Just came home from the <a href="">Canon Photomarathon</a>. Wow, it's been <a href="">a year since</a>. Just like last year I came away with none of the prizes, but a better knowledge of the world of photography.
One thing is for sure: the gap between the amateur photographer and the professional one is really getting smaller by the day. With almost all the participants hoisting digital SLRs about, the barriers to entry have all but been removed, especially with semi-pro cameras going for less than a thousand Singapore dollars on the second hand market.
Today's lesson in photography is this: Dress for the part.
The third theme in this year's Photomarathon was: "Fashion in action". Given very little lateral freedom to interpret the theme, Ralph and I headed down to the swank Conrad International. In my mind's eye I had the photo of a lady dressed in an elegant <acronym title="Little Black Dress">LBD</acronym> walking out of its entrance. I'd be taking the photo quite a distance away, with the shiny bonnet of an exotic sports car in the right foreground providing a reflective surface for the above-mentioned lady.
<a href="">Best laid plans</a> I guess.
We then rushed down to Orchard Cineleisure in the hopes of finding some young people dressed to kill on a Saturday night. I spotted a group of girls who looked like they were coming to a Cosplay convention. They had lace stockings, knee-high boots and the works. Having learned my lesson from last year, to be thick skinned about things, I went to them and asked if I could take their picture. They huddled, discussed for a bit, before breaking formation and giving me a "no". That honestly could have been a winning photo right there.
But back to "dressing the part". It didn't help that I was wearing stuff that made me look like I just got out of bed. Coupled with Ralph wearing bicycle shorts from this morning's triathlon relay, we looked sad-gay. Not happy-gay like smurfs singing in the forest, or cute-gay like Rupert Everett. Sad-gay, like Rupaul and Dennis Rodman's illegitimate child.
No wonder they said no. It had to be the sloppy dressing. If I had dressed appropriately, it would have been a different story. Might have been. I think.
So now I'm pooped out from marathoning after a night of sleepless in Singapore with Anne the unsleepable. I'm out, cheers.

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