Adventures with Pinhole Cameras!

Yesterday I decided to make a pinhole camera. Out of a matchbox. I broke a lot of film rolls, and today, after replenishing my film supplies, succeeded in having something resembling a camera.

Today, after researching how to take pictures with my new camera, I set out to make art.

Here are my masterpiece matchbox pinhole camera photos;

I have no idea what this is.

This was supposed to be the cat. Or the car. It's hard to tell because it is overexposed.

This was supposed to be the cat... but she slinked out of the shot. She's wily like that.

That is supposed to be Bently, he's the blurry white blob at the bottom of the shot, relatively dig-shaped.

I call this one, "Over Exposed."

Over exposed 2.

The yard, also over exposed.

That's supposed to be me playing guitar.

I am not sure what was supposed to be happening... but it didn't.

The end.

Until I develop the next roll.



Chocolate Heart Surprise!

I used to look forward to getting a box of chocolates on Valentine's Day, but over the years I have finally come to the conclusion that, they just don't taste good. I don't even think they are made with real chocolate, and they are all filled with some sort of gelatinous goo that tastes like syrup.

But when I was little, I thought of these sugary confections as an adventure for my mouth.

I had not yet learned to discern between good candy and bad candy. If I liked how it tasted, I ate it. But even some of these little nuggets of pink-dyed raspberry flavored treats were a little too gross for me. But I knew, if I ate enough of them... possibly the whole box, I would find maybe one or two that were actually good. But how to find them?

It was like a game of memory... but if you guessed wrong you had to eat a disgusting piece of candy. When I was little I was still of the belief that if I took a bite out of a piece of candy I had to not only eat that bite, but also the whole piece of candy. Even if it was so gross it made me gag. I'm not sure where I came up with this... my mother didn't like me to eat ANY of them, so she would never impose the "If you bite into it, you have to eat it!" rule.

It wasn't until a few years later I discovered that some boxes of candy had maps on the back to tell you what each candies were.

But as a small child I had to pick randomly... or perhaps a piece that was aesthetically pleasing.

Having found one yummy candy I would suddenly be on a gambler's high, and would think, I can find more yummy candies! I would use the process of elimination to locate the next flavor-satisfying piece. I figured if a candy looked like the one I just ate, it would be just like the other one!

Right?

Wrong.

I would eat the disgusting piece of candy and move onto the next.

I discovered after a few years, if you turn the piece of candy upside down, sometimes they have burst open a little and you can see the inner goo seeping out, and guess what flavor they are.

Orange... o.k.... next....

White? Well, that could either be vanilla or coconut. Is it worth it? Hmm... yes.

Ew! No! Not worth it. Chew! Chew! Chew! Swallow. Bleh. So gross.

I soon had a method of squishing them a little to squeeze out the goo. If it was a color like pink or orange it was normally disgusting.

Caramel was also disgusting.

The only ones that weren't always disgusting were sometimes the chocolate ones. Sometimes.

If it was brown on the inside, it was usually a good sign.

Unless...

Now that I am an adult, I handle the Heart Box full of gross chocolate like a grown up. If I take a bite and it tastes like mutant orange goo, I spit it out.

The end result is my Valentine's Day Candy Heart Box looks like this:

Rejected.

If I'm gonna eat something that could effect the shape of my ass, it better be worth it.

The End.

Blind Date

Tonight a friend of mine recalled the evenings events on her blind date. It didn't take very long for the magic of anticipation of a first date to evaporate... as soon as he announced he was a conservative republican. This is my cartoon re-telling of her blind date adventure!

I HEART Valentine's Day (Previously published in The Noise Feb 2011)

I HEART Valentine’s Day!

I love Valentine’s Day.  I absofrickingtutely love Valentine’s Day.

If you strip it down to the bare-bones of Valentine’s Day, what’s not to love?

Valentine’s Day makes me think of lace doilies, candy hearts, roses, and ribbons, shades of red, pink, burgundy, white and cream.  If I could grow up to be a Valentine, I would.  Because I can’t imagine a better job than being wrapped up in soft satins and laces with ribbons in my curls.

The first time I ever realized that maybe Valentine’s day wasn’t all it was cracked up to be was one late night Wal-Mart adventure during my Senior year of high school.  Corrie and I were wandering the florescent lit aisles for no good reason other than we were 17 and we lived in Flagstaff.

It was like any other late-night Wal-Mart diversion, until we came to the Valentine’s Day aisle.

All of a sudden something went totally bat-shit in Corrie and she just started running down the aisle screaming, “I hate Valentine’s day!  Ahhhhh!”  Punching the singing gorillas and cuddly stuffed bears and cats holding signs that read, “I love you!”

I was completely shocked.

How could anyone punch a pink plush pony that was telling you, “Be my Valentine.”

“Valentine’s Day is stupid,” she said and we continued on as we were before, only suddenly my little world had been turned upside-down.

Was Valentine’s Day stupid?

Early back as I could remember Valentine’s Day was freaking awesome.  Instead of crunching my five-year-old face over addition, I was making heart-shaped mailboxes and Valentine’s Day projects for my mom instead of trying to write on dotted lines.  

On the splendid day itself everyone would come to class with a bag full of valentines, some carefully homemade, some store bought (lame).  By the end of the morning our little heart-shaped construction paper mailboxes would be full to over-flowing with pastel colored treats, chocolate kisses and paper creations.  It was even more awesome when Hershey’s came out with “hugs.”

I remember making sure not to give any of the boys anything too romantic.

“Happy Valentines’ day, you like bugs, so I guess you’re o.k.”

I even would have special Valentine’s Day outfits planned out.  I even made my hair red for the first time in honor of Valentine’s Day.

Valentine’s Day only revealed itself to be lame post-high school.  Suddenly, the only person who gave me a paper heart was my mom.

I first realized this after bringing home-made lace and paper valentines to all my friends at the Applesauce Teahouse.

“Uh…thanks Clair.  I didn’t get you anything…”

Thus starts the cycle of crappy Valentine’s Days.

However, I didn’t realize how much better being single is on Valentine’s Day is than having a boyfriend on Valentine’s day until I was in my early 20’s and somehow the planets aligned and I was dating someone in winter for the first time ever.

“I got you a Valentine!  Happy Valentine’s day!”  I said, presenting a paper heart thing.

“Oh, it’s Valentine’s day?”  boring boyfriend says.

“Yeah!”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

At first I thought he was playing a trick on me, and looked around the apartment hoping to catch a glimpse of a box of chocolates… 

 I saw something shiny on top of the refrigerator and got really excited until I realized it was a half-eaten bag of chips.

I realized then he was serious.  He didn’t get me a valentine.

He didn’t like me at all.

All those years of thinking Valentine ’s Day would be awesome if you had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day and I was….wrong?

I was fooled into thinking Valentine’s Day would always be paper hearts and roses, I just forgot that if I let expectations get blown to the same extreme proportions as I do on my birthday I might find myself disappointed.

After all, all I want for Valentine’s Day is a paper heart.  And everyone knows I’m the Queen of gluing stuff to stuff.  I can make my own doily and paper heart.

I found the secret of Valentine’s Day contentment, “Be your Own Valentine.”

A little romance is a bonus.

(Update: It would be unlawful not to mention that since that last Valentine’s Day in the story, all the other Valentine’s Day are back to my standard of excellence.)