I, though nervous, was swaggering about. I was going to photograph the jazz concert. I had my camera, my camera bag, and three carefully chosen lenses: a 50mm f/1.8, a 35mm f/2 and a 14mm f/3.5, two fastish nikon primes and the Beast, an ancient, battered, exophthalmic ultrawide Sigma. I would shoot handheld with available light. I would be cool. If anyone approached me I would casually use the word "glass" in conversation.
My glass ? Oh, a couple of fast primes.
I entered the vestibule of the Arts Center. Two men were in line in front of me. One had a large, bulging kit bag with a tripod-of-substance proturuding from the back. The other had a smaller bag, still larger than mine, obviously crammed with camera gear.
I followed them into the hall, sat front and left, and unpacked my gear. They settled in front row center and did the same. After a few minutes I snuck a look at them. Tripod man had unpacked a major Canon digital, quite possibly the 16.7 megapixel, full sensor EOS-1Ds Mark II, and had affixed to it one of those big, white Canon telephoto lenses one sees crowding the periphery of sports fields. The other had an equally substantial camera with very serious-appearing glass, undoubtedly a fast, fixed aperture mid-range zoom. He got up and wandered over to a bari sax resting on a small table and took a close-up of it.
I sunk into my chair. Nearly weightless, my 6.2 megapixel Nikon D70 with it's button-like 50mm lens rested in my lap.
I was outdone.
I was a pretender, a mere wannabee.
I'd never be more than a dilletante, a neurotic with a serious, incurable case of glass envy.
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