Last night we went to the World Press photo exhibit and I suppose in a year filled with war, it'd be only natural for an exhibtion of journalistic photography would consist of nearly 90 percent war photos. It was really grounding.
Last night was the open house and so there were heaps of art snobs there walking around sipping wine and looking at these photos. These unreal photography of mothers carrying limbless bloody children and they drink there wine and say "how horrible." then they walk away and forget all about the photograph.
After about an hour I felt so hypocritical I had to leave.
Sure the exhibition raises awareness and all, but..well I don't know, maybe I'm putting too much into it. Being too dramatic.
Yesterday I wrote this entry about how I was grumpy with my job and getting a little sniffy cold and then I look at these photos and nowe I think I'm such a bitch for even considering for one second that I have any reason to be miserable as I sit at my desk job on a computer with a decent salary paid out to me and a warm bed in a home to sleep in a all my family alive and healthy.
I could be carrying a legless bloody child back to a home that was bombed out yesterday by my very own countrymen.
Sometimes, and especially last night, being an American is absolutely embarrassing.