a little quirky slice of the past. After the lamenting and handwringing, people will unite to lobby government, business owners and each other to put things back to right.

The latest example? Glasses. Plain ol’ glasses manufactured by the Libby Glass Co. of Toledo, Ohio.

But a special glass that oh so perfectly fits the town’s specialty of Irish Coffee. I, myself, have held onto many a glass of the type and shape that makes a perfect warm beverage. The same glass that the manufacturer decided to stop producing.

The City’s biggest purveyor of Irish coffee, the iconic Buena Vista at Fisherman’s Wharf, had stopped buying from the Toledo company and moved over to a Chinese manufacturer. With such a huge drop in business, the Libby Co. didn’t see why they should keep cranking them out. It just made good business sense.

Enter the tenacity of a nostalgic people. There was an outcry! There was vocal frustations. Pleading, begging and enough of a ruckus was made that the story hit the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle.

When the company read about the good people of San Francisco mourning the loss of the right glass, they made the decision to swallow some not-insignificant costs to resuscitate the glass mold and do a new run. If this stack of inventory sells well, they’ll consider doing another run.

And Irish Coffee drinkers rejoiced!

From the article in the SFGate:

“The queenly, petite glass…allows for just enough whiskey and not too much coffee, with barely room for three C&H sugar cubes at the bottom and aged whipping cream that floats like a halo on the top.”

Indeed. It’s another cool foggy summer evening in the City. Tourists and locals alike seem to get along pretty darn well over a perfectly poured Irish Coffee in the beautifully shaped, heat retaining glass.

For reference, in the photo below, the one on the left is all wrong. The glass on the right is our little beauty.



Photo credit: Susana Bates / Special to The Chronicle


Side note: A few years ago, the Buena Vista also changed their whiskey brand in favor of a private label. It was a shocking transition and the purists were not pleased, including me. The new whiskey isn’t as smooth as the other variety. Doesn’t keep me from drinking it, but it gives me something to complain about.


A Thousand Miles from Nowhere

“But I have to tell you, when we were driving home, we were on some highway in Utah? That highway goes on forever! We were getting scared. The towns are like fifty miles apart!”

— my coworker talking about her family’s summer vacation to Bryce and Zion canyons in Utah.

So she said that and I laughed. A lot. Loudly.

She looked very offended. “It’s not funny, we were totally freaked out!”

Ah. That’s so cute. City kids. How utterly charming. I should know, I married one.

Speaking of the one I married, when we made the drive from Las Cruces to Albuquerque in the month of October a few years back, he was very adamant that we had to pack in quite a bit of water before we drove. Now, he’s not wrong. It’s just good thinking.

He also wanted blankets, flashlights and a first aid kit. We were venturing out into the desert and by god like the Boy Scout he used to be, we were going in prepared.

Again, nothing wrong with that. All very fair.

Except I used to drive that same 200 miles in the dead heat of August in a rickety old Mercury Bobcat with too many miles, not enough metal and every single little possession that I could cram inside. Well, everything except water, blankets and a flashlight.

I guess when you’re raised where towns are fifty miles (or a lot more) apart, these things don’t worry you.

Sure, one Thanksgiving I was driving back from Deming to Albuquerque and got caught in a really heavy snowstorm. So I got off the highway to a state road, put my Jeep in four wheel drive and drove slowly to the ranch home located at the bottom of Nogal Canyon. My friend’s folks live there and they took me in, gave me a hot meal and we played cards all night.

Once, south of El Paso, I got caught in a terrible rain and hail storm. So I pulled over to the side, listened to the radio and read a book.

Then there was the time I made the ride to Silver City in July and had to turn off the A/C and turn on the heater since my engine was starting to overheat as I climbed the hill in my very weak Dodge Shadow (now known as a Neon). I was a puddle of sweat by the time I got there, but it was nothing that a Route 44 from Sonic couldn’t cure.

Oddly enough, even on all the blisteringly hot days I hit the endless highways of New Mexico, I never broke down, never lost a tire, never had a reason to need a gallon of water and a blanket.

In February my best good friend drove me and my two godkids out to the Spaceport in Upham. We spent an hour or more on dirt roads with only cows to accompany us. I didn’t get worried. I didn’t get scared. What I did is feel calm. Really, really calm. Being where the eye can’t see another human (other than the people you chose to be with) is a very happy place for me.

So I apologized to my city friend. Then I advised she’s allowed to laugh at me when I slip off my nut over getting lost (again!) in San Francisco, and then I go the wrong way on that one section of California Ave while everyone honks and yells, and WHY IN THE $%^# can’t I make a left turn to get off Market Street!

It’s all about where you’re from, I guess.



The view from Upham. It’s a happy place.


Photo by Karen Fayeth, copyright 2010, and subject to the Creative Commons license found in the far right hand column of this page.


Little Miss Goody-Goody

Yesterday, after a long day of being a good corporate citizen, I climbed into The Jeep and pointed her nose toward home.

Near my office there is a very busy intersection located just near the entrance to 101. The intersection gets jammed up after work as everyone is trying to make it through at the same time. I don’t need to go on 101, but I have to pass by the entrance.

So in the busy 6:00 hour it’s all a matter of timing to get to the other side of the intersection while the light is green, hoping the other light another three blocks ahead also turns green so you don’t get left hanging out in the middle of the intersection.

Generally speaking, the local police don’t really find humor in people jamming up the intersections with their bad sense of timing and impatience.

Yesterday I just wanted to get home. I wanted some dinner and the chance to not think about work for several hours before sweet magical sleep.

As I rolled to the intersection, I looked at traffic, I weighed the odds of the light ahead turning green, and decided to go through the intersection and get in line. My front wheels made it into the lane, my back end was hanging out into the intersection.

I kept looking at the light, thinking “uh oh, this green is getting stale.” I mentally begged the other light to turn and save my bacon. As my light went yellow, I implemented evasive maneuvers. I was in the center lane, so I turned the wheel to move into the left lane, thus getting me out of the intersection.

Only problem was, there was something blocking my egress to the left lane.

A police car. With his lights on.

He had been headed the other direction and made a half u-turn, thus blocking the left lane. I looked at him, he pointed, I nodded, then pulled over to the far right lane instead, over to the curb and I stopped.

*sigh*

Then another car pulled in behind me, the guy who was ahead of me in line. Seems that nice police officer got himself a two fer one deal. A traffic ticket BOGO.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

The policeman approached the other vehicle first. I turned off my car, found my license and insurance and opened my windows to wait. I heard things like “Sir, are you aware that you….” and “…being charged with a moving violation…” on the breeze.

A moving violation? But I was standing still! Ok, I moved into the intersection. I get it.

The mind was racing: How long ago was it that I got my last ticket? Remember when I got popped by the stupid red light camera? If it was more than eighteen months ago, then maybe I can apologize my way out of this. Be calm. Be calm. Be nice to the cop. Say please and thank you. Say you are sorry. Say you misjudged the flow of traffic.

The officer brought a ticket back to the other guy, he signed it, took his copy, then drove off. The officer lingered near his police cruiser for a bit. He was on his two way radio. Must be calling in my plate.

I waited. And waited.

Finally the officer approached. I held out my documents like a sacred offering.

“Ma’am, are you broken down or something?”

“Uh, no officer. You pointed to me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I just wanted you to know that I was going after that guy. You’re good. Have a nice day.”

“Oh? Thank you officer, you have a nice day too!”

Then I almost peed myself with relief. Holy. Crap.

When I told this story to The Good Man he said “you get good-kid karma points for stopping and not just driving away.”

I hope that’s true. I suspect I’m gonna need ’em.





Photo from FightSpeedingTicketsNow.com.


Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Education

On the final day of the San Mateo County Fair, a beautiful blue sky Sunday, The Good Man and I went for a final visit and the intent of procuring unhealthy fair food.

I grabbed my camera to take along, intent on taking some photos of the carnival.

Let’s be honest, carnival shots have been done. A lot. By a lot of photographers that are a heck of a lot more talented than me.

Not only is imitation the sincerest form of flattery, when it comes to photography, it’s the best way to learn. I sometimes spend an awful lot of time figuring out how someone got the shot and trying to replicate it. *click* Nope. fiddle-fiddle-fiddle *click* Nope. You get the idea.

But then, I do finally figure it out. And I get it. Then I understand how it works. I learn a bit more about light and exposure and framing…and…and…and.

And so, the ubiquitous Ferris Wheel shot. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out, actually. I like that the edges break out of the side of the shot. This is something my photography teacher has been working on with us.



From there, now that I got it, I branch out to try to get some snaps of things that take on my own style. Learn from the masters then add a layer of my own perspective.

This is my favorite shot from the day:





This one is for my best friend who loves carousels.



Nothing ground breaking here, but a lot of fun. And what’s best, you may not be able to see it, but I can certainly see how my skills are continuing to improve.

As they say, practice, practice, practice.