|A little help here. Please?|
Since I was too lazy to actually plug the USB cable AND the power cord up to the scanner, this is a pic of the original pic that I snapped with my phone. I know a mere camera phone pic often mutes the subject, but this is a pic that insists on being heard. Loud and clear. This is the "Nobody puts baby in the corner!" picture of all pictures. This pic is maximum base and all frequencies (not sure what that means--it's in a Great Big Sea song and sounded appropriate). If this pic was an email, IT WOULD BE ALL CAPS!!!!
I'm not going to address how skinny my dad is or how dark his hair is. I'm not going to address the fact that my mother looks the same now (why did I have to get my dad's gray hair and mustache genetics??). I'm not going to address the forlorn look of helplessness on my face. I think what jumps out and bites us all on the butt is the utter hideosity of the 70's patterns, SCREAMING for our complete and undivided attention, SCREAMING so loud that I'm impelled to invent words like hideosity to describe it all. Maybe it was the acid the hippies dropped that influenced the patterns which came out of that decade. I don't know. I was a blissful toddler whose cones and rods in my eyes hadn't fully formed and thus, I knew no better.
Looking at this now, my poor eyes are on ocular overload. I need my Ralph Lauren sunglasses to look at this. The drapes, the stripes on my dad's shirt and my mom's plaid are all yelling in a visual cacophony. All those patterns, screaming--caterwauling actually--for ocular attention.
Go ahead and laugh. At them, not me (I had better fashion sense, even at the age of 1). I am going to take an Excedrin migraine and let my eyes rest.