Why Digital Cameras Suck, and thus Rewrite History
By Shannon O’Neill
This is exodus week at my dorm. All the Americans are returning home—except for those of us who choose to hang on to the bitter end—and so good-byes ala summer camp are inevitable. Anyway, so last night one friend decides to go through all of her digital photos from the year. Daryl and I were intrigued—as all people are hoping to see themselves at some point—for the first 40 photos, until, we discovered, we weren’t in a damn single one! Granted, I didn’t hang out with the same group of people everyone else seemed to, but at half the events photographed, not only were we there but someone took our picture! I know, because with the advanced excitement of digital cameras I was shown the image immediately after. And some of them were nice photos! But, some higher-power decided otherwise. Granted, it was probably the higher power’s camera, but why placate me with taking a photo that will later be erased? Now, a lot of them were just me and Daryl, but there were quite a few of me with other people—and not a single one was “Saved” to the file. Not only am I slightly offended, but I think digital cameras are mean. So, you get like 3000 photos, and then you can decide which you want. Brilliant. At least with normal photography, your image is burned onto the film for better or for worse. Sure, you may never see the photo again, but you know it exists somewhere and since most people don’t go around trashing their photos, they are usually kept in some stuffed drawer somewhere.
Not only did I have to sit through 150 photos of the same group of people in various drunken postures—but I looked on with the knowledge that I had been erased from the “group memory.” Okay, so there was one photo where I’m in the corner of the frame. Maybe that’s simply an apt visual of my entire year. I suppose it’s better that I don’t have record of the thousands of dollars I spent at the bars/pubs/clubs this year. Now I understand the whole “steal your soul” fear of photography. Except mine was stolen and returned a bit sullied and rejected. This is why I hated high school. Viva adulthood! Viva Polaroids!
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