|1.||comfort in sorrow, misfortune, or trouble; alleviation of distress or discomfort.|
I will admit with no shame, hesitation nor regret that I am an absolute photo booth addict. I seek them out. I find solace in them. I take great comfort in being able to carry away a memory from my few brief moments shoved into a tiny, curtained box, contorted into a logical sequence of (often drunken) poses with people I hold dearly. I love the climax. I love the anticipation. I love the clicks and whirs inside the magic little box while we wait, and the soft, sticky, sulfuric developer smell left on your hands after the initial viewing.
The day has finally come for me to find a use for the 50+ strips I have collected over the years of my youth (thank you chacha, broadway market, union pool, B&I, fun forrest, pretty parlor, neumo's, pdx ace hotel, and puyallup fair). A slow switch to a more monochromatic bedroom palette encouraged me to swap out the vintage rose post cards formerly inhabiting this gold frame, in favor of a new home for these photo booth treasures. My photo booths have seen birthdays, bon voyages, engagements, heart aches, and love affairs.
They are sweet, and simple, and timeless. They are my loves. xo.