Photo of the Day: Shadow Selfie

~photo by iTouch

Photo of the Day: Waiting for the Train

I call this: Waiting for the Train, and BOY do I need a pedicure, why is this train late again?

Yes, it's a long title.

~photo by iTouch

Next Stop: 42nd Street

 Happy Year of the Horse!

Amber, UWS, NYC

 Wait. What's that? Stop being an ass?

Right.

So.

 I guess it's time to get on the right track*.

 That's right.

The weather here is about -42 with the wind chill, 

and my arctic glare about asking me my age.

Whatever.

I'm coming to terms with it. 

I've been practicing saying it for a while.

Or have I?

Even the subway signs seem to be speaking to me.

* The number of roads a man must walk down, before ... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTUG9CehwhY)

OR

• 42, the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything, from Douglas Adams' series The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy;
• "42" (song), a song from Coldplay's album Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends
•  Jackie Robinson's number, retired by all Major League Baseball teams

iTouch photos all
various NY and NYC transit

Dreaming Out Loud - Camera Shy

Image from here

I used to think the whole concept of The Secret and vision boards was a bunch of new-agey hippy hooey.

I don't know if it's a WASP thing, or a family thing, or a generational thing, or even a "chick" thing, but the whole concept of
a) not appreciating what I already had/have, or
b) asking for anything, or
c) putting into words and/or putting "out there" the fears/desires/what-have-you, or
d) some combination of the above
is kind of a strange thing for me. I mean, other people have absolutely NO problem stepping out, stepping up, and practically SCREAMING to the world what they want, or think they are entitled to receive. Not me. I have to practically have a breakdown before I even admit I need help at work, for goodness sake.  (Um, please bosses? I need staff ... Please and thank you.)

Maybe it's an introvert thing?

Buckets at NRS HQ

I don't know. What I do know, however, is that I'm slowly, very very slowly, beginning to feel comfortable expressing a desire for some of the "extra," non-essential, seemingly silly things that I would like to come into my life. Instead of a "bucket" list - I've decided to Dream Out Loud. 

I know this is working. Case in point ... my need for the seashore. Voila. Day trip to the beach earlier this year, with some of the nicest friends, conditions, and lighting imaginable.

Also, months ago, in a draft of a document that is the ongoing draft of these posts, I entered a couple of notes about travel ... and out of the blue, things are starting to percolate.  But, really, NO ONE knew about things on that list - and suddenly I'm getting text messages that start with:

Do you have a current passport?

More on that later. But, given that, it's hard not to believe in this concept of Dreaming Out Loud.


So THIS post is about one of my biggest issues. Being "camera-shy" - cause *that's* what we'll call it - though it's not really about the camera.

These innocuous things ...

I have an almost pathological fear of being in front of them. Stemming from tweenhood. Body issues. Body dysmorphia. Yada yada yada. Whatever ... I know. But it's bad. Really, really bad.

On a tour of NRS HQ with J in January, we walked into the catalog shoot room. Just seeing these:

started a round of nausea, inappropriate joking, and kicked my fight or flight instinct into high gear.

Don't even get me started on Skype sessions with my family.

I loathe and despise having my picture taken, being on camera, being on film, or digitally captured. I'm trying to be better about it, because there does need to be a record that I was around. Thus the inclusion, over the last few years, of actual pictures of me on this blog and monthly sessions on Skype and FaceTime.

But ...

But ...

J & Christina's "wall"

But if we are being honest: here's the real reason for this month's dream. At my parents' house, there is the "wall." You know the wall. Most families have them like this. The one with the family portraits. The engagement shots. The wedding pictures. The school photos. The family pictures from milestones like reunions, christenings, etc.

Yeah, that wall.

I'm in a few shots of things from over the years. I had to be.

But the only portrait of me is from my college graduation. Almost 20 years ago.

Don't get me wrong. It is, and was, surprisingly, a semi-decent shot. Especially for a yearbook photo that I took with my teeth gritted behind a Mona Lisa smile.

But it's 20 years old.

Aside from my drivers license and passport photos, that's the only portrait of me that exists.

That probably should be rectified. I'm not that girl anymore. (And it wouldn't be helpful in emergency situations.)

But, you remember my little phobia of photos featuring me?

I'm trying not to pass on my issues to the next generation. The kids are not self-conscious; they are adorable and telegenic. They are also growing up with cameras pointed at them almost 24/7.

Me? I see a camera and freeze. And then unfreeze and get totally awkward. Given our society these days, I'm awkward all.the.time ... EVERYWHERE.

So my entry for this entry of Dreaming Out Loud is for help on this issue.

I need to learn how to pose for pictures: full, shoulders up, and head shots. I need to learn how not to freeze, or run away, or worry about how my chin looks. I need to learn which is my better side, how to smile so my chubby cheeks don't make my eyes disappear, or whether to grin, or smile, or what. I also need help with hair and makeup, how to accentuate what is good, bring out the hazel in my eyes and that weird grey ring, and to camouflage what's not so telegenic. How to stand so I look leaner - but please, not with that arm akimbo, leg out, pageant pose that EVERY one seems to be doing.

All so I can ultimately sit for a formal portrait that looks like me – one where I’m not self conscious, that I’m proud of, that doesn’t make me look weird, that will be “timeless” and that gets a glimpse of the glimmer of the self-confident person that is buried deep down in me somewhere.

Something so the kids remember who I was.

So there’s a photo for “the occasion,” if there’s one ever needed.

So I can go up on the wall at my parents' -- and feel like I belong there as part of my beautiful family.

Retroblogging: Silly Self Portraits III, Age unknown

Posing at the Piano

Self Portrait

Age Unknown, but c. 5th Grade

This is a wistful thinking self portrait, as I didn't ever really wear nail polish -- actually, I rarely do even now. Having to keep your nails short for the piano seemed to defeat the purpose of wearing polish. I felt it made my fingers look stumpy, so what was the point?

Retroblogging: Silly Self Portraits II, Age unknown

Swinging in Stripes

Self Portrait
Age Unknown, maybe 3-5?

This is notable for a couple of reasons.

Look at how dark my hair is. *Sniff* I miss not being grey.

This was a self portrait of a person pre-body issues. So I had a little belly (you just do at that age), but look at how thin the rest of me is. By the time I was taking dance lessons, at ages 6-8, I already had distorted perceptions about my appearance and would surely have drawn this differently. (But more on that when I can include the actual photographs and you can judge.)

Finally, is it me, or is there a Tim Burton vibe to this portrait?

Retroblogging: Silly Self Portraits, Age unknown

Sitting in the Rain

Self Portrait
Age Unknown, 5-7?

I've finally started tackling another bucket full of papers, drawings, and documents that my mother had saved from my childhood. While I've purged about two-thirds of it, there are many priceless gems that will be making their way here, including new letters from the Grandmas, self portraits like these, and lots more retroblogging.

There are also some "interesting" discoveries, like more dance class pictures (omh, me in tap shoes at 6 and a tiny tutu!), me trussed up like a goose in 6th grade by the ambulance guys, my mother's maternal ramblings about me when I was only weeks old, and .... um.... "locks" of my hair, like 34-35 year-old 6-8 inch hanks of my hair.

Thanks Mom for saving so much of my childhood, but the hair? Really?

Um... what do I do with it now?

(After much thought and discussion, I will bury it another pile of my crap for another 34 years or so. Procrastinate much? Who me?)