Back in the day, getting your pictures printed was a bit of a hassle. First, you took pictures on something called “film.” I’ll pause while the young’ns Google the word film. …
To make prints, someone had to sneak away in a dark corner and spend an hour or so winding the film onto reels, putting it into canisters, soaking it in chemicals, cleaning the film and finally making prints, which involved another set of chemicals. To say the least, it was a long process.
Fast forward to today. There’s no film. Rather, there’s a little card you slip from your camera into a machine that does all that work in a matter of minutes. These days, you can even send your images off into cyberspace and the prints soon magically appear in the mailbox.
So, with all that said, can someone explain to me why I am so far behind on getting my pictures printed?
I have an embarrassing number of photos I haven’t gotten around to having printed — some of them older than I’d care to admit.
I love to take pictures, as evidenced by my overloaded SD card. Every time the card gets full, I have to copy files to my computer so I can take more pictures. (Read I’m too cheap to buy another card.)
Well, that eventually turned into a full hard drive. To fix that problem, I had to burn a mountain of files onto a DVD. Yes, a DVD. A CD was too small.
My plan for the DVD was to get prints made over time so it didn’t cost me a small fortune all at once. That was about six months ago. Do you know how many pictures I have printed since then? Zero. Nadda. Zilch.
Had I actually printed the photos, my next step was to catch up my nieces’ photo albums. I have an album for each of my two nieces in which I keep pictures in chronological order so I can look back and see how they’ve changed over the years. My youngest niece is 5 and there aren’t any pictures of her walking. Yes, I am that far behind.
By now you’re probably thinking I am a giant procrastinator, but I’m really not. In fact, I’ve got a slight planning addiction. I like to think about and do everything as far in advance as possible. Most people hate that about me. Besides doing my taxes (I loathe doing my taxes), the only thing I procrastinate on is getting prints made.
So, on the flight home from the West Coast last week, I was flipping through the new photos on my camera. Then, I flipped through the many old photos on the disk.
I was thinking to myself I should really resolve to catch up on my prints. These pictures, like many others on that lonely DVD I made, remind me of great times I’ve had. But then I thought, didn’t I just have this conversation six months ago?
Let’s be real here. The Golden Gate Bridge will have many new coats of paint before my picture of it sees the light of day.
interim [friday] editor/has a printing problem
[friday]
Related Photos
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Misty Knisely, interim [friday] editor
Discussion
A Kodak moment this is not
- [friday]
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A day in the life
My love for words was written into a hobby at an early age. I wrote stories about the nature I witnessed from my window, experiences I shared with my Pap and anything that came to mind. From age 9, most of my moments were stories my mind hadn’t written yet. For me, writing was the tool that enriched my experiences. If I went to the children’s museum and saw something that struck me, I’d write about it.
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Facebooks threads into more than I expected
“Lindsay, what’s on your mind?”
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Kokomo Speedway
After 18 interviews, copious note-taking, endless discussions and picture browsing for a story about something bigger than its parts — i.e. Kokomo Speedway — is nearly finished. To be honest, I’d never been to Kokomo Speedway until last year. I grew up watching the Indy 500 and picking a name from a hat, but my racing knowledge ended there. But, when you fall in love with someone who fell in love with Kokomo Speedway — most likely when he was still in the womb as his mom watched his dad race — your knowledge increases, exponentially.
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Earth Day: Experience it every day
“No litterers allowed,” stated the sign I drew up with peace signs and flowers with extra power that adorned my bedroom door as a kid. Growing up, I was a litter patrol lady. Toss a banana out the window? You were going to face the wrath of a 6-year-old. Leave a soda can at the park? Oh my, a mistake you don’t want to make. My cousins would purposely provoke such opportunities for nothing more than to get the entertaining spiel of keeping the Earth safe from a 6-year-old. I encouraged institutionalizing recycling in our household and double-checked trash cans to make sure recycling objects didn’t make their way into the wrong places.
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The Waving Girl
She was born on land, but her soul was given life from her love of the sea and the lives it carried. Her journey started simply and ended sentimentally. During the in-between, she was the symbol of home to the hearts of maritime travelers: At night, she was the illumination of guidance. At morn, she was the breeze the sea gently exhaled. For 44 years, she was ingrained with the Savannah River’s sand — just as she was ingrained in the minds who witnessed her waving handkerchief interrupt a sun ray’s storyline. S
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Never too late for April Fool’s Day
This will be my last column for the [friday] section, as Kokomantis has been promoted from corner-side spectator to Lifestyle Editor ... Just kidding, late April Fool’s Day joke! I look forward to writing my column every week just like I look forward to my favorite “holiday” every year. For 364 days, I plan pranks of all varieties for my beloved day that’s dedicated to flipping my family and friends out.
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The Egg Battle of 1990
Easter may be a time of sugary sweet Peeps and darting for hard-boiled eggs dressed in their Easter Sunday best. For me, it’s been about that and getting back to my roots. Growing up, my family and I nestled into my Pap’s motor home and headed for the mountains of West Virginia – our annual Easter Sunday home for my entire childhood.
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Bracket Madness
As a Hoosier, it’s hard to believe Wednesday night marked my first bracket-building experience. Despite my love for sports, I never got into brackets. I’m a one-team-at-a-time gal so in the fall it’s the Colts; in the winter it’s the Hoosiers; and in the spring and summer I go to baseball games for the people watching and soft pretzels. So, I never learned the pros and cons of other teams and what makes them worthy of winning in a bracket.
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Reality is only as deep as our passions
When I was in seventh grade the “Real World” was a reality show I was forbidden to watch. The behaviors flaunted were borderline unfit for TV, let alone a 12-year-old’s eyes. However, that’s what older cousins were for, I suppose, because my remote somehow found its way to MTV a time or two and lessons in how to not live your life ensued. But, today Howard County 7th graders are getting a multifaceted look into life in the “Real World” — and not the kind that encompasses Jell-O wrestling and TV-censored bleeps interrupting 80 percent of a sentence.
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You belong among the wildflowers
It’s the kind of lyrics that wreck your heart and warm your heart all at the same time. The melody happily whistles well wishes while the fingertips of yearning for yesteryear slip over each note. It’s the kind of song that sounds like the simplicity of childhood and feels like the rare chance of finding and living a childhood-type happiness — even if the years between now and the date on your birth certificate say you’re an adult.
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