Photography

Click, click.

The shutter snaps. One sixteen-hundredth of a second. I can't really comprehend that speed.

Speaking of photography (last post), I've fallen in love with it. There's a mysterious satisfaction about snapping a clear photo. I love clearly capturing the face of a friend, a moment of laughter, or a knowing smile. Especially with shortened depth-of-field (thanks to my 85mm f/1.8 Canon beauty), priceless memories are captured for a lifetime.

Now, traditionally I've been a pack-rat. I still have ticket stubs to my first performance of Phantom in Her Majesty's Theater in London, entrance tickets to castles in Prague and movie tickets to see the Dark Knight. I've got museum plans for the Prado, the British Museum and the Met. I have a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire purchased in Piccadilly Circus next to my first copy of the Sword of Shannara, both bowing under the weight of Long Walk to Freedom, but supported by Diplomacy and The Eye of the World. Now, each book carries it's own memory—Long Walk I read during lunch at Hopkins, Diplomacy on the ratty green couches where my childhood happened, and I think were replaced this week, the Eye while waiting for my parents on the Great Wall, and The Goblet while eating the most divine fruit salad in-between broker's visits to houses surrounding the Heath—in other words, my books are their own collection of memories. (Mom, if you're reading this, that's why you can't ever trash them—how else would I remember the green couches, which are long past their expiration, the great wall / sitting in the closet reading before you woke up, or our near brush with Britain? They're more a part of my life than anything else I've left in that not-too-tidy room of mine).

Now I've reached a point where being a pack-rat doesn't make much sense, digitally. Of the 200 pictures I've reviewed from the safari, I deleted about 70 (35%). It's a good feeling. Finally I can clear out the garbage and not feel bad about it. I've taken 4,000 pictures in the past 3 weeks, and it's grand. I may only keep half of them, but that's fine.

For better or worse, mom, you get to keep my books till I can buy a house. Then I'll fill it with them.

Oh, dreams!