Monday, December 18, 2017

Nearly Missed a Bullet

Yes, I love the new negative scanner. I also love the phrase: Negative Scanner. It sounds like some dark guardian tasked with very tough business, a shock trooper along the outer borders of the apocalypse. If I were more into science fiction or fantasy then I would pursue that sentence further, but no, that was never my calling. I always preferred girls to interstellar dragon handlers. I wish it could have just been Dungeons and Dungeons. 

I will start to slowly go back and re-scan the negatives that I've paid for along the way. I only received files that were barely postable on social media (How is postable not a recognized word yet?). All that money spent having somebody else scan my film, and at the lowest resolution possible that can still be considered part of what might be called and billed as a "service." 


I feel like I'm complaining about how little meat they use on the subs at Subway, or where did all the plastic bags go at the grocery store? Ah well, I am getting older... it's my birthright, privilege, and pleasure to complain about things, particularly the behavior of other races at the holiday dinner table.  

Wait, I'm not sure if I can make both jokes in one post - shock troopers were a Nazi thing, and then making a joke about getting older and being skeptical of racial integration.... Seems quite suspicious when united in what should be one continuous piece of thought. It could be an example of micro-intolerance, because humor is nothing if not tacit permissiveness of otherwise unacceptable thought.

I can't wait to discuss #MeToo this Christmas. I'll recite the date rape lyrics of Baby, It's Cold Outside and then open the table for discussion. I'll start by locking eyes with each person, one at a time, and asking if they really know how a female Rudolph might feel. 

Now, have you ever been Rudolphed?

Ah well, every home needs an HR department. I'm pretty sure that's where the idea started, in the kitchen, or rather, at the table. 

In black and white my son will begin to look more and more like a cross between Albert Camus and Joe Strummer. I'm teaching him how to smoke without inhaling. I'll still always look like the eyes of Sartre, but what can one do in these divided times? 

Soon enough we'll have no past heroes left to emulate. It is always the past most of all which must go before the present and future can improve. That is the demand of efforts towards the truest amelioration: everything must go.

When I was younger, Mickey Rourke was the guy that all the smart guys wanted to be. You see where that led us, now don't you? He turned out to be a talented spud with poor politics and two handfuls of horrid habits.