Rant: Photo cards

Photo cards are here in a big way. You know the kind – single-sided, printed on glossy photo paper, with a big photo of the sender and/or their family and some canned Christmas greeting. J. and I got two already. I am not so much of a curmudgeon that I am going to complain that no one hand-writes their Christmas cards anymore. I know that's a lost cause. And never mind that these cards are the latest manifestation of the MySpace phenomenon – a way for people to focus yet another thing, formerly a small gesture of friendliness towards others, on themselves. It's the pictures!

Take the two cards sitting on our bookshelf. Both are from friends who live far away. Both sets of friends are couples, each with a small child. The cards could not be more different. Exhibit A: A., her husband S. and their little daughter. The entire family is in the picture. A. and S. are both smiling, looking healthy, and A. has a stylish new haircut. Exactly what I want to see, if I am going to get a photo in the mail. I don't really care about the kid – it's my friends I want to see. I mean, I do care that the kid is healthy and growing up well, but I have to be honest – I care mostly because if the kid is happy, my friends are happy. But there is more. While her parents are smiling beatifically, the little girl has the crankiest, most sour expression on her face. It's obvious that she had to be dragged in front of the camera kicking and screaming. The contrast between her and her parents is hysterical. Surely there were other pictures available. Surely she could be made to smile long enough to take a snapshot with a various combination of candy, teddy bears and what have you. But my friends chose to send this one, so even the anti-kid elements among us could get a chuckle out of a picture of a child.

Exhibit B: Only the kid, wearing both a Santa hat and a "Santa's Little Helper" sweatshirt, grinning inanely into the camera, floating against a blue background – obviously a studio shot. The parents are nowhere to be seen. It screams: “Look at what we've created! Look how adorable it is! Don't you love it?” Apparently, I am supposed to focus on nothing but the kid. I haven't seen the parents in three years, this is the only thing they will send me all year, and I still don't know what they look like nowadays. I guess the kid is all I am expected to care about, even though I've never met him, and by the time I will, if ever, he will look like nothing like the picture. The parents have become non-entities. Ah, well. What was that The Who said about my generation?