6/22-- Look, Maw, It's a Digital Camera.
I got hit with "I wanna digital camera" fever some time last week, when I had an overwhelming urge to take a photo of a manhole to add to my entry about the Evil Exploding Georgetown Manholes of Doom. The fever got hotter when we finally got some film developed at Target. The most recent pictures we got back included photos from my birthday last December. The oldest ones came from Bill's graduation from grad school -- in 1994. There's something to be said for instant gratification.
When my paycheck came through this week, it was only a matter of time.
This is an honest-to-God Amazon customer review of the camera I ended up buying:
"Details such as individual pubes are incredible. My girlfriend and I have had great success in amateur photography with this camera. For examples, our work can be seen in Up and Cummers #78."
Whoa! Now that is a hell of a recommendation. The little blue-shirted Best Buy worker elf didn't come up with anything half that compelling when I pointed at the camera I wanted in the display case.
(Can Best Buy do anything without causing a huge pain in someone's ass? My camera was supposed to come with a store-supplied 16MB memory card, but they were out of that item -- the guy right before me got the last one -- and had to give me a raincheck. Okay. No biggie. But the clerk took forever to get it for me, and then I looked it over and realized they'd given me a raincheck for a Palm Pilot. They're lucky I'm generally an honest person -- and that I already have a Visor.)
That's Insomniaville Central. Yes, my desk really is that messy. But Lil' Indigo is still adorable, even surrounded by all that crap. Incidentally, if you're a Mac user thinking about getting a digital camera, this one is unbelievably easy to use with a Mac. You don't need any software to upload the pictures to your hard drive -- just plug in the USB cable, open a couple of folders, and drag 'n' drop.
That's probably enough of a commercial, eh? Anyhow, I've already had loads of fun with the thing. It's about as idiot-proof as it can be in the hands of a complete camera dunce like me. Remember, I'm the one who sprayed the film of my vacation photos of England all over the floor of an ancient English church one afternoon. I'm the one who used to get frosty little pamphlets from Kodak with my utterly inept pictures -- "We couldn't help but notice that your pictures really sucked. Here are some really basic tips for better results. Get your finger off the lens, stupid. And stop jumping up and down while you're taking the shots. Love, Kodak."
To your right is the ritual we go through several times a night: the Giving of the Pounce Treats. Bill has Rascal trained to stand up and beg. In turn, Rascal has Mindy (the white-bibbed guy sitting on the footstool) trained to keep his distance. Even though Mindy weighs more than twice as much as Rascal, Rascal will swoop in and snatch up any snacks that Mindy doesn't eat right away, and even though Rascal is skinny and frail, Mindy won't do a damn thing to stop him. Rascal's also been known to deliver a good bop upside the head if Mindy draws too close while Rascal's eating his snack.
We'd love to include Cleo in this little ritual, but she's too much of a lady. She isn't given to wolfing things down without stopping to breathe. She sits there and sniffs her Pounce and licks it a little and thinks "Hmmm. Do I really need this? I had a big lunch ... think of the carbs. And I didn't get much exercise today. But I suppose one wouldn't hurt." By the time she's talked herself into it, Rascal's long since gobbled it up.
That's probably enough "slices of life" for one night. Next time: those long-anticipated (by me) photos of the Evil Exploding Georgetown Manholes of Doom.
(C'mon, one Clix! It's not like I'm asking you for MONEY ...)