The Grumpy Granny

Alexis is one of those kids who is in a constant hurry to grow up. "When I'm in high school . . ." she'll say, as she muses longingly about how grand her life will be. At some point I'm going to have to break it to her that Zac Efron is not going to come dancing down the halls while she sings her way through math class, but whatever. The point is she constantly talks about the future and getting older and all of the wonderful things that she will do, just as soon as Father Time quits jerking her around.

I fully intend to remind of her this frequently when she's older and whines about how fast time flies. No worries there.

A few days ago she and I were outside. I was surveying the damage to the almost patio after the monsoons we had on Saturday (there was literally a waterfall and a stream in our back yard that day--I have witnesses). She was being her usual goofy self, which lately has included making funny faces so that I'll take her picture.

Considering this same kid went to great lengths to avoid having her soul stolen by the camera just a few short months ago, I'm always quick to oblige.

As she was flitting about, she grabbed her umbrella and started to use it in her dancing. Then, she looked up at me and asked, "Do you want to be a grandma?"

I am perpetually stuck in the land of Quit With the Growing Up and Don't Even Think about Looking at a Boy. I know. She's four. She still thinks boys have bee stingers. She wasn't at all referring to her having a baby, but I still went there in my head. I'm a loser like that. So I replied, "How about we wait twenty or so years for that?"

She looked at me slightly confused before replying, "How about fir-ty years?"

WIN! I was really very happy with this ten year extension, and even happier that she's still pronouncing her "th" sounds as "f" sounds. She's my baaaaaby, and all that.

It still seemed a very odd question for her to whip out and it wasn't until I downloaded the photos from that day to my computer that I realized she and I were having two very different conversations.

She was using the umbrella as a cane and pretending to walk around like a cranky old grandma. In retrospect, it was actually a darn good performance that she put on.

I really need to get a grip. I'm letting myself act like a cranky grandma a good fir-ty years too early.

A Little Message for Miley

Oh, Miley. Why must you cause me such déjà vu?

I'll be honest. The Vanity Fair photo drama? I snored through all of that. Whatever. Annie Lebowitz takes photos that are a little on the edge, and that's all they were. There's nothing slutty about a little girl with her back showing. When people got all uppity over your alleged "pole dancing" in the Teen Choice Awards, I rolled my eyes. You were just a kid dancing and if people saw more than that, it was in their heads. Or so I thought.

WAY TO PROVE ME WRONG.

Not long after that came the faux lesbian kiss, which WTH? Can you say not at all shocking? Do you not realize most of us have seen this show before? I mean, we know exactly how it ends. Just ask Britney, Christina, and Madonna. Speaking of them, let's just go ahead and use them as Most Recent Example of How This Show Ends.

First . . . Madonna. Look, she was never a Disney product, never pretended to be squeaky clean, and really has been pushing the envelope, so to speak, since the beginning of time. Consistently out there, that one. And that's why it has worked. The people who were fans way at the beginning have never had to question why they liked her in the first place. She has always lived up to expectations, even while finding new ways to drop a little shock and awe.

As for Britney and Christina, well then, this is exactly where you should be paying attention because DÉJÀ VU.

First, Britney. Oh, Britney, Britney, Britney. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the parallels. She started out living under the House of Mouse and made her first millions pitching music that was the furthest thing from edgy and "adult." Then she got a little older and got a little pissy about the whole squeaky clean thing. Enter the potty-mouth-dressing-like-a-whore-drinking-like-a-fish phase. It was all very amusing right up until she started flashing her vajayjay in public, and then we all stopped totally caring about what she did musically. Frankly, the only reason Britney is even slightly relevant at this point is because we all love to stare at a train wreck. If any has-been child stars want to make TMZ.com, all they have to do is shave their heads and chase some paparazzi with an umbrella. The sort of attention maneuvers like that get aren't because we care about the star, they're because we all secretly enjoy watching people we perceive to be "charmed" fail. Think star hunky quarterback from high school. Who doesn't secretly smile upon learning that guy wound up way obese, single, and living in his parents basement until he was 40?

And then there is Christina. Frankly, if you had asked me ten years ago whether she or Brit-Brit was going to survive to see 30, I would have said that the only way Christina would be around was if she were living in rehab. Magically her bare-ass managed to find its way to a guy who seems to have helped her chill the heck out. Having a kid has been great for her. She's still pushing the Weird Envelope too far, but mostly she has been domesticated (when is the last time you saw photos of her all drunk and disorderly at a club?). It's all A Very Good Thing. But, see, if you ask me, the only reason she has managed to maintain a music career through the bad-hair-bad-choices-wild-child-shenanigans is that she really can sing. Like, really. Girl can belt out a tune better than 99.9% of the artists out there.

You, Miley, cannot.

You are far more Britney than you are Christina. That means one thing--either you're going to have to go completely bat-poo crazy and become the ringmaster of a miserable-existence-of-a-circus, or you're going to disappear. Your audience, the people who have given you all that money you're spending on hooker dresses now, aren't going to stick around if the show isn't crazy enough. And really, faux lesbian kisses between cusses while dressed like a prostitute? Not enough. I mean, it's enough for me to ban you from La Casa de Burgh Baby, but it's not enough to get the attention of that 17-year old angsty teenager with a few bucks to spend. That teenager has street cred to worry about, and showing too much skin just isn't enough to make him or her forget all about that silly little ice cream song.

We've seen this show before, so either skip straight to the mental breakdown or spare us all the fake drama. It's just plain boring.

A Revelation of Sorts

I first noticed him inside the Aquarium part of the Zoo. It was our first trip of the year. Because of the looming threat of more craptacular weather, there weren't that many people around. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he hauled his massive wooden case to and fro. As I stood by the jellyfish, trying to find a good angle for a photo, he popped open the case. My jaw literally fell to the floor as drool gushed out. Inside that case was Every Photography Fan's Dream. Thousands and thousands of dollars worth of high-end equipment sat carefully placed all through the case that was big enough to hold a kid.

The old man carefully selected a lens, set up his tripod, and began to adjust the settings on his camera. I flushed a bit from embarrassment as I turned and snapped this shot:

I thought to myself that I wish I could get the amazing photo I knew he would get. Mine was a tiny bit out of focus, but I had fallen behind Mr. Husband and Alexis, so I didn't want to take the time to adjust camera settings and find a more stable way to hold the camera.

As the little old man shot what were sure to be stunning shots of the jellyfish, I turned over my shoulder and grabbed a quick shot of the octopus.

Peering in my viewfinder, I was happy overall with the lighting in the shot, but then I thought about how much better my 50mm lens would be for capturing the vivid colors. I thought about switching lenses, but then realized I had fallen even further behind my little family, so I continued on.

I caught up with them at the polar bear exhibit, just in time to see one of the polar bears jump into a waterfall. I quickly pulled my camera to my face and started snapping. And snapping. And snapping. I knew the photos wouldn't be ideal. The sun shone harshly down on the scene, so the white balance would be out of whack. The thick plexiglass surrounding the exhibit would further dull the colors. Just as I began pondering going into full manual and trying to correct the situation, the little old man appeared.

Again he carefully opened his case, this time grabbing a meter before selecting a lens. He started to set up his tripod as I stood clicking away, slightly embarrassed that I wasn't using my camera the "right" way in the presence of obvious greatness. As I continued to snap photos, the polar bear grabbed a toy ring and slung it around his face before strutting across the exhibit.

And just as quickly as the play time started, it stopped.

The little old man never managed to get a single shot; he was still setting up his tripod when the action concluded.

Fact: I *can* use my camera in full manual mode. I know how to use every setting, even if I sometimes don't remember the technical term for what I'm doing. The terms usually come to me later.

Fact: Other than turning off the flash (which I ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS do) I generally run around in auto mode. I switch to correct things if the opportunity arises, but often it does not.

Fact I learned, courtesy the little old man: Sometimes it's better to do things the "wrong" way than it is to miss the moment entirely.