Happy Friggin' New Year, Take 2

OK, so I just read my New Year's post from last year, when I was a new baby blogger. You can tell I was a new baby blogger because my only 2 comments were from my Offspring. I didn't even know most of you yet. I was mortified yet not surprised to see that nothing's really changed since I wrote that post. Which is pathetic.


Same shit, different year, people. I don't even need to write a New Year's post -- just click the link. Substitute 2008 for 2007, you're good to go.


The only thing that has changed from the time that post was written is that the Offspring will not be ringing in the New Year here at home with their significant others. Teen Demon is attending a party, elsewhere, with her significant other. Male Offspring's SO is out of town, he will be spending the night at a friend's house. The Bohemian is going to a friend's house as well.

My Seattle friend (I've really got to come up with a permanent moniker for her) and I were going to head down to Capitol Hill for fun and hijinx, but now with Batman acting weird toward Mason, I really don't want to leave them alone together. So I'm going to be partying with my dogs. At home. Wheee. My friend may come over, if she's feeling motivated enough. My suburb isn't exactly funkytown, if you know what I mean.


I'll be glad to see 2008. I know a date on the calendar doesn't magically change a damn thing, but it's a psychological marker for us humans, who will hang on to anything we can, to get through. Maybe this year things will be better.

Famous last words.

One thing has changed since last year's post. All y'all, to be precise. I have, in the midst of all the 2007 fuckery, immensely enjoyed getting to know you, this deliciously eclectic bevy of bloggers. Seriously, I am so glad to have "met" you all.

In the words of a famous beer commercial, I love you, man.

Oh, and Happy Friggin' New Year.

A Tribute to My Camera

He was loyal, dependable and sleek. My constant good companion, always at the ready. He loved long walks on the beach, sunsets, dogs, and the open road. He saw the best in everyone, and deleted the worst. He could coax a smile from a surly teenager, and make sure fat pants were never, ever in the frame.

He never missed a milestone: birthdays, graduations, recitals, karaoke nights, he was there. He was there when Teen Demon launched herself over a 5'1" high jump bar. He was there when the Male Offspring tied that snotnosed kid up like a pretzel, and slammed him down on the mat in 30 seconds. He was there when the eldest played Tzeitel in Fiddler on the Roof.

He was there when I saw that UFO off the coast, and even though everyone else shook their heads and called me a crazyass bitch, he believed me.

He was the only one in his class with an ISO option of 50. When I wasn't sure what options to use, he quietly and automatically set things up, and never rubbed it in my face. And quick! A frame a second was nothing to him. He could catch a shot of a fineass man before you could say Who's Your Daddy?

Oh, Camera -- you met your end on a blue metal banister at the community pool, thanks to a rudeass Barbified teenbrat with right-of-way entitlement issues. It was Friday the 13th. Even in your last moment, your selfless devotion saved my hip from a nasty purple bruise. I should've stood my ground for you, Camera, I should've made her go around.

I should've bitchslapped her ass to the cold concrete floor.

I'm sorry, Camera. I will always remember your bright and shiny ways and your can-do attitude. I will miss your cheery demeanor. You live on, in my heart, and in your photographs.

And I caught you then in your moment of glory
Your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
With a moment so clear that it's as if you're still before me
My once in a lifetime star of an age

So fare thee well my bright star
Last night the tongues of fire circled me around
And this strange season of pain will come to pass
When the healing hands of autumn cool me down

Fare Thee Well, The Indigo Girls

Click. No More.

UPDATE: Sling, owner of a fancy new camera [impatiently brushes tear away], has reminded me that Friday was, in fact, Friday the 13th. Not normally one to go in for superstitions, I am rethinking that shit now.

I'm really sad and upset today. (Warning: Downer Blog Post to follow.)

Yesterday my camera got broken.

I am just sick about it.

I loved my camera. I bought it 2 years ago, right before going to NCORE (National Conference on Race & Ethnicity) in Manhattan for work -- my once in a lifetime trip to NYC. I was so excited! I'd been wanting a camera for ages, but you know, there' was always something more important in the budget. I researched for months. (I am my father's daughter; I never make a major purchase without research overkill.)

I dickered between photographic control (as opposed to auto-everything), or compact size. With my schedule, and the fact that I do not earn a living shooting pics, I decided size was important (hello!) and tried to get the best quality tiny digital available at the time. I thought if I really enjoyed it and got into it, maybe some year a basic SLR camera, who knows.

Anyway, I learned more about cameras and specs than I ever wanted to know -- white balance, ISO settings, apertures, barrel distortion, you name it. I spent hours on dpreview.com. OK, OK, yes, there is a point here -- it's just that I put so much into choosing this camera. I don't buy things for myself all that often. Especially big ticket items. Anyway.


I chose the Canon SD500. At the time, it was the shit among ultra compacts. 7.1 megapixels. Faster than Clint Eastwood in a shootout. Sharp images. Cost me about $450, if I remember right.

Yeah.

Anyway, I loved that camera. It went everywhere with me, fit right in my purse. And my purse is small. Being an ultra compact, it didn't offer a whole lot of photographic control, but I learned everything about that camera, and could work the hell out of its features. It took fantastic pics. Two people I know actually bought this camera for themselves after seeing my pics, and asking about it. My camera rocked. I appreciated the hell out of it.

This is my camera today. (courtesy of my son's camera. -sigh-)

That is not an artistic image on the back, it is my LCD screen.

Cracked.

Broken.

It happened at the annual bellyflop/cannonball contest at our local pool. (No, I was not a participant. Nothing so exciting as that to this tale.) The eldest daughter doesn't often get her athletics on, but she and the male offspring love this contest. She took 3rd place in the adult cannonball competition this year, btw. Whoop whoop!

Anyway, I wanted to take her glasses to the car before she hit the diving board. Because they are expensive. Because I didn't want them to get stepped on, sitting there with her towel and flip-flops. Because I didn't want them to end up broken.

Now, I always, always, ALWAYS keep my camera in its little case. Always. Yesterday, though, I idiotically decided that a quick 50 meters to the car didn't warrant all of that. Fool! I put my camera in my pocket and headed for the stairs. Some blondified teenbrat came flying down the stairs at me, because of course, the world revolves around her, so why would she show a modicum of respect for her elders and let an adult pass first?

I moved to the side -- 1 step -- to let her by.

I stepped into the metal corner of the banister. It didn't hurt. It felt "soft" though.

My camera's LCD screen had taken one for the team, saving me from a nasty bruise.

I was instantly heartbroken. Damn it!!! NO! GodDAMNfuckitallSHITmonsters! Scheisse! Faszféj! Elbasztam! Shit.

It felt like when my Honda CRV got totalled. OK, smaller scale, but both were things that I'd saved for and researched. Things that I loved, that I felt proud of because I'd bought them myself. Things I took care of and appreciated. I didn't WANT a new car. I liked the one I had. I don't want a new camera. I liked this one just fine.

Like I said, I'm just sick about it. The fact that my financial situation is different than it was 2 years ago makes this even more of a goddamnfuckitallshitmonsters type of event.

Oh! And what the fuck, people, I venture into Blog Land this morning, to peek into others' worlds and forget about my camera, and what are the fucking ODDS?! Three of my cyberfriends, the first three I click on, no less, are posting about what? CAMERAS. Photos. WTF? Seriously, what the fuck? Your pics were beautiful, by the way; I'm not so fucking pissy so as not to recognize that, although I am feeling hella bitter and jealous and crybaby about it, but seriously what do you expect? I'm just tripping out because come on, what are the odds?

I'm pretty sure my camera has been reincarnated as Sling's camera. (Sling: he likes it if you give him a pat every now and again, and tell him he did a great job, especially on the sports setting.) Fuck.

Also, I have a grim task ahead of me. I plan to look at my memory card, to see the last pictures taken, especially the ones taken posthumously. Well, I wanted pics of the belly flop contest, and thought it might still actually take pics, even though I wouldn't be able to see them or get to any menu items with no display screen. I had no idea what the flash or lighting was set to. I used the "viewfinder", which I'd never used before. and am pretty sure I got the flash turned off. Anyway, we'll see if anything registered.

I bet my brave little soldier took some hellacious pictures anyway. A last hurrah. We'll see. I plan to post some of my past photos, in honor of my camera's short life.

I'm going to play a dirge and light a candle now.

I should've tripped that self-absorbed little teenage twit. I hope she drops her cell phone AND her iPod in the toilet. I hate her.

The Tattoo Didn't Exactly Work Out So Well.

You can tell I don't exactly have any hot dates for the weekend. So, I'm farting around on the Internets today, when I see this Official Seal deal over at Sling's Domain. Hey, that looks fun. I've got nothing better to do -- let's make a seal!

I wasn't actually going to make a seal, for real, until I saw that little sunshine emblem. I have a tattoo that IS this sun. (Twilight Zone theme song, fade in) Well, it was supposed to look like this sun, anyway.

I still have the sketchbook where I drew it for the tattoo artist, a sexyass Hungarian flesh artist with long black hair and an intoxicating sort-of-smile. Sensual doesn't even begin to cover it. Puts me in mind of Johnny Depp, actually. We had this weird chemistry thing going on the whole time I lived there. Story for another day. Anyway, Smoldering Tattoo Guy does a beautiful job with the tattoo -- I mean I was practically ready to sign up for some sort of piercing -- when I decided that I couldn't see it well enough. I thought it needed something else.

STG: This? No. Perfect.

Me: But it's not really showing up. I think it needs an outline.

STG: No. No outline. Trust me. I know what is good for you.
(half-smile. suggestive, sidelong look.)

now at this point, I should've shut the hell up and let him tell me what
was good for me.

Me: That, I'm sure of. Don't you think it should be brighter... maybe more ink?

STG: No. No ink. This is the summer skin, brown skin. Wait some months. The ink must living with your skin. If you don't like it, you come back to me, I'm gonna fix it, make what you want. Trust me.

But I didn't. (Fool!) I insisted on an outline. Just a little skinny one. To "define" it. Why oh why, did I not listen? The man knew his inks. I insisted. He outlined it.

My sun turned into a spider. Fuck!

I tried the whole "living with it" thing, but the outline pretty much ruined that. So I went back. He didn't say a word. Just half-smiled. Covered the spider with his whole hand. Shook his head.

He suggested making it into something completely different. But noooo, I didn't want anything bigger. I asked him to add some sun-colors to the tips of the rays, so it might look less like an arachnid. Maybe bleed the yellow outside the goddamn outline. He wasn't so sure. "How can it be any worse?" I asked.

It's now a spider with painted nails.

Anyway, I guess I made an Official Seal. Since the tattoo didn't exactly work out. Amazing what memories come up whilst a-farting around on the Internets.