Photophobes

My boss's aunt came to visit the shop today, and she felt compelled to take pictures of every little thing she saw. Even me, sitting in my darkened corner of the office.

Amusing, that she wanted such a photographic record of someone she just met today. She noted the irony of everyone here being so camera shy when we work in the film business. "That's why we work on THIS side of things," we told her.

Now, I normally don't mind having my picture taken, if it's a candid shot. Posed photos are a different matter. You know they're coming. You obsess on having to smile, to stand or sit unnaturally in that nearly eternal moment of waiting for the framing/focus/flash. Is there spinach in my teeth? Is my skin freakishly shiny? At the angle I'm standing, will this shirt make me look enormous? Why did I wear this color today? If I knew it was going to take this long, I would have at least run a brush through my hair...*CLICK* ohhhh, crap. I think I blinked. Or maybe, if I'm lucky, my eyelids will be half open, and I'll simply look drunk. Fabulous.

Better still are the photos of The Giant White Hand. You know the Hand -- the Hand likes to come out at Christmas time and other early-morning holidays and occasions where mom's not quite dressed suitably for a Kodak moment. The Hand is like another member of my family; always ready to jump into the picture, always in the foreground.

My favorite photo of The Giant White Hand? Giant White Hand With Super Long Nails, just barely obscuring Mom in her red robe and 5:00a.m. Christmas Morning Hair. The scowl is barely visible and the profanities best left to the imagination.