Kodak Moments

So far, I'm one for two on New Year's Resolutions: I bought a digital camera. This camera, which I bought so I could finally join the 21st century(even my mother has a digital camera; she prints out her own photos now), has already proven one thing: I'm the reason they have very explicit directions that insult most (other) people's intelligence.

You see, I couldn't open the battery latch to my new camera. The directions said to slide the battery lock to "open" and then to open the latch. Which I did. The latch wouldn't open.

Holding the lock in the open position with one finger while prying at the latch with two others, I let out grunts of frustration while crouched cross-legged on the sofa. I tried all kinds of hand positions, desperately trying to get the damn latch to open. Getting a fingernail in between two plastic panels, I tried again, pushing the camera away from my body with outstretched, straining arms, afraid I would break my new toy. Nothing was working. I wanted to use this thing so badly, why would they make this first step so impossible? Did I get the one defective battery latch in a thousand? Fuck this! I thought, Open...Open...ohhhh-penn....OPEN! OPEN!! OPEN!!! I gave up, covered in the slight cold sweat you get from frustration and embarrassment.

Peering down at my new camera - that I couldn't even put batteries in - I scratched the top of my head, palmed the camera and dragged my knuckles across the arm rest, lurching over to my room to look up the tech support number. Assuming I could still operate my MacBook correctly. I briefly pictured myself as the last man on an apocalyptic Earth, with a can of creamed corn in one hand and a can opener in the other. Looking back and forth at each one, considering each carefully, before muttering "er..derr..derf?", and starving to death. Thus ending humanity, and paving the way for a more worthy species, one whose members won't struggle with their digital devices. Maybe mice, or those really smart dolphins who rescue people. Sorry everyone.

ANYWAY, the guy I talked to at Cannon did his best not to laugh at me. Apparently, you push the lock to "open" then you slide the latch, and open it. The second he said "slide" - and then put me on hold, so he could get the camera-specific procedure for my dumb ass - I understood what I was doing wrong, and I felt really, really, reallllly stupid. I stayed on hold, just so I could tell the guy when he got back that I had figured it out and I wanted my gold star.

So, now I have a camera. And I'm in New York this weekend, so there should be plenty of photo opportunities.

Something else bizarre happened to me with this camera, now that I think about it. It arrived from UPS at my office, and still in the box, I put it in my bag(my man bag, my messenger bag, my card-carrying metro-sexual bag) and started home.

Waiting for the Greenline at L'Enfant plaza, a group of extremely pretty girls got out of a Yellow line train. The leader was a very Nordic looking, tall blonde. I assume she was the leader because she walked right up to me and made the universal camera gesture: the raised hand snapping off a photo. Maybe I was stunned because she seemed to be walking in-step with the music(although I can't remember what was playing on my iPod) but, for some insane reason, when she made the universal camera gesture for a split second I thought How the hell does she know I'm carrying a camera - still in it's box - inside my bag? Is she reading my mind?

No, she wasn't a mind reader after all. All she was doing was asking me to take a picture of her and her friends, with her camera. Something any idiot could have deduced. Any idiot who could later go home and put batteries in his new digital camera without the assistance of an 800 number.

Anyway, she says "Could you take a picture of all of us, and get the Metro sign in it? It's for our job."

I said yes, thinking Sure, I'll take your picture and get the L'Enfant plaza sign in...wait, it's for your job? Then, as I get ready to take the picture, this group of about eight pretty girls all take out Groucho Marx glasses and put them on.

What the hell kind of job involves getting your picture taken at Metro stops wearing a god-damned pair of Groucho fucking Marx glasses? This is still blowing my mind two days later. Someone, someone out there must know what job these girls had. Please tell me.

He Must Be Anorexic

Before I write this, I want to say to people who know me: you are going to roll your eyes. Yes, I know I've never been fat. Yes, I know a lot of you will find it very hypocritical for me to complain about a skinny person(even though I am not that skinny anymore, I've done some damage in my late twenties). Your objections are noted. That said...

I've been trying to eat better. Usually this entails bringing my own, packed lunch to work. Today, however, I forgot to pack a lunch and I ended up at a nearby Subway restaurant(I say restaurant because they always add that in the commercials for fast food places, "participating McDonald's restaurants, your local Subway restaurant", etc. It's one of the industry's insecurities I guess, not being considered a real restaurant, so they constantly remind you that they are, technically, a restaurant. Maybe that's why fine restaurants have taken to referring to themselves as "fine dining establishments").

Um, anyway, usually I would buy a six-inch meatball sub when I forgot my packed lunch. A treat for being absent minded, which is kind of like rewarding an AA member who misses a meeting with a shot of Jack. Today I switched it to a Subway Club, also six inches, a much more sensible choice for someone watching what they eat.

Ahead of me in line was a tall, rail-thin gentleman. He orders a meatball sub. Not just a meatball sub, but a foot-long meatball sub. Which he then has drowned in extra Parmesan cheese by the friendly people behind the counter. It's a gloriously delicious, cheesy, marinara dripping, meat-filled, fat and calorie loaded bomb. It's a man's sandwich. This sub dunks my sub's head in the toilet after stealing it's lunch money. This sub goes home and fucks the prom queen.

Fine, no problem. When I was younger, I ate like that(worse, actually) and never gained a pound. Sure, this guy is actually older than I am, but who is to say whose metabolism stays super-revved at shrew-like levels for their entire lives? Maybe he has to eat his body weight in fatty, delicious foods just to keep from wasting away. Plus, he could be running marathons and power-lifting(probably not that, since his thin limbs would probably snap) and doing other strenuous exercise that burns off these calories. Or he's a chain-smoking heroin addict. Either way, who am I to judge?

What made me smirk and cough under my breath was when, after taking a minute to get exact change to pay for his lunch, he stopped in front of the chips and actually took time to decide between the "light" Doritos and the "baked" lays. What kind of person, after choosing to eat a foot-long meatball sub, actually struggles with what low-fat chips he should be eating?

An obvious needle-sharing heroin addict, that's who.

My Only New Year's Resolution

Keeping it real, as David Chappelle has brilliantly shown, can be dangerous. It's a fine line you walk when it's realism you want to keep, and today I'm going to dangle a foot on the wrong side. Be warned: the following blog entry may be too real for the faint of heart.

My Only New Year's Resolution:

Being in a long distance relationship, I only have sex about every two weeks(except during holidays). Not surprisingly, this means I masturbate. A lot. More than you think.

Anyway, I've fallen into the habit of doing the solitary nasty soon after I get home from work. While it's a great activity to unwind with after a hard day(or any day), sometimes you want to get shit done before the next work day is upon you. It's hard to do that when you are already in a very relaxed state, shoulders slumped, legs uncoiled, and exhaling the deep breath that follows.

So, for 2007, I resolve to:

• Delay self-gratification until the end of the evening, making it the last thing I do.

That's right, I'm not resolving to stop it - not even to let up - but to reschedule it.

If this has been too real(you failed to heed my warnings, crybaby), I apologize. In my defense, you must know that a) I'm a man and therefore b) I have a penis.

A lot of you are never reading my blog again, are you?