Another epoch ends

Polaroid, which brought the world instant photography before there was such a phrase, is closing its last two film manufacturing plants. To be honest, until seeing the news bit, I thought Polaroid disappeared 9 years ago when Sony and Olympus began pushing digital photography for the mass market.
Despite my oversight, I’ll never forget aiming that bread box size carton of doom at subjects who refused to sit still.

Oh, it makes sense why everyone was so jittery back then; it was the seventies. Jeans rode high and tight in the crotch. Two out of ten people snorted coke with their Cheerios. Still, because the camera lacked any aperture or film speed controls, much less a focus dial that responded to user input, the photographer rarely had the slightest idea about what the picture might look like. Not before whipping the sheets around like Shake and Bake, anyway.

Incidentally, Polaroid is still in business. They merely stopped making film for gems like these:

Broken Arrow

Fifty years ago today, the USAF lost a nuclear bomb. Also eight years ago today, I moved into my present apartment somewhere in New Jersey. Over a long weekend of sore muscles, blisters and cold, I began settling into the new digs, Electra and Oedipus already clawing the walls.

To me, the second anniversary has more meaning; it is by far the longest I have resided at a single location. And it represents nearly 25 percent of my years. This date packs additional significance given my childhood experience.

Growing up, the parents had portable move-for-a-promotion type careers and covered a lot of territory pursuing advancement. Places like Missouri, Kansas, California, Utah, New York, Maryland and New Jersey. Sometimes different towns within the same state, and all by age 22.

This legacy of mobility provided a lot of perspective. For instance, despite the zip code, there’s almost always a mascot/jokester in the house. I can be almost one percent certain of such a presence; that’s me. And looking outward, if you peel away the names or fashion choices, and personality archetypes are amazingly similar across the country. People are different, of course, everyone has something unique about them, but some facets of humanity are just universal from 90210 to 10002.

Sometimes friends ask why I stay in New Jersey, especially now. The answer is simple: diners. Nowhere else are there so many boxcar shaped eating establishments which offer twelve thousand menu items, twenty-four hours a day.

When I’m looking for a heart attack on a plate disco fries at three AM, why make it complicated?