I Could Never Be A Reporter...

I love taking pictures and I love to write. It’s the documentation I’m a slave to. The minutes of our lives are flying by, constantly, at a frightening pace and we document so little, when you think about it. So I am forever trying, to capture memories, thoughts, moments forever, for myself, my child, my family, friends and clients. On paper, I would make a great reporter.

I have always had a thing for super heroes, Superman in particular, so you would think Lois Lane would be an identity I would wear well, improve upon even, with modern fashion and social networking. Report? Yes. I do a lot of that. But the pictures? Oh… them.

I would be great for the Labor Day Cookie Kick Off at the local grocery store, the six-toed puppy born at the pound and all the Christmas lights and snow drifts you can handle. But, in your face, starving babies, mangled cars and pissed off celebrities? Can you say high resolution zoom? I just can’t get in people’s faces, in their private moments, in their lives; unless they ask me to.

So, I could never be a reporter. Not the kind I would want to be anyway. I just have a hard time being, rude. Ok, enough with the laughing! You know what I mean.

I would be an excellent Barbara Walters, sitting in a lovely Ikea-inspired, interview environment, complete with fresh Birds of Paradise and eclectic coffee mugs. That has me written all over it. Then we could dish and I could ask all kinds of sordid questions. Of course my camera man could catch all the tears and tension.

I am very comfortable with nude subjects, boudoir sessions, couples in created private moments, because I’ve been invited.

It’s all about my own embarrassment and pride I guess. I say this, because I also think I would make an excellent private investigator. I can take the nosey pictures, if no one knows I am. Shameful, I know. I am no Lois Lane.