A Different Kind of Photographic Memory

At my very first Knick game, my dad and I sat in a Skybox. It was really cool, with a bathroom and comfy chairs and I think there was even a fruit platter, and I think it must have been in eighth grade, because I remember calling Avi Flombaum, who was my absolute best friend in the entire world at the time (although I didn't have feelings for him, no matter how much he insists I did) and him telling me he needed some sort of surgery, which is the kind of thing that happens when you're in eighth grade and you get dropped on your head at a Mighty Mighty Bosstones concert.

Anyway, the point is, I was right there, and I had a great, high up view of the court. But what did I do? I watched the little TV screens that hung right over the box. Later, I discovered this to be a habit, as even in the normal arena seats, I found myself watching the huge hanging screen instead of the game actually going on in front of me.

So now, when I go to wedding after wedding, with camera poised to capture Yoni signing t'naim or Mechi under the chuppah or Bartel in mid-dance or Ribner singing Eishet Chayil to Jessica etc. etc. etc. I ask myself, am I doing it again? Am I totally missing the point of being at the event? Why am I watching it on the 2" camera screen when it's playing out in front of me?

But still, I never put the camera down, because I'm not sure I trust my memory without it anymore. Lately, I don't even know what I actually remember and what I can just piece together because of my photographs, and while that may not sound so strange, considering how many photos I take, I have an insane memory of events that may not be genuine at all. When I think about parties, I think about my pictures. When I think about random fun times, I think about my pictures. Even yesterday, when I wrote my blog about Israel, it was almost entirely based on a photo montage in my head - Jess and me on the roof of the Brov; me pretending to help cook; me, Barrie, and Melissa sitting at the table. Tonight, when I walked home after class and saw the snow flurries, I remembered that there was snow last year. And I remembered the pictures of me, Yoni, Raphi, Etan, Jackie Solomont, and Elisa Epstein playing in it. But actually playing in it? Who knows if I really remember?

And, as always, the eternal question: Does it matter?