I remember this scene back in the Bay Area. I visited a friend and former co-worker and I was at his cubicle. I remarked on a couple of things.
First was about a studio picture of his girlfriend: "Why do people walk into studios fully-made-up and have their pictures taken?" It doesn't feel spontaneous, I said. It seemed artificial.
He replies: "People just want their photos taken. What's the matter with you?"
The second was a mocking remark about a little cube-like object that was a freebie from a recent company meeting: "That's it? It's just a cube. It doesn't do anything."
My friend replies with equivalent sarcasm:
"You expect too much from inanimate objects."
That was most of what I remember from that scene. Well, there's also the part where my friend says, "Are you eating those chips by yourself or are you sharing it with the carpet? You're such a messy eater."
. . .
This was over 10 years ago back at the Netscape Communications (R.I.P.) Building 1. I'm sorry to say that those things haven't changed.
Ok, so I'm not that messy an eater. I just tend to somehow spill some sauce or crumbs more than the usual person, maybe. But just a little. But then I took up photography years later from then, and even now, I still dislike those fake studio shots with the generic mottled back-drop.
I also still expect too much from inanimate objects.
And thus, I have a confession to make: I'm stuck on the things I own.
Sure, I figured out what to bring with me in case of a fire or calamity. I'd bring almost none of what I own except essential documents, etc. I'm not that stuck on these things. But it's just in normal everyday life, these inanimate objects have a life of their own.
It's not as bad as you think. The thing is, I don't have that much stuff. Yes, my camera equipment is worth a lot more than my car -- but how much is a 1999 Civic Sedan nowadays? I've read a lot of books, but I don't own a lot of them. I don't have much furniture. I only started shopping for clothes more frequently the past couple of years (I used to buy myself clothes only around Christmas; I have 6-year old sweaters that are somewhat frayed at the edges, but I still wear them).
But I just told you my problem: It's not that I love material things. I would just say that I like some minor conveniences. I drink 4 to 7 cups of coffee a day. Maybe later, I'll upgrade to a Nespresso at home just to try it out. And I like certain niche things -- like classic cameras. But I don't really buy too many of them.
So, no, the problem is not that I love material things. But I love the material things that I already have.
A couple of my friends in Manila were somewhat surprised that I still drove the same car. That was four or five years ago. They'd probably be even more surprised now. In Manila, they seem to change cars every three to four years or so.
It's not that I should go out and get a car upgrade tomorrow morning. It really isn't worth it to get a really nice car because I park in the street. But the time will come when it's unsafe to drive my old car then, and... I actually feel sad selling and leaving old Blue with someone else to get a new car -- which will likely be called Blue 2 or Blue II -- assuming it will be blue (note that my car's official color is "Iced Teal Pearl" but it's corny to call it "Ice" and it's a bit gay to call it "Teal" or "Pearl"). It's almost like leaving an old friend because he's not useful to you anymore.
Sure, I traded in my beat-up Blackberry Pearl for an Android phone. But this was because even my boss recommended that I get one because of my line of work ("If not for your personal enjoyment, for professional reasons"). But I still have the Pearl -- you know -- as a back-up.
I was furious when I heard my mom donated our old set of encyclopedia to a local library in the province. Those are my books, I declared -- as if they were mine alone. Well, maybe that's somewhat true. I probably used them more than anyone in the house and I literally tried to read through them (there was nothing much to do back then, really).
Sometimes, maybe it's just sheer fascination. Do you know how complicated a Rolleiflex twin lens camera is, for instance? I saw the exploded diagram of a model that I own. There are very few people in the U.S. who can properly service a Rolleiflex. And yet, those things can come from far back as the 50's (it can be older, but anything older would not be that usable) and I can still produce great photos with them. A Rolleiflex is an over-engineered, hand-crafted, fully-mechanical camera. It's just very, very well-made. That, and it looks beautiful.
Still, it's the personal aspect -- the sentiment -- that makes them special. The Nikon D200 outperforms the D70... but wait... some of my all-time favorite photos were taken on the D70. I have a Rolleiflex 2.8F, but I loved the photos I took with the Rolleiflex 3.5E2 -- even though the "F" models are said to be the pinnacle of Rollei design while the "E" models are one model back. In reality though, none of this means anything. They all just take photos, that's all.
My car has a name. It has a personality. It's ultra-realiable (and I heard the newer Hondas and Toyotas are not as much anymore). I mockingly say that my car will eject people it dislikes but dare ride it (Read: my car will eject people that I dislike but dare ride with me). Or, at least I wish it can do that. Like maybe eject people onto the freeway or off a bridge in a cartoony and non-lethal fashion (if that's possible).
The Leica point-and-shoot is the lighter back-up to the large Nikons. The tiny Canon I bought months ago is the even tinier back-up to my Leica p&s.
Or so I say. It sounds fine in my head -- now if only I were actually still taking pictures with any of those cameras.
I still have that old Macbook laptop that I don't use. Sure, it paid for itself many times over with one short job contract. But I rarely use it. And potential buyers failed to see what a good value it was. So it's there, as a, uhm... backup to the iMac I'm using right now -- the iMac that I should soon replace because it's dying. It's boot time is about 7 minutes. The hard-drive will blow up soon. The video card's a mess. It hangs like a PC on Windows 98 sometimes. But I can't just work on a tiny laptop, right? I'll have to get another desktop with a large display. So will I finally then get rid of laptop or will I need it as backup? I wonder...
"You expect too much from inanimate objects."
Yes, I do. And you know what? Most of the time, these objects deliver.
I always say that my Civic has never let me down. This is more than I can say for actual human beings in my life. This is more than I can say about how I am to those human beings in my life. Truly, friends: It's a mystery why we hurt the ones we love -- and for this, people make up valid reasons in their head. It's either that, or they totally deny their fault.
It's a sad realization. And so, maybe you think I'm just rambling on about nothing and I'm just trying to be funny. This post is a sad commentary on the human condition.
Ok, I just made that up on-the-fly, but it's worth a thought, right?
Objects cannot deny any faults. They break down. You have them repaired. If they're irrepairable, then they become display pieces or archive samples. Maybe spare parts? Recyclables? Maybe you just throw them out?
These objects -- these things -- are like substitute pets. Pets don't ever disappoint you, they have no will to disappoint you. An object is like your dog greeting you when you come home from school or work. Dogs are happy to see you (it means they get attention and food).
But the difference, of course, is that with these objects -- these mere products of human hands (which will become for us the Bread of Life, blessed be God forever...) -- it's not that we can say they're happy or sad at all, or that they would have the capability to summon an emotion that human beings don't project on them. Objects are just there. They just are.
[sigh].
I now need to rest and lie on my trusty, old couch.
Oh, and let me tell you about this couch...
