My Life in Pictures

Damaged linoleum floor

Walter Mossberg writes a widely-read column in the Wall Street Journal about personal technology. He is the guy when it comes to gadgets. When I temped at Citizen, the day Mossberg's column about personal mini printers came out (panning them, of course, since everything we made was regrettable crap), the mid-level executives and downtrodden salesmen who worked in the Santa Monica office closed their doors (maybe to cry in private) or left early for drinks. His word carries weight.

Mossberg seems like an interesting guy to work for, and he gives his assistant, Katie, many opportunities to test-drive the same gadgets he does. He let her write the entire column last week herself: a stellar review of the new "Cozi" family calendar (not to be confused with Cosi, the open oven-fired pizza restaurant whose gimmick is having smores on the menu that just opened in Bel Villaggio here in Temecula.)

I downloaded it right away, since "I have my calendar (my beloved paper-and-pen Franklin planner), he has his calendar, and never the twain shall meet" doesn't work when your kids get to a certain age.

"We only have one question for you," flashed up on the screen (one of Cozi's gimmicks is plain language.) "Do you want a slideshow?"

Feeling like Homer Simpson pressing the "tab" key on his computer then wondering where his soda was, I clicked "yes."

"Thank you. Just tell me where your pictures are stored." Okay, Hal. They are on our hard drive.

I started dinner, and the computer went idle. Suddenly, five photos, artistically arranged in different sizes and casually overlapping, appeared on screen. My beautiful children. All we needed was "Wind Beneath My Wings" as background music to complete the impression of watching a "Children's Miracle Network" money-raising pitch at the year-end banquet.

Everything looks better in a slo-mo slideshow. Cozi was randomly finding pictures stored in our hard drive and grouping them.

I was transfixed. I couldn't finish dinner or give the girls baths. I planted myself in front of the computer screen and watched our lives, summed up on our hard drive.

As I watched, though, I realized that because we are a little nutty, so are our slideshows. Your slideshow is only as good as the contents of your hard drive. So here are shots of the glorious hour following Bits' birth, then a grouping of pictures of a family day at the beach, then shots of Eva's first day of school, then a set of evidence photos of listening devices planted as part of one of Scott's criminal cases, then a day at the Wild Animal Park, kids' playing in the backyard, then shots of water damage on the bathroom floor. And you know what? Even the water damage on the bathroom floor looked strangely beautiful in the context of a slowly moving slideshow. It could almost have been set to inspirational music. More shots of the kids playing, Eva holding Bits, a day with the grandparents, then me trying on several pairs of jeans with shoes and boots of various lengths to email to a friend for fashion advice. Then pictures of Balboa Park, Dads' Day at school, and a close-up of the cat's ear with possible ringworm. Playing with new toys, a backyard brunch, then grainy close-ups of a weird bug I saw in the bathroom.



Listening device

I may tire of Cozi eventually, but for now, I keep it on all day long, with the slideshow slowly moving intrepidly forward, set to music (I've taken to playing streaming "smooth jazz" in a second window while the slideshow plays, to complete the "Make-a-Wish Donors' Breakfast" feeling.)

They may say "Garbage in, garbage out," but I say it all looks beautiful played in a slo-mo collage set to Lee Ann Rimes.