Following the third year of a holiday letter comprised
of my (increasingly complex) life via a (increasingly complex) year-in-photographs, I
wondered what it would be like to join the great experiment of 365 days of photographs.
I'm not a photographer,
I'm a writer. I'm a visual thinker, and if ever there was proof that a photo is worth a
thousand words, it would be the story a photo tells me, or in this case, about me.
Follow me on this adventure, where I
learn about photography, my ability to record my life, my dedication to something (I've
never been known for doing anything everyday) in my posts. I've also discovered I'm
learning about time, the history of it, and the odd practice of recording it, measuring it,
turning it into something tangible, and I'll record these explorations in the sidebar.
As always, feel free
to say anything. My experiment is not a spectator sport.

June 9, 2009

June 09 2009 Confine for the Sea's Worth

Morning comes at the end of the school year. Bound printed matter becomes no matter, for that which our taxes have paid has arrived in a sad state of perceived obsolescence. The school district must buy new books, the children must always have new books. Though, there is nothing really wrong with the old books that a bit of duct tape can't fix. Algebra One does not become different in the five years since the texts were purchased. History does not change, only the perception of it, which cannot be influenced by a new text but instead by the teacher. Geography, yes. Change geography books: the politics and social constructs that make geography the interesting bit it is--this changes. But the books you buy today will be obsolete next fall anyway.

I woke and went empty-handed, with only a cup of coffee to babysit my growing pile of boxes of books from the school district's annual give-away. Textbooks, teaching resources, and discards from the libraries from around the valley sit musty in boxes rejected from their post on classroom shelves. In the library book section, I come across this book (I am looking mostly for workbooks and teaching tools today) and I must share my smart-ass remark. I look left, right, no one is around to hear me. So I send a photo via text-message with my quip: We should send this to Washington.

Sometime this afternoon I nearly panicked in my failure to have taken a morning photo. Then I remembered my smart-assery via cell-photo. It will do. Yes. It will do.

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