My brother pointed out to me the other day he's getting very irritated with my blog since I haven't really posted any snarky comments or stories he would find interesting. Well, since the Tip Top isn't one of my normal visited venues, I reminded him he just might want to find another more entertaining site to visit and to leave mine alone. However, shortly after this little verbal exchange, I had a situation occur that truly set off my Blogdar (blogging radar).

In order to protect the innocent, I'll be speaking in rather vague terms. However, if you have one quarter of a brain cell, I'm sure you'll figure things out. There is a certain fair coming up that I have placed several entries into. The day to drop the entries off recently came about and I promptly drove over to deliver my pieces. Upon arriving, I was met with a very long line of fellow art dropper-offers. As the line got progressively longer, it was soon clear that watching paint dry would be equivalent to the painstaking pace at which the fair employees moved.

As I stood there, allowing my eyes to cross and my mind to drift to far off Jamaican islands, I people watched and eavesdropped on the gals standing behind me. They were in their late fifties, both holding professional looking art portfolios, and obviously were well aware of their talents and thought the simpletons in line should be too. I listened to them chat with the woman who was standing ahead of me and I saw them roll their eyes at her questions and answer in such vague terms that I thought for a moment a swift kick to the uterus might help smooth things out. However, I maintained my mule kick and continued to listen as they made their introductions, taking their time to slowly pronounce their last names, ensuring we all knew the importance of their respective families. Heck, these gals even repeated their names, I'm sure to again awe inspire the masses waiting in line.

I can't handle people who live through their last name. You were born into a family - not chosen by a hiring committee who hand selects fetuses for their breeding stock. Just because you wear a certain name shouldn't automatically place you into a deserving bracket of society; you need to earn it. And for chriminy's sake, it's friggin' Humboldt County and no one outside this emerald triangle would probably even do a double take at your credentials. It' the hazard of a small town; it sometimes creates small minds.

*Stepping off of soapbox.*

While my patience bubbled and festered over, listening to the biddies, I begged the gals at the counter for permission to set my insanely heavily framed prints down at a far off table. When they happily obliged my request, I dumped them quick and began throwing elbows in order to return to my given place in line. The biddies were still yacking and then I heard one snort and mumble under her breath, "Well! I never stack my pictures." You really need to insert an uppity, Mrs. Howell sorta voice here in order to get the full effect of how it sounded.

I casually looked back at her and smiled, sending her eye death rays and wishes her prints would warp in their wrapper. It wasn't like she said some profound statement regarding world peace - it was how how she said it, so completely judgmental and rude. I've heard horror stories about some photographers being absolute twits to other photographers but this was the first I had yet to experience it. I am so thankful when I see other people with my interest in photography - I seriously want to take them home and start a compound - minus the communal sleeping arrangements and weird ceremonies.

I continued to maintain my silence until I was finally checked in and prints handed off (unscathed I might mention). While signing off my paperwork, I looked over to see what the biddies were entering and had so ever carefully protected with their fancy packaging and vile words. As they slowly and dramatically unsheathed their work, I had to use hands as a deflective shield for my eyes due to the spotlight showering down on them. While the pictures weren't bad, they certainly weren't what I thought they were going to be. And before you even say anything, yes, I already had a bias based on the 'tudes they were portraying. It was absolutely against my very womanly nature to even enjoy their prints even a minuscule. Shallow? Yes. Pissy? Most definitely. Did it make me feel better? Heck yeah! But I'm not above a little competition and I look forward to hopefully kicking some butt - but that's outta my hands and the wrinkly hands of the biddies.

Who knew an amateur photo competition could be so fierce ;-).