Tuesday, May 24, 2011

self-critiques of my new orleans photographs assuming i'm 40



What is going on here? It appears to be a wedding of some sort, but your ratios are all wrong. Also, someone should tell the bride and groom that it isn't raining even a little bit. It's 90 in the shade and you are marinating in your own sweat.

So Maury took your phone and then addressed your dad by your married last name. Hardy har har! This falls under the "funny at the time and even then only to you for two minutes" category. Yet you took exactly 12 photos of the non-event, 11 of them with flash. In a nice restaurant with tuxedo-clad waiters and white table cloths. Take an etiquette class and then get a less-sad looking phone.

Clearly you didn't actually take this photo since you're all...  in it and stuff. But Self. Your fleshy arms are all smashed up in such a fashion that they look behemoth even next to the prominent mid-section of Darius the Pat O'Brien's bouncer. This too is the kind of stuff you'll learn in etiquette class.

Here's the problem: While lovely, it's the only (discernible) photo of the bachelorette you took all weekend. Bad, bad bridesmaid.





STOP.

A strange male in denim cutoffs about to ride a mechanical bull + Hewitt and a Taco Bell cup in the background? Really captures the spirit of New Orleans. Hashtag sarcasm.


So you went into creepy mode, all hiding and squatting and otherwise contorting your body to get the perfect candid shot. You will not be able to get away with this much longer without getting arrested for indecent exposure. Also, consider taking a photography class. <3

I'll be honest, I enjoyed this one. Love acts!? Literal LOL.

Look, Claire and Maury walking on a random street, totes captivating!

Claire is uncomfortable because it is not normal to have one's close-up photo taken, even by a friend, while one is eating a popsicle. Once again, you learn this in etiquette school.

Here, you both knocked over a display book thus causing a domino effect landslide of early 20th century literature AND tripped over a cat's litter box. You, 28-year-old self,  failed.


It's your artistic effort that counts. I guess.

Remember your "I Aspire to Become a Tory Burch Shoe Photographer" phase? Awkward.

Idée lumineuse!

No, no, no self! We do not take photos of strangers unless they are very famous. I hope you feel sufficiently ashamed.

Redemption Jambalaya.