I attended a wedding today, and took this photo of the bride and groom’s first dance.
Um … yeah.
I’m a bad photographer—even with an iPhone. Which is difficult, because you pretty much receive unlimited chances. It’s like a guy only having to make one free throw out of 100,000 tries.
I actually consider this to be something I can chalk up to heredity. Growing up, my father was a pretty awful photographer. Heads would be chopped off, backgrounds blurred, moments missed by mere seconds. This was back in the day when you’d take pictures into Caldor or CVS or wherever to be developed. It was either a 24 or 26 pack. We’d anxiously open the envelope upon its arrival (“This is CVS Pharmacy. Your images are ready to be picked up. Thank you.”) only to be gifted with what can best be called, eh, image outtakes. Like, the fifth of 24 photos would be semi-OK, but the four before it were out of focus and tilted at 45.6-degree angles.
Anyhow, I’m now the photographer my father once was.
Which means lots of crap.
