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Ware writes, ever so wisely, "Sometimes, I’ve noticed with horror that the memories I have of things like my daughter’s birthday parties or the trips we’ve taken together are actually memories of the photographs I took, not of the events themselves, and together, the two somehow become ever more worn and overwrought, like lines gone over too many times in a drawing.
"The more we give over of ourselves to these devices, the less of our own minds it appears we exercise, and worse, perhaps even concomitantly, the more we coddle and covet the devices themselves."
Damn, so true. I'm no martyr here. Often, an event I partake in comes off as only as worthy as the photograph that might come out of it. Good time? Oh, yeah! No photo? Compromised. Perfect example is when I had the pleasure of seeing Celine Dion in NYC last November. I indulged every second of her performance, but remained focused throughout... wondering... Will I see Celine, get another Starfucker photo, update my wall o'Celine... And so it is. And we (all?) are. *
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