I’m a picture mooch. You know the type. They never bring a camera, never take any pictures, but always ask you for yours after you get home. “Hey man, can you e-mail me those pictures? Or just post ’em on facebook.”
I can’t help it. Pictures! I love them, and I hate them. On the one hand I feel like they are grubby imagination robbers, dipping their spindly little tendrils into my memories and yanking out the more colorful truths of the experience. Back! You filthy gremlins! I mean isn’t my imagination more brilliant than Kodak’s?
Who wants to remember what a moment actually looked like, when I can remember it however I want? I was quirky in high school, not dorky. I can see it now…
On the other hand,