Me. Ta-dah.

I have frustrated moments when I stare at the little beginner digital SLR in my hands and hopelessly contemplate whether it would help if I were to talk to it.  You know how they say plants thrive when you talk to them?  Maybe if I talked to my camera, it would be happier and produce better images?  Because, you know, photos have absolutely nothing to do with the person holding the camera and everything to do with the camera...

I had a college roommate who gave me an ivy plant.  She named him Pedro.  She talked to Pedro every day as she lovingly sprayed the nozzle of the water bottle over his young leaves.  Pedro lasted until a few years ago when I carelessly left him too close to the window and the New York winter froze him to death.  It had been years - I mean years - since anyone had talked to him and I think he was cross about it.  I wonder if that's how my camera feels whenever it does something I don't want it to do.

Sometimes, though, the best thing happens.  Because I know so little about how the black box will behave when I click the button, every once in a while, usually in low light situations, I'll take what I think is a typical boring humdrum shot, but when I review it on the computer, I'll be supremely pleased with a neat photo like this one.  Here's me last week leaving the rooftop of the Met.  Ta-dah.

While surprises like this are always welcome, sadly, if I wanted to recreate this effect in another setting, I would have no idea how to do so.

Which is where Pablo comes in.  That's right.  I'm naming my Nikon Pablo and he and I are going to spend some quality time together reading tutorials and practicing so that I can tell him exactly what to do and how to do it whenever I feel the urge to capture a moment digitally.  Hopefully, in time, we'll develop a stronger bond and he'll consistently produce better pictures because he'll be a happy little fellow just like Pedro was before Julia dropped the ball.  (My poor Pedro.  I'm really missing him right now!)