One Bad Thing

The worst part about always carrying two cameras is that you're always carrying two cameras. Which means you always have a bulgy handbag tugging at your wrist or shoulder, and you have that moment of panic every time you go to a rock show, wondering if you're going to be sent away because the lead singer doesn't want anyone to know he's a vampire.

The best part about it is that you don't have to kick yourself for not having a camera handy when something looks worth remembering. Last night, we saw a comical mullet-crowned fellow and -- though we talked about it -- didn't take a picture of him. When we got to the street, a big, vintage pick-up with the graphics of a pool care company on its doors, a pick-up bed full of pool-cleaning supplies, and a sweet doggie in the front seat was parked in front of my car, and the mullet fellow was standing a few feet further up the sidewalk, and we joked that it would be funny to get him to pose with the truck, since we had missed the photo opp earlier on. And then, his conversation ended, and he got into his truck, and he was the pool guy and we laughed and laughed, but we were already driving away and no pictures were taken. And in a way I think I would have felt ashamed to ask the guy to let me photograph just for amusement's sake. But I couldn't have found it more amusing unless he had driven off in an Oscar Meyer Wienermobile.