Gotta Represent

I'm just now re-looking at my avatar over there in the sidebar. Me, in suitably warm-weather clothing. Nice. In front of the library, to signify, you know, the whole librarian thing. But why the boom box? To indicate that I carry a boom box around like I think I am Ozone in Electric Boogaloo? (Which I don't, just to be clear). To indicate that I, um, like music? Everyone likes music, genius. And then there's that crow in the corner. I am an animal-lover, it's true. And I always thought that that author photo that's on the book jacket of Louise Erdrich's Birchbark House is the best author photo I've ever seen: she's sitting there all beautiful and she's got a big ass crow sitting on her head. Really, she does! It rocks. So maybe that's what I was thinking of when I picked that crow. But now that I'm looking at it...what is that stuff under the crow? Worms? Dirt? Some sort of poo-poo material? Oh, nuh-uh. I can NOT be having bird shit representing me!

You know what this avatar stuff reminds me of? Senior pictures. Those photos your senior year in high school, where you wear outfits that scream out your identity and get wallet-sized copies that you hand out by the hundreds? I love those things. I still have most of the senior pics that were given to me. I treasure them. They are so...awful. (If I have your senior picture in my possession, be aware that I may be about to talk shit about you. Rest assured that I will talk shit about myself immediately following, so at least that's fair, right?) I have this photo of Kristi. Lovely girl, Kristi was, despite the frosted pink lipstick and the turquoise mascara. Her photo, however, shows her with her back facing the camera. She is looking over her left shoulder, and her right hand is clutching this same left shoulder. I implore you, when in life does anyone ever assume this position? Then there is Jason. Jason, who came to school most days in a flannel shirt over a t-shirt, and was a cutie. Yet, in my photo of him that I carry this many years later, his hair is all plastered down and he is sporting a Dr. Huxtable sweater and is leaning his chin on his closed fist. He looks like a dude in an 80s Sears catalogue. I have a photo of Christine lying on her belly in a field of grass, resting her chin on a soccer ball, her permed hair cascading down on either side of it like a set of curtains. Then you have the few people who actually look good in their photos. I have the cutest picture of Map. She's wearing jeans, and a red sweater, and she's sitting there on a chair with her legs crossed. She looks like...herself. Pretty. And then there's my photos of Jeff. Jeff was the senior boy that I was obsessed with in 10th grade. Biggest stalker crush I've ever had in my whole life to this day. And his photo is such a comfort to me, because I can look at it and say "yes. I was not imagining it. He was hott."

So my photos. Let's start out with what is positive about them. I did not have a perm, nor did I have a plume of bangs that were Aussie spritzed to kingdom come. Actually, I had no bangs at all. I went through the entire decade of the 80s in the bangs-heavy midwest, and I never had bangs! I don't know how I accomplished this. So, yay for me and my au natural hair. Second. I did not have weird settings for my photos. No sitting on a giant wagon wheel for me. No posing in front of a Trans-Am. I am however, in one of my photos, inexplicably leaning up against a white wicker box. Why, I couldn't tell you. (And yes, I know that these photos don't have heads. It's symbolic, ok?)

Ok, let's break it down, shall we? Note the shoulder pads, as I'm sure you already have. And the dress-shorts! I don't know if you can tell from this photo, but those puppies are white corduroy shorts. With a pleated front. Oh yessss. And those shoes. Those effin' silver metallic flats that I wore with pride. But you haven't seen the best one. The piece de resistance.


Oh BABY. Yes you are seeing this correctly. I have props! I am senior-pictures-with-props girl! Oy vey. I distinctly remember the photographer asking me what my interests were. I must have answered with something vaguely arty, dancey, drama-ish. She went ahead and busted out the paint-spattered drop cloth and the (oh dear drunk Danny Devito) comedy and tragedy masks. And believe me, I ATE THAT CRAP UP. I loved it. You know, there's a reason why photographers have you say "CHEEZ."

Ok, my avatar in the sidebar doesn't look so bad now. Apparently, by my standards set forth so long ago, bird shit is right up my alley.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl