("Till Pixels Do Us Part," continued)

weeks of clicking away.

And click away he did. He amassed literally tens of thousands of images. He took photos of anything and everything -- animal, vegetable and mineral. People, places and things. (Many of them quite brilliant, I might add.)

What was it like, living with the digitally obsessed?

I never knew when I might be blinded by a flash.

"No, dear, I wasn't shooting you, it was the exquisite texture of the drops against the porcelain in the shower stall that caught my eye."

Leaving the house, he'd catch the reflection on the doorknob.

Click.

"Oh, that leaf. The inherent beauty, the absolute perfection."

Click.

"Wait, don't get in the car yet. The juxtaposition of the antenna against the garage door -- it's fantastic."

Click.

Click. Click. Click.

The Coolpix went everywhere: on errands, on walks, to my son's school, to the grocery store, even to dinner at restaurants -- nothing was off limits. It got so bad that I carried a book wherever we went, since I never knew when he'd flip open his camera to review his latest cache. Every other year, I couldn't wait for our summer vacation. This year, I dreaded it.

When he wasn't snapping pictures, he was uploading them. When he wasn't uploading, he was editing. When he wasn't editing, he was enhancing. He became a devotee of Photoshop. And Photoshop became his mistress.

Sometimes he'd take his first image of the day before he'd even had a cup of coffee. Often, the camera was the last thing he touched at night. I'd beg him to come to bed and he would say, "Just as soon as I've finished this one last shot." He'd eventually stumble in, long after I'd cried myself to sleep.

I knew he had truly crossed the line between passion and obsession when he started taking shots inside movie theaters, clicking away at the screen. And then checking out the results during the movie, oblivious to the spectacle of the LCD monitor's bluish glow. I'd slink down in my seat, sure that at any moment he'd be pelted with popcorn, the target of moviegoers trying to reclaim the dark.

Oh, I tried not to let on that I was anything less than enthusiastically supportive of his new love. But my wifely indignation flared, I confess, when we found ourselves in the midst of the proverbial bevy of babes at the beach on the Fourth of July, and he clicked away with admirable consistency, practically knocking me aside at one point to get a better "angle." At least I didn't toss the camera into the ocean. (I tried, but he was too quick for me.)

To my dismay, the obsession only grew. He started hanging out with a rowdy crowd -- online, that is. His new friends -- he found more than 50,000 of them on Fotolog.net -- shared his passion for digital images. We were drifting further and further apart.

I knew we needed help. But I didn't know where to turn. I wished there were a 12-step program for digiholics. Why shouldn't there be? There's one for just about everything else. Desperate, I called one of my husband's closest friends, who agreed to intervene. He confronted my husband -- who admitted he was powerless to control his obsession -- and not so gently shoved him on the road to recovery.

But I knew that it wasn't going to be that simple. I had seen the gleam in my husband's eye. So I did what any smart woman would do to save her marriage: I fought back. I went shopping and bought my own digital camera. Plus, I signed up online for not one but two Fotologs -- upgraded "Gold Camera Patron" accounts at that. Let my husband take out his Coolpix, and I'll match him frame for frame.

And wouldn't you know it? As soon as I got involved in digital imaging, he lost interest almost immediately. So now I'll be able to spend a lot more time with him -- if I can just catch him between the blogs that he's now posting every day.

Author's e-mail: Sheryl@sherylvanderleun.com

Sheryl Van der Leun, who works on the media relations staff of the California-based Motorcycle Industry Council, says she writes because it's cheaper than therapy.

© 2003 The Washington Post Company

To read this on the washingtonpost.com, click here. (You may be asked to do a short registration.)

Comments

[andre]

she needs urgently something to do !!!
He is a happy man
She is not .

[Roslyn]

Frightening. My boyfriend who now posts on four site since purchasing his digital sent me this article. In the spring it is his gardening.There is no spot to sit outside that there isn't a patch of "color" In the fall it was woodworking alot of expensive bits and tools, and now it is digital pictures. Alot of women complain about being a football widow. That would be easy

[Maggie Wallace]

I enjoy Fotolog, but I'm not that obsessed..... Yet! ;-)

[giovanni]

straight edge

[Sheryl Van der Leun]

Oh, Andre. Fear not. I am an exceptionally happy woman. Exaggeration and satire are simply my humble tools to make an ordinary situation more humorous than it might first appear.

I was also a huge supporter of my husband's first solo photography exhibit, for which I created this website: http://newyorklifeimages.com, wrote all the content, and documented with pictures taken at the exhibition.

[Esquilo]

I'm trying to be like your husband... but as I can see, no one can do it :(