Death by Hipness

My love for old crap finally let me down.

A couple summers ago my brother and I were helping to remodel a house, and our first job was to sort out the sentimental stuff from the accumulated junk. As I was allowed to take whatever I wanted from the junk pile, I ended up with several musty-yet-readable books, some scuffed-up vinyl, and a few oddball statues, among other things. Yet the prize I was most jazzed about was a 70s Kodak instant camera complete with two packages of very expired film. I couldn't believe it. Not only did I have an awesome, old camera (that undoubtably worked just fine), but I had a good amount of film that was sure to produce great (terrible) color effects.

When I got home and realized that the battery was not included in the film packs, like my Polariod camera, and that I had to go buy two size J batteries for a whole $20 (astronomical, I know), the camera and its film took up long-term residence on my bookshelf. This is where they remained until I remembered I had them this summer and decided that I could spare the money for how awesome I was sure the end result would be. One depressingly lengthy trip to Radio Shak later...

Yeah I know this is boring but I have to write it, okay?

...in which I walked around clutching my two size J batteries for a good 45 minutes while the cashier was busy explaining to a customer what a cell phone was, I finally had it. The camera was all mine. I could just feel the coolness enveloping me. I shoved in the two size J batteries, jammed in a film pack the way it looked like it might belong, and pulled the trigger. And pulled the trigger. And pulled the trigger.

Yeah, it didn't work.

I was quite bummed, I must admit. Realizing that I hate taking pictures anyway and that I just horded my Polaroid film did a good job of making me feeling considerably less bummed, however. So it's all good.

I gotta keep that hipness in check though. Fadamsh.