A Photo Whore No More...
I hate taking pictures when on vacation. It's annoying to drag around a camera all day. So now I pretty much resort to relying on my (ahem) excellent memory. Whenever I want to muse over a past vacation I simply shuffle through the blurry images etched into my brain. Someday someone will figure out a way to hook our brains up to a scanner and then everyone can enjoy my colorful island retreats.
But I wasn't always that way. In fact, my first trip to Europe I spent twelve rolls of film. Uh-huh, that's right. TWELVE ROLLS. Because Parisian doorknobs were trés intéressant--toilets, bridges, traffic signs, fast-food placemats, cobblestone roads, automobiles, streetlights, policemen, poodles, etc., etc.--were all very interesting and deserving of a photo!
What a sad little tourist I was then, with my Oakland A's baseball cap and my five pound camera hanging from a leather strap around my sunburned neck. My cocky, I'm from America, we-can-kick-your-European-ass attitude. So sad was I....
More than ten years ago I meticulously taped these European pictures into a photo album, in order, sans captions, thank you very much! And today--a decade later--I spent hours removing those pictures from the now very tattered photo album. What a mess! Torn pictures, yellow frayed scotch tape, sticky fingers. I will never, NEVER tape another picture into a photo album.
Not only was it a miserable hassle that resulted in ruined pictures, but I also had to deal with the internal pain of looking at my younger self with all that bushy youthful hair and those stress-free eyes. Oh, what a cruel world!
But I wasn't always that way. In fact, my first trip to Europe I spent twelve rolls of film. Uh-huh, that's right. TWELVE ROLLS. Because Parisian doorknobs were trés intéressant--toilets, bridges, traffic signs, fast-food placemats, cobblestone roads, automobiles, streetlights, policemen, poodles, etc., etc.--were all very interesting and deserving of a photo!
What a sad little tourist I was then, with my Oakland A's baseball cap and my five pound camera hanging from a leather strap around my sunburned neck. My cocky, I'm from America, we-can-kick-your-European-ass attitude. So sad was I....
More than ten years ago I meticulously taped these European pictures into a photo album, in order, sans captions, thank you very much! And today--a decade later--I spent hours removing those pictures from the now very tattered photo album. What a mess! Torn pictures, yellow frayed scotch tape, sticky fingers. I will never, NEVER tape another picture into a photo album.
Not only was it a miserable hassle that resulted in ruined pictures, but I also had to deal with the internal pain of looking at my younger self with all that bushy youthful hair and those stress-free eyes. Oh, what a cruel world!
Hard Rock Cafe Paris - Boris, Florian, Habib, Marc, et moi.
posted by Grant-Will-Rant at
7:16 PM
4 Comments:
I remember this picture! You showed it when we were drinking.
By
Anonymous, at 2:30 AM, February 03, 2006
Hahaha! You're right! Remember, it was in the photo album that used to sit on the coffee table. It was a maroon album and there was a quarter-size bleach stain in the middle from where someone had set down their shot of tequila and it spilled over the side.
By
Grant-Will-Rant, at 9:30 AM, February 03, 2006
probably my tequila shot... (grin)
But I have you beat, my friend. My first (and only) trip to Europe, consisting of 2 weeks and 3 Countries, consumed TWENTY (20) rolls of film! Who's the whore now?
By
Rooney, at 3:17 PM, February 03, 2006
You look so young!!!
By
Anonymous, at 9:10 AM, February 04, 2006
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