Well, I fell on my technologically-challenged ass last weekend in Vegas.

Not only do I not possess a shiny, happy orgasmic iPod of all that is audibly holy, I could not find my digital camera when, ten minutes before I was supposed to leave, I decided to pack my bags.

So, I did what any aging art star who fondly remembers fondling Leicas and drooling over Hasselblads in the olden days would do: I dragged the crate labeled “cameras” from the closet — filled with such fun re-discoveries as an electrical-taped Holga, Polaroid Captiva, several Minolta 35mm’s and Keropi point-and-shoot — and loaded up an real, actual camera … with film, no less!

Granted, buying the film was probably as time-consuming and frustrating as finding the digital would have been — a few lonely rolls hung along the wall of the local CVS, nestled, dusty, between memory cards and reading glasses.

The good news is that there’s no effing shutter lag when doing photos the old school way. The bad news is that I’m still waiting to get them back …

In the interim, I’ve composed an image that, I think, accurately reflects the photos you will, someday, see …

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