2007
Blog Prom!
Mamma asked me to the big dance and I said yes! (I think I’m supposed to *squee* here or something?…)
This weekend we’re blogging about our prom experiences–with pictures!–and boy howdy, did my scanner get a workout. Luckily, I had plenty of time on my hands tonight because Simon just happens to be out for dinner and drinks in the city with some old friends, one of whom he actually went to prom with way back in the oldendays. What a co-ink-ee-dink, eh? (It should not surprise you that Simon was a teenage prom whore. One year he went to three different proms at three different schools with three different dates; his girlfriend at the time was understandably Not Happy about it.)
So, I scanned all my high school dance pictures and did some finger stretches to limber up for the tornado of typing to come, but then I realized that because I went to every dance save one with the same guy, I should probably ask his permission before I plaster him all over the internet. He checks this site and leaves comments every now and then, so hopefully he’ll at least understand that there’s a context for this kind of nerdery. Until I hear from him, though, we’ll stick with prom. Which is the whole point. Enough with the tangents. Focus!
(Okay, this is not a tangent, but an “aside”: Mamma conjured up an elaborate structure for this blog prom thing, but I’m going to ignore it. Instead of breaking up the experience over several entries, I’m going to give it all up in one night. Heh.)
I only went to one prom–my junior year–and I don’t remember caring a fig that I didn’t get asked my sophomore or senior years. By senior year I was definitely over the whole scene, as I was too busy being self-important, which I proved by riding around in a Volvo listening to Philip Glass with my two best friends, one of whom wore a beret at the cheekiest of angles and one of whom composed sweeping piano overtures in the style of Philip Glass in honor of that beret. (Tangent!) But junior year was before all that existential obnoxiousness. When highschoolboyfriendDavid asked me to prom in the heady spring of 1996, I accepted with grace and pleasure.
To say that he asked and I accepted is an oversimplification, though. I don’t know if it’s is a Mormon thing or a Utah thing or a Rocky Mountain thing, but asking someone to a dance is a big deal, a production, a contest, an ordeal. Not infrequently it involved sneaking into someone’s bedroom when they weren’t home or covering their front lawn with three hundred plastic forks. People asked with uncooked cow hearts left on front porches, vehicle vandalism, and singing telegrams. Usually it was something lame like posterboard with candybars taped on it (“Can I ‘Skor’ a date with you, ‘Baby Ruth’?”), but my boyfriend was much more daring than all that. Here’s how I was asked to homecoming one year:
Yikes.
That was one of five stalker notes labeled “evidence” and stuffed in an envelope and left on my windshield. (Once decoded, the letters read “Will you go to homecoming with me, Leah?”)
(“Agent Pussycat” explanation here. Hyphenated “for-ev-er” explanation in the movie The Sandlot.)
Kinda freaky to ask your girlfriend to a school dance by cutting out magazine letters to write things like “Don’t go out or you’ll never see your home again,” but I think I paid him back by breaking into his house and writing YES in three-foot-tall letters on the ceiling above his bed with glow-in-the-dark stars, so it all came out even in the end.
BUT! That was homecoming and we’re here to talk about prom!
Ah, prom. It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was coming down sideways. During the three-minute dash from the car to the capitol building, the salon-styled ringlet tendrils that fancied up my glorified french twist turned into limp reins I had to tuck behind my ears for the rest of the night. My outrageously expensive ($60) forest green Jessica McClintok gown was not ruined, however, because it was neither satin nor silk but some sort of impervious synthetic blend. Crisis averted.
I can’t recall most of the other pre- and post-event details–where did we have dinner? what did we do afterward?–but I remember having a good time at the dance. For one, my date could dance up a storm. Two, my high school was known throughout the valley for our large-scale musical productions. With casts featuring upwards of three hundred students, it was always a trip at the school dances when the d.j. put on a track from, say, West Side Story and half of the kids broke out into fully choreographed song and dance, just like in the movies. It was just like Fame except everyone was white. And wearing imitation taffeta.
2007
Gearhead
After posting about my photography group a few days ago, I’ve been asked by several people what kind of equipment I use. MicheleLouise in particular asked about all my peripherals–lenses, flashes, filters, calibrators, software, etc. I am, as always, happy to oblige, especially on days when I’d rather check Beck’s site for baby pictures every two minutes instead of be thoughtful here.
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I’ve mentioned my camera body before: It’s a Canon Digital Rebel XT (also called the 350D). It’s black, about a year and a half old, and I love it like my own child. I got it $200 below retail through B&H. What ended up making me choose the Canon over a comparable Nikon was the size and shape of the body; most of other differences between the two brands ended up being negligible to an amateur such as myself (trust me when I tell you that you will not be able to tell the difference between 8 million and 9 million megapixels). Compared to the Nikon, the Canon felt to me smaller and lighter and more user-friendly–I knew it wasn’t something I’d mind carrying around all day every day, which is what I do.
(Here’s a recycled sideshow of me and my camera during the two weeks after I first got it.)
The Rebel’s standard kit lens (18-50mm) pretty much sucks (it’s $100; you get what you pay for), so instead I sprung (sprang?) for the 17-85mm, which is fantastic and amazing in every way–so much so, in fact, that it’s still my one and only lens. (Simon inherited some old Canon lenses from his dad, but I think they need adapters to work with my digital body.) Although I’d love a (free) lens with a better zoom, or a wider wide-angle, or a finer macro, the reality is that I’m far too lazy to carry around multiple lenses (not to mention take the time to swap them out), so the 17-85mm has been the most perfect lens for my needs–good range on both the wide and the zoom ends, and it also has image stabilization technology, which helps in low light sans tripod.
Speaking of tripods, I have a full-size on and a mini one, and I never ever use them. I probably should, but again, I don’t want to haul fifty pounds of gear with me so they stay in the closet.
I have three lens filters: a $12 UV skylight, mostly to protect the $600 lens; a $30 6x cross, to make light sources turn into stars (as seen here); and a $30 circular polarizer, which reduces glare and probably does a bunch of other neat things but I haven’t really taken the time to figure it out.
My memory card is a Lexmark 1 GB with write-assist technology (allows fast shooting and prevents file corruption). The only time I ever wish for a bigger card is when I’m on vacation or shooting weddings. In those cases I usually either dump the full card onto a laptop or use a $30 connecter to transfer them to my iPod Photo. The latter method always makes me a little nervous that something’s going to go wrong and I’ll lose all my pictures, but so far it’s worked perfectly.
Aside from one good, big memory card, my other best peripheral is the spare battery. The camera came with a Canon battery, and my extra is some generic brand that cost half as much and also works half as well. I wish it had a longer life, but it’s been fine in a pinch. I always ALWAYS keep a fully charged backup battery onhand.
When I bought my camera online, I also ordered a $15 camera bag, only to discover upon arrival that the better (longer) lens made the unit too big for the bag. A few months later I found a bigger bag with a bunch of velcro dividers for $2 at Goodwill, and it has since been a handy storage container for my circular polarizer and my mini-tripod…in the closet. My dad stores his camera equipment in an old metal lunchbox and I think that’s rad.
The other accessory I have but don’t use enough is a special microfiber glass-cleaning cloth, which I bought at Heathrow airport because I liked the pink paisley design. My lens is always embarrassingly smudged and I have been known to spit-shine it on occasion; I should be better about that.
The only upgrades I’ve done to the camera have been a lenscap bungee (I almost lost the lenscap in Venice, about a week after I bought the camera) and a cushy shoulder strap, which Simon bought for me last Christmas. I haven’t ventured into the world of external flashes, although that should probably happen eventually.
One of the main reasons I don’t yet have an external flash or a second lens or a bunch of crazy filters or lens attachments is because I have Photoshop Elements, the simplified and waaaaaaaay cheaper version of full-fledged Photoshop, which will run you about $650. Maybe when I win the lottery…Or maybe not since my limited skills would surely be wasted on professional-level software. Still, don’t underestimate the power of good photo editing, and if you’re like me, don’t underestimate the power of good photo editing to fix mistakes you made in the field (see also: smudged lens, wrong ISO, weak composition). I covered processing in some detail here.
Well, so…that was kind of boring unless you’re camera people. Are you camera people? Did I just turn you into camera people? My ability to talk at length about cameras and Mormons has always saved me at cocktail parties, so how come all I hear now is crickets? Anyone? Guys? Come back! I’ll talk about baby/marriage/housing angst if that’s what you want!
2007
The Hard Way
This bed smells like farts.
*sniff sniff* Yeah. It does. Gross.
We should change the sheets. It’s been a long time.
Yeah. It has. We should. Although what we should really do is just prevent the bed from getting smelly in the first place. Instead of showering in the morning, we should shower at night so we’ll be all fresh and clean and sweet-smelling when we get under the covers!
But I don’t want to shower at night. I can’t sleep with wet hair or I’ll get the scalp rot, and if I blowdry my hair and then sleep on it, it’ll be bent at weird angles all day.
Here’s what you do: You wear a plastic cap during your nightly shower and then in the morning you just wash your hair on your hands and knees over the tub.
Do you have any idea how hard that is?
Yes. When I had long hair I did it all the time.
And it sucked, didn’t it?
Hey, I’m just trying to solve a problem here.
I know. I just don’t want to have to shower at night. And I don’t want to wear a showercap.
Well, then I guess we’re stuck with a fart bed.
Or we could just change the sheets.
Oh. Yeah.
