Digi-Scene

I always enjoy learning a new turn of phrase that isn't in popular usage, but when you describe what it is, people understand immediately what you're talking about.

Now cringe isn't a word that people are unfamiliar with. Everyone has probably had a cringe inducing moment that they wish would end. However Cringe (with a capital C) as an event is something different. Cringe is an open-mic night that occurs in a Brooklyn bar once a month where people get up on stage and read their most embarassing entries from their teenage diaries, journals, poetry and the like. Have you recently re-read things that you wrote as a young teenager? I have, and the overwrought emotions and excrutiating hyperbole was truly blush enducing. So why would anyone subject themselves to that kind of remembered humilation? Because it's funny. Damn funny. And to hear someone else say exactly what you were thinking as a 14-year-old is somehow liberating too. I recommend checking out the new book by Sarah Brown (the creator of Cringe) when it's published this summer.

Now on to photobombing. Photobombing is the fine art of ruining other people's photographs. You've seen them. You're on vacation at Disneyland trying to get a nice family group shot in front of It's A Small World and sure enough when you get the prints back, there's some anonymous teenage boy directly behind your mother giving the peace sign. THAT is photobombing. You see it pretty much constantly in any live crowd shot from a sporting event, but that's not nearly as fun as being somewhere somewhat less obvious and seeing a creative use of photobombing. Here's one of my favorites:

Yesterday there was a conference session given by a couple of guys from the New York Times. The session had something to do with multi-channel data integration or some such thing and it had some really good ideas.

Here's the important thing, though. The presenter was movie-star handsome.

I don't mean cute, cuddly teen-girl crush handsome. I'm talking for an adult woman, drop-dead, drop your panties handsome. Patrick-Dempsey-with-a-sprinkle-of-gray-in-the hair-and-beard, handsome

After the presentation, I joined the crush of female groupies, er attendees, pushing and shoving their way to give the man their business card. Only in a setting like this can a woman remotely get away with a "here's my number, we need to talk again SOON", and not look like a total slut.

In actuality what I wanted was a copy of the man's presentation so can I sound as smart as he is. When it was my turn to introduce myself, I swear to you this actually occured.

Me: "Hi there, my name is Kim Howard and I'm with Geary Interactive, an interactive advertising agency in San Diego and I'd love to get a copy of your presentation. Here's my business card."

GHONYTML (Gorgeous Hunk of New York Times Man Love), looking deeply into my eyes as he takes the card: "You look really familiar. Have we met before?"

Me (in my head): "You don't remember? The hot, steamy summer on the Cape? The cool, crisp autumn days in New York? I'm crushed you don't remember me!"

Me (out loud): "Um, no I'm sure I would remember if we had met before. I just have one of those faces that looks like your roommates best friend from college. You know what I mean?"

GHONYTML (laughing gently): "Yes, I know what you mean, but I feel like we've met before. I think the presentations from the entire conference will be made available online afterwards, but I'll be sure to send you a copy."

Me: "Thank you, I'd really appreciate it."

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As I drift off to sleep last night, I'm rewriting that conversation a million different ways in my head. Too bad I don't think as quickly on my feet as I do on the verge of sleep. Cie la vie.

I'm currently in San Francisco on business and I must say that I absolutely adore being back in this city again. I'm so glad that past memories of being here no longer haunt me and instead I can focus on why I loved being here so much in the first place.

However, my heart is no longer here. It is at home in San Diego with Boni. I miss him and can't wait to see him...