Secession in progress.
It's almost 6.00 a.m. of an unusually frosty morning of late May 2008. I just warmed my daughter's milk up and, reluctant to slip back under the sheets, I'm looking for an easy way to shed my sleep away: there will be time for a short nap when I'll be hopefully sitting on the train or later on, when I'll be travelling underground to reach my workplace.
I've got a couple of cardboard boxes on the table: one is carrying a brand new camera, the other one a couple of brand new lenses. Ten days have almost gone since I received these packs but so far I've only been able to take just a few trial pictures. I'm seriously wondering if I made the right choice and why, at a given moment, I felt like I couldn't wait any longer and pulled the phone up to make the order. I know there will be a moment to start using it in the way I've been dreaming so much during more or less the last year but, given the rate new cameras are put on the market, I've got the feeling I didn't care too much about technical aspects and bought this camera only to fill a gap, a hole grown so large to be now ever intolerable.
I just picked the one I've been aiming at for several months, the Canon EOS 40D; what is so strange to me is that I really did not care about specifications, price, additional costs and timing for having it here, in my hands. I only knew I had to have it.
My wife told me she preferred the old gone-by (i.e. stolen) EOS 300D but, having a fashion design background, she puts most of her attention on aspects apparently opposite to technology. I instinctively answered that design is inside, under the black cover but I knew I was lying: I couldn't myself believe my words. I had made an almost random choice.
That's why, now, sitting in front of these two boxes that shine under the dawning rays that filters through the windows of my kitchen, I'm wondering if it's been more important to choose or simply make the decision.
It's almost 6.00 a.m. of an unusually frosty morning of late May 2008. I just warmed my daughter's milk up and, reluctant to slip back under the sheets, I'm looking for an easy way to shed my sleep away: there will be time for a short nap when I'll be hopefully sitting on the train or later on, when I'll be travelling underground to reach my workplace.
I've got a couple of cardboard boxes on the table: one is carrying a brand new camera, the other one a couple of brand new lenses. Ten days have almost gone since I received these packs but so far I've only been able to take just a few trial pictures. I'm seriously wondering if I made the right choice and why, at a given moment, I felt like I couldn't wait any longer and pulled the phone up to make the order. I know there will be a moment to start using it in the way I've been dreaming so much during more or less the last year but, given the rate new cameras are put on the market, I've got the feeling I didn't care too much about technical aspects and bought this camera only to fill a gap, a hole grown so large to be now ever intolerable.
I just picked the one I've been aiming at for several months, the Canon EOS 40D; what is so strange to me is that I really did not care about specifications, price, additional costs and timing for having it here, in my hands. I only knew I had to have it.
My wife told me she preferred the old gone-by (i.e. stolen) EOS 300D but, having a fashion design background, she puts most of her attention on aspects apparently opposite to technology. I instinctively answered that design is inside, under the black cover but I knew I was lying: I couldn't myself believe my words. I had made an almost random choice.
That's why, now, sitting in front of these two boxes that shine under the dawning rays that filters through the windows of my kitchen, I'm wondering if it's been more important to choose or simply make the decision.
