Louche
Carved TMO on her clit just to make you feel bad
posted
Picked up a couple of packs of pictures from Boots this afternoon. Holiday shots, a couple of blurred and unflattering posturings from NorthMeat attendees. My garden projects, detailed in a way uninteresting except for me, who gets to catalogue the spindling tendrils of a sprouting clematis and measure a buddleja now against just planted.
Picked up prints and a CD, because I've not managed to break into the enticing but expensive world of the digital camera. Leafed through them on the train, first searching for those starring Louche in a vest top, because everyone needs to be reassured occasionally. Then in more depth. Look! That uninteresting landscape scene, with the vaguely pocked tract of land is The Valley of Death. Look! Ha! It's S in just shorts, looking slightly disconcerted by the recording of so much usually covered flesh.
Looking at S, in shorts, poised on a balcony in AnyHotel and I suddenly had one of those odd slip though time moments, and for a second could see my kids, peering, marvelling at Young Dad, perhaps feeling faint embarrassment at such a cornucopia of Dadflesh. Sticking sticky fingerprints on prints, discarding those I liked most to be interested, perhaps, in those I liked least.
Funny things photographs. They become tied into and can eventually overtake your memories. Unless you're eidetic, I suppose. The One Last Good Picture of My Dad has become such a feature of my life - it's in my house, my mother's house, my sister's - that I realised, a few weeks ago, I had ceased to look at it. A blur of blue BHS sweatshirt, tanned arms, a sheep in the background. Other photos are just languishing in a puddle of imagery in a giant cardboard box, dust gathering, on a shelf.
But where is this going? I really have no idea. Perhaps it's a thread for people to talk about photos they love. Perhaps you can post up your holiday snaps. Perhaps it's worth talking about the decreasing value of photographic images in a world gradually filling with out of focus cats and other people's children, taken on mobiles and floating, ownerless and unwanted, though the ether of the interweb.
posted
I have inherited my dad's digital camera, but I havent worked up the nerve to look at whats on the memory card yet.
Well, that and not having read the instructions yet..
I have an overabundance of pictures of my friends being daft/drunk, but you can never have too many of those.
There is only one, maybe one and a bit, existing photos of me post childhood that I like. This is the one that is ok, the really good one was from a photo booth (!?!!) and nobody beleives it is really me. Posts: 2793
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H1ppychick
We all prisoners, chickee-baby. We all locked in.
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Kudos on the exce tag there, Abby.
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scrawny
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, and a couple of pints of Stella please.
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There's a photo of me walking home a very long night in the mountains in Crete, with the sea behind me, taken at 7.30 in the morning and there's just something about it. I don't think anyone's ever captured me that unforced and happy before.
I think my favourite photo ever though is of my Dad, when he was in the TA, all dressed up for his regimental ball. He's not drawn much attention to himself in his life, my Dad, preferring to leave my Mum to be tyhe higher profile one, and there was just something about him standing there in his full uniform looking so proud that brings me nearly to tears every time I see it.
Edit - the Crete one might have been a bit Handbag. For the one with my Dad in it though, I make no apologies.
[ 30.09.2004, 17:11: Message edited by: scrawny ]
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scrawny
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, and a couple of pints of Stella please.
posted
Louche, Abby, Hippy, are you still on?
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posted
Sometimes it feels as though TMO might end up as a kind of stream-of-consciousness group diary, for meandering, musing, speculation and confession. And that wouldn't be so awful!
scrawny
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, and a couple of pints of Stella please.
posted
quote:Originally posted by kovacs: Sometimes it feels as though TMO might end up as a kind of stream-of-consciousness group diary, for meandering, musing, speculation and confession. And that wouldn't be so awful!
I thought that was what it was. You missed out sexual tension though.
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posted
Is there really any sexual tension left on here? Half the contributors are in steady couples who met off TMO in the first place... the other half have all shagged each other. There is overlap between the two halves. But my point is, it's all been done surely. Yeah, maybe Mooch could fuck Kobra but I don't think that really injects a shivery spark of anticipation into TMO on a regular basis.
Again, this isn't a criticism. Maybe the comfort level is what enables the kind of top-of-your-head rambling -- which might actually lead to quite profound, honest and valuable textual spilling.
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I love this photo of my mum. I love that there are 12"s on the bookcase, I love the brown wall, I love her roll-neck jumper. I particularly love this photo because it reminds me of how similar me and my mum are, in heaps of ways.
[ 01.10.2004, 04:28: Message edited by: Bailey ]
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I just got a weird laptop screen disturbance which made the words ...fuck, i cant remember the exact words now but something like "an abundance of dadflesh" float in the middle of the screen. Is this someone's Sig or did i make that up?
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scrawny
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, and a couple of pints of Stella please.
posted
Bailey, she's just like you
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quote:Originally posted by scrawny: Bailey, she's just like you
I know! Even down to my current two-tone brown hair. It's weird. I have another photo taken recently, and if you hold your hand over our eyes, our noses and chins are identical.
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posted
I'm not really that big on photos - I always forget to take them, and when I do, I'm a terrible photographer.
I couple of years ago, I was going through some old photos, however, and in a fit of self-flagellation I lined up a batch of photos from age seven through to age 24. It was a bit like watching one of those speeded up films of rotting fruit and gave me a sickening lurch of discomfort and lack of achievement. It's not an experiment I'd recommend anyone undertake, and it's not one I'd like to repeat.
Also - it's dead wierd seeing your parent's photos from when they were your age. I always look exactly like my dad except with my mum's stupid nose grafted into the centre of my face.
I've gotten a terrible sense of deja vu writing all that, so apologies if this is material I've repeated. I tend to lose track these days. Names become muddled; I remember things that didn't happen. I find myself standing in the middle of the living room in the middle of the night not knowing what I'm doing. I call stangers 'mother', too.
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posted
My brother showed me a photgraph of my father that the local paper took when he first entered the England karate team. He is like a chunkier, rounder version of me with an excellent mullet on top. I am scared that given enough time, I will start to grow sideways and so eventually have to be measured by attaching a small '2' to the end of the figure.
Also, in the l'album d'embarricin is a photograph of my mum, doing a 'just-after-Neo-kicks-agent-Smith-across-the-tubestaion-but-leg-is-still-held-aloft' pose. She dosn't have a mullet, but thick long and straight chestnut hair. I am devastated that I have (naturally) red hair, but did not inherit my my mothers green eyes. I think the only think she ever gave me was a fat arse.
My favourite picture of all time has been burnt. It is of my best friend, taken in my old house where the light shines through the skylight and is fantastic for taking pictures. It looks timeless. Thank god for careful negative preservation.
posted
Someone send that link to MILF HUNTER ASAP!
Photos are kind of good, but most of them are shit. I think my phone camera is going to take my levels of photo taking into new ridiculous heights, it does 640 res too so in 3 years time I wont just be looking at blurs of what might have been a human at some point. The world is going to be full of shit archives of shit peoples lives. All of them will probably be more interesting than the BBCs.
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I love taking photos and I love putting my photos in books with tickets and leaflets and other memorabilia even more.
It's always shocking to see pics of my dad with long curly 70s hair, and of my mum in hotpants with slim legs. Even weirder are grandparents; in my nan's "sewing room" (how posh is that?) there are those really classy black and white portrait photos in oval frames of her and my grandad, when they were YOUNG and STRIKINGLY GOOD LOOKING instead of old and wrinkly and stuff.
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posted
I love photos. Since I first went digital, I've always tried to carry a camera at all times, in case I see something I want to capture. Now, I have an archive of obscure and unrelated images on my hard drive (not the porn).
Twenty santas trying to walk against the wind outside Reading Station.
A lone man wearing only a sheet and standing in the mist on midsummer morning as the sun rose over Stonehenge.
A plate of baked beans and Alpha-Bites spelling out a message from beyond: LEAST I DIED.
A row of shoppers leaping to avoid an oncoming suicidal pidgeon.
I really must get in touch with some galleries. I'm sure they'd be clamouring to show L I F E - a photographic review by The Miscellaneous F.
But there is something different about the photos I took as a student. They were shot with my dad's old Olympus SLR which is a vastly different beast to the digital IXUS. Those photos were considered. Art college taught me how to take a decent shot, and I enjoyed messing about with the myriad settings the SLR had to offer. I'm off to Boots to buy some Ilford B&W 400.
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Since going Digital, I have a multitude of photos - the live work is much of a muchness, and I am proud of some of those for the quality, but nothing compares to a photo of a moment.
I have a few - there is the one of my dearest mates Nick, taken with my Minolta 5000 back in 91 - its just a simple shot of him lying on his belly, on the grass in Cambridge one sunny day back in 1991 I think - just a very natural photograph, and its his favourite shot taken of him. Then there are the very few shots of me in Uniform - Like this one - alas I was always behind the camera, so while I have lots of shots of my regiment, I have but a couple of me, and none tooled up.
Family ones unfortunately I have not so many as I do not get home that often, but there is one of my niece when she is about 2, just very natural and unaware of the camera. And the one of me, my brother and ex-brother in law at a wedding is cherished as well.
I really ought to dig these out, scan and preserve them - I'd hate myself if I lost them.
quote:Originally posted by Thorn Davis: I couple of years ago, I was going through some old photos, however, and in a fit of self-flagellation I lined up a batch of photos from age seven through to age 24. It was a bit like watching one of those speeded up films of rotting fruit and gave me a sickening lurch of discomfort and lack of achievement. It's not an experiment I'd recommend anyone undertake, and it's not one I'd like to repeat.
posted
My aunt has a photo of my grandad during the war. He is out of uniform, on a balcony of a restaurant in Singapore, drinking tea and reading a newspaper . He's not even looking at the camera but I feel more connection to him in that captured moment than from any other memory or memento I have of him.
My friend has a picture of her great-grandfather in 1916. He's standing with his co-pilot next to thier Sopwith Camel witha bloody great hole in the engine. They've both got shit eating grins and a look of "Christ on a bike that was close!" in thier eyes. He was shot down in the beginning of November 1918.
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