Saturday, April 14, 2018

The First and Last Lines

All I have are vacation photos right now. Hate me, if you must. 

I had hoped that by now someone else's family would hire me to be their personal family photographer. All that I have done is build out my portfolio for such a position. Yet no offers have arrived. 

The first and last lines of any post here are often the most difficult. I started today with, Don't tell anybody, but every now and then I like to have a drug problem. 

Mom's out of town, so I thought that some might take such a statement too literally. It stemmed from a playlist I'm listening to made by a friend, all downtempo stuff, like 154 hours of it or something. 

Well, it all just had me thinking about seizing the day, or something, I guess.

I also tried: I don't think the love of money is the root of all evil. Masturbation is also in there. 

And: Trump supporters wake to find America not always first.

I guess that's what Facebook is for now. People seem angry about something that should have never even surprised them. They believe their privacy has been violated. Had they created some bullshit alter-ego for use with Facebook or any other social media platform then they wouldn't be in this problem. Most people's biggest mistake is in trying to be right rather than being absurd. Few things will make you seem absurd more quickly than trying to be right online. Even trying to live within a quanta of truth is preposterous. But they never seem to make the leap and connect their behavior with anything other then the presumed righteousness of personal candor. 

Now they feel betrayed. If Facebook had only given us some sort of sign what their intentions were. Some little hint embedded in their ever changing privacy policies. 

If I were a fledgling dictator then I would use the list of compromised Facebook accounts to purge voter registration lists, but that's just me. As dictator it wouldn't matter very much, it would be more of a symbolic gesture, for my people. 

Oh yeah, my account was compromised. I received a notice from FB letting me know that one of my friends used a game that gave away all of my vitals. You can imagine my shock and horror when I realized that the below picture was now going to have to be a part of my public persona. How will I explain this to my son, I wondered. 

It was in the 90s, son. No, not the nineteen-nineties, it was around 90 degrees or more in the shade, but there wasn't much of that to go around. In my day we used to have to walk across the playa. Uphill, in all directions, etc. 

But daddy, why is that desert man-queen wearing mascara?

Because it makes him feel pretty, I guess, son. 

It's true. I have no idea how I'll explain things like "Pat" to my son. I'll confidently mumble my way through something about body image, genetic variations, and the important role of personal choice. 

The truth is in there somewhere. I'm certain of it.