Random neuron firing, lame philosophy, literary pontificating, movies, sex, clothes & other femme stuff

Friday, November 21, 2003

The ontology of digital photography

Leigh & I went out to dinner last night at the Watertown Not Your Average Joes (nice title for a poem, if "Watertown" were a verb), our default refuge from dinner at home. She'd given a presentation in her poetry class on Larkin's "Whitsun Weddings,": the usual antecedent sturm, drang, panic attacks, and French-Connection-car-chase reenactment culminating in glittering success. To celebrate we each had two martinis (Bombay Sapphire, up, she olives, I twist), half a bottle of Shiraz, and a Bailey's, and then went on a make-up run at the 24-hour CVS. At home we uncorked a magnum of Chardonnay, pitchforked some tacky lingerie onto each other, troweled the new make-up on, and took literally 600 pix (yay digital cams) of ourselves sloppily posing, making out, & generally being drunkenly over-in-love.

I awoke very under Leigh on the living room couch at 9:30 AM. We went to bed and slept until about two in the afternoon.

Leigh has a headache. I'm a little woozy.

Never will the pictures be displayed on any CRT anywhere, much less printed. Can the images be even said to exist?
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