What Are Photos, Really?

This here’s me. It’s windy. I’m wearing a burgundy net shirt. I’m about to see Midnight in Paris, which will crack me up with its depictions of Ernest Hemingway and other writers and artists and put my mind in overload with its brilliant take on, among other things, the nostalgia of the past coming to bear on the present. My friend Carol Elkovich and I will spend two hours after the film in a coffee house discussing art, writing, and the creative process.

“Who wants to fight?” and “I see….a rhinoceros” will enter our common vocabulary.

Shortly after this photo we will sit in the dark together in a sparsely-populated theater and we will laugh with the other audience members, t

rading looks in the flickering light of the film, strangers not so strange in the delight of an amazing film. We will all fall in love with Woody Allen all over again. [obviously written before…well, you know.]

But at this moment, I’m standing in the wind, and my hair is tickling my cheek.

You never know what’s in store for you.