On Thursday afternoon a friend posted an old photo from college to his Facebook page. The scads of comments that unspooled fast and furious for well over an hour were bananas! And more a tangential memory jog than at all relating to the actual photo. It became a miniature online reunion. Swept up in this little nostalgia fest, more folks seemed to dig out their old shots and put them up. Meaning most had to scan them in (or had already scanned them at some point). For you see, back when we were in college, pay attention now kids, all our cameras required film. Then that film had to be taken to be developed. We might as well have been drawing our likenesses on a cave wall with the burnt end of a stick. It seems that primitive now.
One of our favorite games was to go on little photo jaunts, staging impromptu shoots around town late at night. Often with wardrobe changes! Once, we invaded the Orlando International Airport around midnight, and took pictures on the baggage carousel, the people mover-y sidewalks, and on and around the godawful “public art” that littered the place. It seems inconceivable now. We’d be hauled into some windowless, cramped, florescent-lit Homeland Security office the moment we traipsed through the doors with our weird outfits and conspicuous behavior. Hello, cavity search.
Now whenever you go out, everyone acts like the lay paparazzi of their own lives, with their digital cameras and cell phones: incessantly snapping pictures at every bar, club or birthday party. Every moment captured and subsequently blogged or Tumblred or Flickred, or yes, Facebooked. Though this isn’t a screed against the ease and proliferation of images in this digital age. I mean, we had our own instant gratification, it was called Polaroid. So. I suppose it’s an appreciation that these images endure, in whatever form, and can act as such a powerful catalyst to reminiscence.
Above is one of my favorite shots, taken outside a 7-11 (mmm, Slurpees!) on one of our photo outings in downtown Orlando.