Good old-fashioned cameras never hurt a soul
Very occassionally, I get the urge to rifle through my collection of old photographs. There, for example, am I with my sister, my hair scraped back and plastered to my head in a way which can only be acceptable for awkward thirteen year olds.
There is my brother at three, wielding a paint brush in the garden, wearing a waterproof oversized apron from Early Learning Centre (Earny Nearny Centre), standing before red watercolour scribbles on a little easel-cum-blackboard.
There is my sister half in and half out of my room in her yellow pjs, clutching a cosmo magazine, a chunk of her hair clamped in between her nose and her upper lip like some hideous moustache spreading across her face to suffocate her.
The cat-with-one-pokey-out-tooth-hanging-over-chin snuggled up on my knees, right before it fell off and hissed with feline embarrassment.
My brother when we dressed him up once in a blue dress, wooden beads around his neck and baby blue bobbles flopping around uselessly in his short, spikey hair (it was a long, long time ago. We can no longer be held responsable for any leakages of this incriminating photograph).
A blob facing the camera holding onto a basket ball, drowned in the expanse of green, dried out meadow, a yellow hose curled up in the corner. (This is where we saw the two baby moles fry in the heat).
The photo which puzzles me the most is the one in which my mother is standing on the other side of the window in pitch blackness, holding onto a toy polar bear, beaming triumphantly. What is going on here? Why is she standing in the garden at night wielding my toy polar bear, the one which lies on my bed to this day, looking vaguely grey with over-use?
These photos are all from a very long time ago. Where are the photos from the past few years? Lost in the abyss which is the home to Lost Digital Photographs! It's a shame about digital cameras. Everyone else thinks they are the best thing since bread came sliced, but only I know the truth.
You go somewhere exciting with your flash new digital camera, but instead of enjoying the amazingness, you spend the whole time trying to capture it in an artistic way for later reference instead of soaking it in like the sponges we all are. Half the photos end up blurry, so you delete those. But the joy of technology makes you trash-can crazy, and you end up irreparably deleting another quarter of the photos you took. And the last quarter, which could be masterpieces if you ever actually got them onto photopaper, won't print because you can't find the cable to attach the printer to the camera, or the camera to the computer, or the printer the computer. And by the time you've figured out what you need to attach to where, your brain is frazzled with confusion and technology over-load.
Bring back good old-fashioned cameras!
There is my brother at three, wielding a paint brush in the garden, wearing a waterproof oversized apron from Early Learning Centre (Earny Nearny Centre), standing before red watercolour scribbles on a little easel-cum-blackboard.
There is my sister half in and half out of my room in her yellow pjs, clutching a cosmo magazine, a chunk of her hair clamped in between her nose and her upper lip like some hideous moustache spreading across her face to suffocate her.
The cat-with-one-pokey-out-tooth-hanging-over-chin snuggled up on my knees, right before it fell off and hissed with feline embarrassment.
My brother when we dressed him up once in a blue dress, wooden beads around his neck and baby blue bobbles flopping around uselessly in his short, spikey hair (it was a long, long time ago. We can no longer be held responsable for any leakages of this incriminating photograph).
A blob facing the camera holding onto a basket ball, drowned in the expanse of green, dried out meadow, a yellow hose curled up in the corner. (This is where we saw the two baby moles fry in the heat).
The photo which puzzles me the most is the one in which my mother is standing on the other side of the window in pitch blackness, holding onto a toy polar bear, beaming triumphantly. What is going on here? Why is she standing in the garden at night wielding my toy polar bear, the one which lies on my bed to this day, looking vaguely grey with over-use?
These photos are all from a very long time ago. Where are the photos from the past few years? Lost in the abyss which is the home to Lost Digital Photographs! It's a shame about digital cameras. Everyone else thinks they are the best thing since bread came sliced, but only I know the truth.
You go somewhere exciting with your flash new digital camera, but instead of enjoying the amazingness, you spend the whole time trying to capture it in an artistic way for later reference instead of soaking it in like the sponges we all are. Half the photos end up blurry, so you delete those. But the joy of technology makes you trash-can crazy, and you end up irreparably deleting another quarter of the photos you took. And the last quarter, which could be masterpieces if you ever actually got them onto photopaper, won't print because you can't find the cable to attach the printer to the camera, or the camera to the computer, or the printer the computer. And by the time you've figured out what you need to attach to where, your brain is frazzled with confusion and technology over-load.
Bring back good old-fashioned cameras!
kiwiqueen - 19. Feb, 13:15