Photo op

We have been talking about the way Photographer Rick finds beauty in the most unlikely places while my perspective tends to be all dark and accurate.

But perhaps that is not fair to Photographer Rick, even if he once thought it was a good idea to break up a perfectly nice poolside cocktail evening to pile everyone into the minivan and drive to the middle of the Everglades in July to view some sort of once-in-a-lifetime celestial event.

As it turned out - and I don't like to say I told you so - the celestial event could barely be seen through the haze of bird-sized mosquitoes that very nearly carried our children off.

My point is, who is to say that our view of things is any more realistic? After all, there is photographic evidence of beautiful things frozen into the dirty ice in my backyard, just waiting for someone with the vision to notice, though I do not believe it is a complete coincidence that the someone turned out to be a resident of Fort Lauderdale, whose appreciation of ice does not require him to live in it.

Still, it is the start of a fresh new year, and it is tempting to resolve to do things like make an effort to find the beauty in things instead of being so bleeping cynical, blah,blah, blah.

That doesn't mean we are going to be taken for saps. When I opened the card from my friend Suburban Daddy and saw the photograph of his beautiful little girl asleep in the chair, her little hands under her cheek and her face illuminated by the soft glow of the Christmas tree in the background, it was so beautiful I wanted to buy her a pony. But I didn't believe it.

"Throwdown baby," I said, dropping the picture between Mr. Kamikaze and the Executive Suburbanite. "Definitely," said Executive. "No question," said Mr. Kamikaze. Even Photographer Rick was skeptical.

Like a teddy bear in the photo of a house that has just been destroyed by a tornado. Too perfect.

In the newsroom, such photographers are suspected of keeping a supply of teddies and baby shoes in the trunks of their cars. The throw down.

Suburban Daddy, however, says the photo's poignancy is authentic, its subject unposed. His wife, who repeatedly warned him "Do NOT Wake Her Up" will back him up on this, he says. We do not yet have her affidavit, but okay.

Follow a child around with a camera long enough and you will capture a moment like that, Suburban Daddy says.

Or something.

I am calling this photo"Thirteen."

Because my alternate title, "Uncooperative kid with a ball he probably destroyed deliberately to make into a hat for no good reason other than a moment's amusement, or perhaps merely to aggravate his mother, who probably paid too much for it, under duress, using a credit card, where it is no doubt still generating fees and interest" is too long cynical.

Comments

[BOSSY]

Editor's note: Alternate title lacks brevity.

[Paulita]

Do the photographer have time to take a photo of the best 46-year-old ass in Chicago? I see no evidence that he found beauty in that! Give us some proof, sister

[Paulita]

Okay, I meant did the photographer... rather than do the photographer, which is a totally different subject and part of most reporters' sordid pasts.

[Suburban Kamikaze]

I wonder what they do now that there are no darkrooms?

SK

[Executive Suburbanite]

I could tell you what they do now with no darkrooms, but, well, I do have a reputation to protect.

[Suburban Kamikaze]

You forgot to put the quotation marks around "reputation."

Everyone needs an editor.

SK