My brother-in-law (one of five brothers-in-law—I hope I'm not leaving anyone out) has an iPhone. I do not have an iPhone. I should never have an iPhone. In my less sane moments I think an iPhone will complete me, shore up my worth. Give me the appearance of possessing a dazzling life when I whip it out in front of my peers. Yadda yadda. The truth is that I will never finish the novel (yes I'm still plugging away) if I had such a sleek gadget. It would do me in.
Enter the Hipstamatic, a cheap app (no I'm not receiving a commission) that turns an ordinary photo into a work of art.
Below, if you will. Rewind to Thanksgiving. Fun with a borrowed iPhone. Pics by me and Chuck. The light. The color. The framing options. I drooled. And it wasn't just over the giant bird.
My niece (one of ten, above) just became a bat mitzvah. Mazel tov darling!Another niece below. She's teaching me how to hang onto my last hours of youthful cool before I slide into middle-aged dorkitude, one downloaded song at a time. Um, Black Keys anyone? Santigold? Thank you oh guru of groove. I had NO idea.
I thought this one looked positively painterly. Coffee table. Rug. Wooden nail game my mom stole from some southwestern tavern. (At least that's the story I made up.)
Still life with Sally. These days Sally is my ticket to cooperation. I confiscate her daily in order to get Stella to move her ass. Incidentally, Sally won the runway competition. Nice tulle!
I have to admit, I love my husband's hands. Rough and veiny. You'd think he was a woodsman. And he can play, too.
I am obsessed. Can't. Stop. Snapping. Pictures. (Note the paparazzo.)
My son. I have a whole post tearing at my brain about our recent battles but it will have to wait. Anyway it's too early to tell if my latest parenting strategy will bear consistently sweet fruit. In the meantime I remain hopeful.
Twinkly holiday love comin' atcha,