Click. No More.

UPDATE: Sling, owner of a fancy new camera [impatiently brushes tear away], has reminded me that Friday was, in fact, Friday the 13th. Not normally one to go in for superstitions, I am rethinking that shit now.

I'm really sad and upset today. (Warning: Downer Blog Post to follow.)

Yesterday my camera got broken.

I am just sick about it.

I loved my camera. I bought it two years ago, right before going to NCORE (National Conference on Race & Ethnicity) in Manhattan for work, my once-in-a-lifetime trip to New York. I was so excited! I'd been wanting a camera for ages, but there was always something more important in the budget. I researched for months. (I am my father's daughter; I never make a major purchase without research overkill.)

I dickered between photographic control (as opposed to auto-everything), or compact size. With my schedule, and the fact that I do not earn a living shooting pics, I decided size was important (hello!) and tried to get the best quality, tiny digital available at the time.

Anyway, I learned more about cameras and specs than I ever wanted to know -- white balance, ISO settings, apertures, barrel distortion, you name it. I spent hours on dpreview.com. Okay, okay, there is a point here -- it's just that I put so much into choosing this camera. I don't buy things for myself all that often. Especially big ticket items. Anyway.


I chose the Canon SD500. At the time, it was the shit among ultra compacts. 7.1 megapixels. Faster than Clint Eastwood in a shootout. Sharp images. Cost me about $450, if I remember right.

Yeah.

I loved that camera. It went everywhere with me, fit right in my purse. And my purse is small. Being an ultra compact, it didn't offer a whole lot of photographic control, but I learned everything about that camera, and could work the hell out of its features. It took fantastic pics. Two people I know actually bought this camera for themselves after seeing my pics, and asking about it. My camera rocked. I appreciated the hell out of it.

This is my camera today. (courtesy of my son's camera. -sigh-)

That is not an artistic image on the back, it is my LCD screen.

Cracked.

Broken.

It happened at the annual bellyflop/cannonball contest at our local pool. (No, I was not a participant. Nothing so exciting as that to this tale.) The eldest daughter doesn't often get her athletics on, but she and the male offspring love this contest. She took 3rd place in the adult cannonball competition this year, btw. Whoot whoot!

Anyway, I wanted to take her glasses to the car before she hit the diving board. Because they are expensive. Because I didn't want them to get stepped on, sitting there with her towel and flip-flops. Because I didn't want them to end up broken.

Now, I always, always, always keep my camera in its little case. Always. Yesterday, though, I idiotically decided that a quick 50 meters to the car didn't warrant all of that. Fool! I put my camera in my pocket and headed for the stairs. Some blondified teenbrat came flying down the stairs at me, because of course, the world revolves around her, so why would she show a modicum of respect for her elders and let an adult pass first?

I moved to the side -- one step -- to let her by.

I stepped into the metal corner of the banister. It didn't hurt. It felt "soft" though.

My camera's LCD screen had taken one for the team, saving me from a nasty bruise.

I was instantly heartbroken. Damn it!!! NO! GodDAMNfuckitallSHITmonsters! Scheisse! Faszféj! Elbasztam! Shit.

It felt like when my Honda CRV got totalled. OK, smaller scale, but both were things that I'd saved for and researched. Things that I loved, that I felt proud of because I'd bought them myself. Things I took care of and appreciated. I didn't WANT a new car. I liked the one I had. I don't want a new camera. I liked this one just fine.

I'm just sick about it. The fact that my financial situation is different than it was two years ago makes this even more of a goddamnfuckitallshitmonsters type of event.

Oh! And what the fuck, people, I venture into Blog Land this morning to peek into others' worlds and forget about my camera, and what are the fucking odds? Three of my cyberfriends, the first three I click on, no less, are posting about what? Cameras. Photos. WTF? Seriously, what the fuck? Your pics were beautiful, by the way; I'm not so fucking pissy so as not to recognize that, although I am feeling hella bitter and jealous and crybaby about it, but seriously what do you expect? I'm just tripping out because come on, what are the odds? Just weird, no?

I'm pretty sure my camera has been reincarnated as Sling's camera. (Sling: he likes it if you give him a pat every now and again, and tell him he did a great job, especially on the sports setting.)

Also, I have a grim task ahead of me. I plan to look at my memory card, to see the last pictures taken, especially the ones taken posthumously. Well, I wanted pics of the belly flop contest, and thought it might still actually take pics, even though I wouldn't be able to see them or get to any menu items with no display screen. I had no idea what the flash or lighting was set to. I used the "viewfinder", which I'd never used before. and am pretty sure I got the flash turned off. Anyway, we'll see if anything registered.

I bet my brave little soldier took some hellacious pictures anyway. A last hurrah. We'll see. I plan to post some of my past photos, in honor of my camera's short life.

I'm going to play a dirge and light a candle now.

I should've tripped that self-absorbed little teenage twit. I hope she drops her cell phone AND her iPod in the toilet. I hate her.