Optimism

If I hadn't heard of Despair, Inc. I wouldn't have thought of this. I love that site, although I don't think I'll link to it because of at least one rather inappropriate picture. Anyway, in honor of the fact that my Great Books class just ended, I created this:

The Demise Of A Multigrain Cracker

Being a photojournalist is great. I love shooting things. Some photographers get to take pictures of British subway stations, Brazilian jungles, and gleeful Chicagoans ecstatic over election results. 

I get to take pictures of crackers.

 Yes, that's right- not the most glamorous subject, but hey, they are multigrain. People simply do not know how sensationally dramatic cracker-photojournalism is.

And so I present to you, a story in photographs I appropriately call the "Demise of A Multigrain Cracker."

                                                             *******


"Yep, with Mom, Gabe, and Susanna gone to watch Despereaux, and big sister pointing her funny black box at me-life is good with my best pal and a cracker." (I could just shake that dog for not looking up at the right time....arrrrg.)

                              He carefully places his cracker on the floor.


                                  But then fear enters his eyes...

"Naw," he says confidently, "Lucy wouldn't steal my cracker..."



                                           "Or would she?"


Why yes, Jerome, there is a good possibility that might happen. I have seen that sort of thievery before.


                     "Don't worry, I'll just eat it all before she can nab it."


The only problem is, he doesn't eat it all. Instead, he sets the remains back down on the floor.


                                  A cracker's eye view of impending death.



As the photographer, this pictures seriously creeps me out. Why? Because for once in my life, I am empathizing with a cracker. If you were a cracker, wouldn't you be scared looking at this, this- beast?


"I am watching you, cracker. Sincerely, the Sphinx." 

Sinister thoughts, Lucy, very sinister thoughts.

Don't you wish your brothers were this polite at the table?

First he carefully wipes his mouth. Note that the napkin is STILL folded up. Not in a ball, not in knot, not in anything but a perfect rectangle!


Then he adjusts the table cloth- so that it's perfect. Well, almost.

"May I serenade you with my harmonica while you eat your soup? (Hey! Where is it anyway?"

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a.... spoon?


"Madam, I am offended you think I am blowing my nose. Every eighteen-month-old knows how to wipe his mouth properly!"

Despite his almost impeccable performance at the table, he seems to be making an airplane out of his napkin now.