In the coldness of semester end last year, I watched my scanner light move slowly, archiving my work to the digital realm – up and down…up and down. It was about 60 degrees in the house. I chattered along with the misaligned fan in my computer. I felt a bit like Bob Cratchit, warming my hands on an electronic candle, bundled up with a coat and cap (or beanie) because Scrooge was too cheap to pay for heat.
The scanner screamed a mechanical yelp that only a $10-after-rebate scanner can make – the sound of rubbing live tuna against Andy Rooney – “Thrup thrup, errrrrrrrrrrrrrr, er, errr, thrup (putter putter). (Pause) EEEEEEEIIIIIIIIYYYYYY!!!” I scanned project after project waiting for the glow to come closer and closer. It stopped. Time for the next sketch. But as I lifted the cover, I was entranced by the light. And there I was, within the crevice of my L-shaped desk, screaming in masochistic pleasure from the sensation of losing my mind! I lined my face up over the scanner bed, and mashed the scan button. The glowing light burned my eyes, but slowly, it converted skin, facial hair and my soul into digital glory. As it pulled over my face the second time and yelped at it’s endless workload, I blinked and watched the artifacts dance across my open eyes. “This probably isn’t safe,” I thought. But the picture showed up on my computer and was so insanely entertaining that I had to do it again. 13 times I scanned my face that night.
Then I got the crew involved:
Click here to see the rest of the people. Insanity is contagious.