Thursday . June 05 . 2003 . 7:12pm photographic evidence I'm just about done reading Fast Food Nation, which is kind of a hybrid Jean Kilbourne-Upton Sinclair exposé on the inner workings of the fast food industry. It's kind of sickening to read about the exploitation of the workforce and the general nastiness inherent to the meatpacking industry. But curiously, I had no trouble cooking up the sausage for my pasta sauce yesterday, nor did I choke on my steak the night before. Sometimes I wonder about the ability of medical students to disconnect certain grim realities from what we do in everyday life. Oh yeah, I'm not a medical student anymore. I keep forgetting that. I find that I'm in this curious limbo nowadays when people ask me what I do. I'm no longer a student, but it's a total lie to say that I'm a doctor, because, you know, I haven't done anything yet. So usually I just say something like, "I'm starting my internship later this month" and wait for people to ask what high powered Wall Street firm I'm interning for. * * * They're jack-hammering across the street from our apartment. How can the sound be so loud even though they're working 19 stories below? What are you tearing up down there? * * * So we got back our wedding photos. Our photographer's assistant called us a few days ago and gave us a meeting place and time. I showed up as instructed, and this woman I'd never met before dressed all in black came up to me and handed me a big black box. It was all very Spy vs. Spy. At first I wasn't sure how she knew that I was me (if you know what I mean) but then I remembered that she had just sorted through a big box full of photos with my big face on them, so I guess she figured it out. The wedding photos are...hmm. Some are good. Some are not so good. This is to be expected. But I think our main complaint is that they're all pictures of us. Imagine this, people. Twenty rolls of film. And of those, probably only fifteen shots are of people who were not in the wedding party. And of the remainder, probably 90% were just pictures of me and/or Joe. Which might seem to make sense, because, you know, we're the ones who got married, but...we already know what we looked like. And after the honeymoon, we have hundreds and hundreds (and HUNDREDS) of photos of just us. We wanted photos of the other people at the wedding! We wanted pictures of the guests! We are sick and tired of looking at our own damn faces. Basically, we want photographic evidence that we have friends. Luckily, we left some disposable cameras at each table for goofy table shots, so we still have those. But as you can imagine, those are not exactly of the highest quality. But they're all we've got now, unless we somehow build a time machine built out of a DeLorean, harness one-point-twenty-one gigawatts of power, and return to April 27th to tell the photographer to shoot pictures of the PEOPLE at the wedding, dammit, the PEOPLE. We're both a little bit annoyed by how the whole photography experience turned out, but maybe when we're old, we'll be glad to have twelve million photos of us looking at each other. xo Michelle |
the underwear drawer. every day of the week. |
monday |
tuesday |
wednesday |
thursday |
friday |
saturday |
sunday |
Thursday . June 05 . 2003 . 7:12pm photographic evidence I'm just about done reading Fast Food Nation, which is kind of a hybrid Jean Kilbourne-Upton Sinclair exposé on the inner workings of the fast food industry. It's kind of sickening to read about the exploitation of the workforce and the general nastiness inherent to the meatpacking industry. But curiously, I had no trouble cooking up the sausage for my pasta sauce yesterday, nor did I choke on my steak the night before. Sometimes I wonder about the ability of medical students to disconnect certain grim realities from what we do in everyday life. Oh yeah, I'm not a medical student anymore. I keep forgetting that. I find that I'm in this curious limbo nowadays when people ask me what I do. I'm no longer a student, but it's a total lie to say that I'm a doctor, because, you know, I haven't done anything yet. So usually I just say something like, "I'm starting my internship later this month" and wait for people to ask what high powered Wall Street firm I'm interning for. * * * They're jack-hammering across the street from our apartment. How can the sound be so loud even though they're working 19 stories below? What are you tearing up down there? * * * So we got back our wedding photos. Our photographer's assistant called us a few days ago and gave us a meeting place and time. I showed up as instructed, and this woman I'd never met before dressed all in black came up to me and handed me a big black box. It was all very Spy vs. Spy. At first I wasn't sure how she knew that I was me (if you know what I mean) but then I remembered that she had just sorted through a big box full of photos with my big face on them, so I guess she figured it out. The wedding photos are...hmm. Some are good. Some are not so good. This is to be expected. But I think our main complaint is that they're all pictures of us. Imagine this, people. Twenty rolls of film. And of those, probably only fifteen shots are of people who were not in the wedding party. And of the remainder, probably 90% were just pictures of me and/or Joe. Which might seem to make sense, because, you know, we're the ones who got married, but...we already know what we looked like. And after the honeymoon, we have hundreds and hundreds (and HUNDREDS) of photos of just us. We wanted photos of the other people at the wedding! We wanted pictures of the guests! We are sick and tired of looking at our own damn faces. Basically, we want photographic evidence that we have friends. Luckily, we left some disposable cameras at each table for goofy table shots, so we still have those. But as you can imagine, those are not exactly of the highest quality. But they're all we've got now, unless we somehow build a time machine built out of a DeLorean, harness one-point-twenty-one gigawatts of power, and return to April 27th to tell the photographer to shoot pictures of the PEOPLE at the wedding, dammit, the PEOPLE. We're both a little bit annoyed by how the whole photography experience turned out, but maybe when we're old, we'll be glad to have twelve million photos of us looking at each other. xo Michelle |
archives |
about me |
miscellaneous |
