I have luddite guilt. As much as I want to be normal, jump on the bandwagon and ra ra with the rest of the people (who really only exist in my mind anyways) I simply can't. I wish I could love digital cameras. Like cell phones, they'd presumably release my inner brilliant creativity and allow me to actualize my vision or some such nonsense.
Case in point.
This entry originally was going to be about my bento box fixation. I was going to yammer on about some triviality related to the joy of packing my lunches with order and starch and unwrapping them at the noon hour, which inevitably finds me in a slightly hostile environment. How lovely it is to unwrap something nice-looking and eat it before resuming my hopeless tasks.
I was just making my bentos for tomorrow and Tuesday and they looked so damn cute on the cutting board (like two little matching piggies). Dutch recently gave me his digital camera so I had no excuse not to capture the moment and [gasp] blog about it immediately (instead of waiting the obligatory three months). I snapped some fine still-lives, toddled up my stairs to the nearest USB port and plugged it in. Instead of my darling bentos staring at me from the screen, I found, instead, sun drenched scenes from Dutch's last Brazil adventure (I truly hope those women in bikinis were his cousins). I scrolled and scrolled (like an angry Rabbi) and I found no satisfaction whatsoever. In my defense, I have used digital cameras many times before and have been able to retrieve, etc, the images. Then I tried to reload them and all I succeeded in doing was getting an error messages saying "initialize the memory card."
I"ll try again someday. Until then, I have the rusty Nikon and dorky rolls of film that can be lost in the mail.
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