Saturday, July 07, 2007

Color me crazy. In 4 x 6 portrait size.

Here's a little-known fact about fundraisers: they have the half life of plutonium. (Whatever that means. Science isn't my thing--but metaphors are.)

In other words, if you chair an event on June 22, it is quite possible that you will be working your ass off on it on July 7th. And you will not be anywhere near done. No, what you once thought of as those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, where you were going to have all kinds of free time, is becoming that month where you spent so much time indoors with a rapidly overheating laptop on your lap that you almost developed your first yeast infection.

What have I been doing with said laptop? Well, for the past couple of days I've been going through pictures. Four hundred and 16 of them, to be precise. I spent four hours on Friday finding out who all these people were. Then I was busy putting together little collections: this set for Chicago Social, this set for Skyline, this set for some regional magazine for a suburb so chi-chi-poo-poo that I don't think I've ever been there.

Oh, and since I'm apparently the only person IN THE WORLD who uses computers, I have to upload, edit, download, distribute, and print photographs to bring to show other, less-technologically gifted people. So they can decide which pictures they want to use. Because, you know, they don't know how to look at digital photographs. Because that would mean they'd have to use a computer.

Oh, and Walgreen's on line printing service doesn't like the photographs, for some reason. So now I have to bring a disk in to an actual store and find out what's wrong with them.

I don't know--they look OK to me, but what am I? Only the fucking event chair, but what does a ruthlessly egalitarian chain store like Walgreen's care about fancy titles? As far as Walgreen's is concerned, titles are worthless--they are yesterday's newspaper, the aluminum tray from a TV dinner, the pull top of a Tab can, the dried-out husks of the 17-year cicadas piled up under the oak trees in that yard I'll never go outside and enjoy because I'm trapped inside working on these photographs.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Walgreen's hates me. And actually, so does Blogger, who's been giving me a hard time over these furshlinginer pictures, too. But Blogger has finally condescended to accept them. So here's a sampling:





6 comments:

  1. very, very elegant

    Blogger hates me too. Every time I try to respond, I have to reregister. It gets tiresome.

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  2. Interesting pictures. Is buxomness in women a condition for attending a Poppy Buxom fundraiser? I mean, I know some very attractive and charitable flat-chested women.

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  3. Oh how I love peeks into the chi-chi pooh-pooh side of your life. You're like a modern, potty-mouthed Cinderella with rudimentary computer skills!

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  4. reader: thanks! And yes, Blogger sucks. It's not emailing me comments any more, so I never know when people have chimed in.

    echo: I'm sorry, but they're going to have to stay home until they sprout some tits.

    susie: My computer skills are dazzling in comparison to other people on my committee. DAZZLING. I mean, come on--check out that embolding action in the last sentence. Meanwhile these old bats can't figure out how to read and reply to emails.

    Actually, it makes me feel really smug. And I always enjoy that.

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  5. Is that because you milk these women for everything they've got? Do you tell them, "We'll raise a million dollars or bust?" And if they give a lot of money, do you say of them, "They dug deep?" (That's after you rack up a big donation.)

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  6. I like the gigolo in pic 3 and the trophy wife in the 4th one. Did they just swap spouses? *snicker* I gotta find me some arm candy. Or a pool boy named Juan.

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Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.