Yesterday marked my first trip back to the mainland in several years. There’s a reason why I don’t like to travel from the Islands: I seem to end up seated behind a jerk for five and a half hours. To wit, not more than two minutes into my flight from Honolulu to L.A. yesterday, and the bone head in seat 36A slams his seat to the fully reclined position. If I shaka, I can literally touch my thumb to his seat, and my pinky to my chest.

At first, I play nice. I let him sleep while I read my book. Come time for the beverage service, the flight attendant asks him to put his seat forward. He ignores her and I sip my diet coke sitting in the fetal position without use of the tray table.

An hour and 44 minutes in, and dinner service begins. This time, the flight attendant takes to the intercom, asking people to bring their seats to the upright position so passengers may enjoy their meals. A slew of seats become upright, except for 36A.

As I’m handed my meal, I ask Mr. Wanker to move his seatback up so I can eat. That went over like a lead brick thrown from a Space Shuttle. I received a smile and a “sorry.”

I now had two options: fully recline my own seat and make the person behind me miserable as well, or I could turn the tables. I started out light by placing my foot on his seat support and tapping my foot to the beat of the music I was listening to. I started with some Pat Metheny and quickly escalated to Rush.

After a couple of minutes, he turned around, and in a gruff voice said, “Will you stop that!” I replied, “Sorry,” grabbed my MP3 player and selected AC/DC's “Back in Black.”

The guy sitting beside me thought it was funny as hell.

Mr. Rude finally rang the call button, and he pleaded his case to the flight attendant, to which she replied, “Well sir, perhaps if you moved your seat a little more in the upright position, the gentleman behind you will stop.

I flashed her a wink.

Did it work? Heck no. he kept trying to make his seat go further back. Something tells me he doesn’t like speed metal either.

Thus I pose the following question: what the hell happened to air travel? I remember when you dressed up in a suit, were fed meals better than you cooked at home and those flying with you were pleasant. Today, riding on a Greyhound bus is better (albeit slower). And for some reason, people have become down right rude, with common courtesy completely thrown out the window. Of course, it doesn’t help that the airlines have you packed in like cattle headed to the slaughter house.

At least my camera and gear had a better trip than I. The overhead bin was remarkably lean on bags. Perhaps I should pack myself in the overhead compartment for the trip home?

Protect Your Legacy

“THIEF!! THIEF!! STOP HIM! HE ROBBED ME,” yelled the shop keeper as he chased a homeless youth through Banyan Tree Park, the latter in full sprint and a pair of sunglasses clutched in his hand. I can only guess at the skirmish that ensued, but the shop keep soon strolled back through the park, his stolen article retrieved.

At some point in time, we’ve all had something taken from us – someone stole our lunch, our car or for some, even their identity. And what about photographs? It happens more often than you think.

For instance, this last weekend, after the sunglasses incident, I had a couple stop at my booth and admire my images. The woman quickly pointed to my easel of giclees and exclaim how happy she was with the two 16X20 sunset shots they owned, pointing to two images in my display. The gentleman then bragged about the great deal he got, trading two paintings for my two pieces at a store front on Maui that I hadn’t been involved with in over a year. Needless to say, I was in shock to learn of the “sale” of my images, and someone profiting from the transaction with the artist not receiving compensation.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to go after an unprincipled entity or person for use of images without payment or flat-out stealing art work. Other photographer friends of mine have had similar issues with unscrupulous galleries, print houses, magazines and stores, and while you might think all is lost, it isn’t.

The first thing to remember is that as the photographer, the instant you press the shutter button, you instantly “own” the copyright to the image. It belongs to you and nobody else. In today’s digital age, cameras not only take an image, but collect a whole bunch of data, such as exposure information, the date and time the picture was taken and the camera used, including the serial number of the camera. I can’t begin to tall you how many cases for copyright infringement are won by the admission of camera data.

Secondly, registering your images with the copyright office in Washington DC (www.copyright.gov) will further protect your shots. By registering your images, you basically “fast track” the claims process if you’ve been infringed upon. By presenting the Court with a copy of the registration, it makes it almost impossible for anyone to refute your ownership to the image. After all, you took the time to copyright the images. The copyright office makes this a pretty painless process, and allows you to register images in bulk as collections, so you don’t have to register each image individually, which would be an enormous pain in the back side. The best part is the cost, a mere $35.00.

Next, you’ll want good legal representation. While this can be expensive, if you belong to photographic organizations such as Professional Photographers of America (PPA), North American Nature Photographers Association (NANPA) or American Society of Media Photographers (ASMP), legal representation is part of the benefits package. A single call to the one of the organization will connect you to a staff attorney who is versed in law as it pertains to photographers, especially copyright. The best thing is that there are no legal fees for the photographer to bear.

The last thing to remember is that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Before you place your images into a gallery, give them to a store to sell or hand your files over to a print house, get references and call them. Ask fellow photographers for recommendations and take the time to do the legwork necessary to determine the reputation of the purveyor. Just remember to follow your gut: if it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.

As for the illegal trade of my images, well, I’m not worried. I’ve made contact with counsel in three organizations I belong to, and the legal wheels are turning. So far, my record is 2 and 0, and my legal team says we’ll have no problem adding another hash mark to the win category.

The Shot Sheet of Life

Back in my early days as a newspaper photographer, I always carried a shot sheet. As a photographer’s proverbial “to do” list, it was a constant reminder of the basic shots my editor wanted to see in the automotive section: three-quarter front, three-quarter rear, a badge shot, three-quarter interior shot, and an engine shot.

Boooooring!

My editor at the time wasn’t a car aficionado, but rather saw them as effective transportation from point A to point B. He liked the basic shot sheet, and he could drop text and photos into a template without much worry. I, on the other hand, wanted to let the images tell the story. And so the shot sheet grew, with images segregated into “must have” and “want” sides of my notebook.

Soon, badge shots went from plain-jane manufacturer monikers to artful logos bathed in rain droplets; Sports cars were placed in the middle of abandoned roads, their dull and washed-out yellow dividing lines fading into oblivion behind the car; and the mandatory three-quarter front or rear shot started getting Dutch Tilt variations (by tilting the camera off to the side so that the shot is composed with the horizon at an angle to the bottom of the frame.)

As my shooting style developed, so did my shot sheet. Soon items like “cover” and “two-page spread” were the norm alongside “hard cornering, low angle” and “vehicle sliding sideways.”

Similarly, my Hawaiian images began to evolve as well. I grew tired of the “shot by the side of the road” look, and I began to trudge deeper off trail, foregoing overlooks for cliff sides and, well… going places many photographers would think twice about. My shot sheets started to worry my bride a bit with entries like, “Waianapanapa beach from east cliff,” “Wall of Tears – helicopter,” and “Polo Beach – fisheye at sand level.” The worry didn’t come from physical danger, but would the equipment survive.

Then one night a few months back, I was preparing a shot sheet for a short trip to Hana. The television was on in the background, the movie playing was The Bucket List. In short order, the shot sheet was sitting in my lay and I was engrossed in the movie, which started me thinking, “If a bucket list is what you want to do before you die, shouldn’t you really have a shot sheet of what you want to do while you’re alive?

So the Shot Sheet of Life started that night. Entry #1: “Develop closer relationships with family and friends.” Number 2: “Photograph more than nature…” By the time I got to number 28 and 29, “Drive a 1971 Lamborghini Miura SV” and “Try water ski racing again,” I was off the deep end.

Right now, I’m having fun with entry #1, calling old friends, emailing family and catching up on lost time. The list of people is long, and it won’t be completed overnight. It’s a work in progress. As is entry #2 – I’m taking more people pictures, and they aren’t half bad. It’s a little awkward for me, as I don’t like my picture being taken – something about having a lens shoved in my face. But with my point and shoot camera, the flood gates open! People, pets, buildings, you name it; I’m shoot it because I can, and it’s opened a new flood gate of creativity.

Of course, there are a couple of items on The List that are tough for me to do, like #14: “Watch the sunset without a camera,” or #6: “Turn the cell phone off on date night.” However, I’m looking forward to working on #18: “Capture the most beautiful sunset ever!” I may have to work on that one a lot.