They’re Off to See the Weezer

So the big day has finally come, the kids are, as we speak, at the Weezer concert. They have been waiting for this day ever since they got here, I hope they like it. I hope further, that they come home unscathed. After we bought the tickets, we found out we’re not supposed to go to that part of town. I am more than a little nervous. Did you know that guns are not allowed in London? That’s all well and good, except for the fact that since no one can have a gun, they all use knives instead! Every night on the news there is another grisly report of a stabbing—usually it’s women and children getting stabbed. I’m not kidding either. It really scares me. Right before we came here I read of a brutal murder in a nice neighbourhood just north of us. In broad daylight a man hacked another man to death with an axe in the middle of the street.
So I guess in order to keep my mind occupied until they come home, I’m attempting to come up with something to blog about. I’m home alone as Mark is at his beloved British Library reading to his heart’s content.
Everybody is pursuing what they love. And here I sit. But that’s okay, really, because last night I went through all my latest pictures and named the ones I like best and got them ready to add to magleby.com. That’s more than a shameless plug, by the way, I really don’t know what to call it. It sounds weird if I call it my web page, as though I have a business or am a web designer or something—I’m hesitant to say that in the same way I used to feel funny about referring to where I live as my flat. Note that I said used to—I don’t feel funny about saying it any more and it’s not because I’m cool now, it’s just that it sounds weird if I say apartment. But back to the web page thing; I guess I just solved it for myself, I called it THE web page, as though someone else is doing it and I’m merely a contributor, that works for me. If everyone is off doing what they love, it’s appropriate that I am working on digital photo stuff. I really love taking pictures—now here we go again—I have to say taking pictures rather than photos because I don’t consider myself a photographer. I wish I were, I even sort of plan to be, but as of yet, I’m just a girl who loves to take pictures. And I really do—it’s almost a compulsion. The opposite of Berkeley, who, if you read her blog, has realized too late that she HATES taking pictures. I can remember getting home from Europe last year and actually having withdrawal about not having a camera in my hand every minute. We have a friend named Steve who once told us about how much he loves a baseball mitt; the feel of it in his hand, the smell of the leather, the sound of the ball as he catches it, the wonderful memories it brings to him whenever he puts one on, it was a magic moment seeing him light up like that in talking about something he loved so much. My camera is like that for me, I love how it feels in my hand, the motion of moving the lens back and forth zooming in and out, the pleasing sound of the shutter letting me know I got what I wanted. It feels odd if I don’t have it around my neck as I walk. I see photo ops everywhere I go--it’s a little weird. I am constantly framing things in my view and I love holding the camera up to my eye and looking through it. I love framing flowers through a lens. Mark is sick to death of all the flowers I take pictures of. He’s probably also sick of stopping and waiting for me while I take them, although he never complains and seems nothing but patient. It’s turning me into more of a loner. I don’t like to make people wait for me, but it’s hard to be somewhere in a group and not be free to wander off and take pictures. . .
I have more to say on this subject (it’s practically all I think about) but this is already too long so I’ll sign off and say stay tuned.