There is a certain type of family photograph sweeping the land of Zion here in Utah that is, like, killing me. Really. Every time I see a new photo depicting the epidemic a small part of me dies.
In fact, a solid third of my acquaintances and coworkers probably have eight or fifty of these particular photographs marking the passage of another year (Daxton Nephi is almost seven, we need to get our asses into an orchard, pronto!) hanging on the walls of their earth-tone stuccoed homes but daaaamn, y'all. If I have to see one more family photograph wherein a big, goddamn couch is unloaded in the middle of an orchard...
Do they do this in other parts of the world? Are there framed photographs of midwesterners laughingly lounging on antique furniture dropped, as if from outerspace, into the center of a wheat field? Are the igloos of Eskimos adorned with beautifully framed portraits of The Fam casually perched atop a Pottery Barn Buchanan Sofa in Sierra Red half buried in a snow drift? Because GODDAMN but the red looks simply stunning in contrast with all that white, white snow. It's like RC Willey just rolled up at the North Pole and was like BAM, bitches.
I mean, okay. I was on board with the Denim Family Poses In Woods epidemic of 1995. You know, legs propped on rocks, elbows resting on knees at jaunty angles as a waterfall glistens seductively in the background. And fine, I was pretty nonchalant about the color coordinated clothing version of 2000. What the fuck, Brayden Elijah? We told you to wear burgundy and that shirt is as red as your ass is going to be if you don't CHANGE RIGHT NOW! GodDAMMIT, Aunt Colleen! Ditch the scarf or it's your ass! Do you see anyone else wearing a scarf? Exactly.
But what is it with the fancy furniture lugged out into the wilderness?
I recently saw a photoshoot replete with an entire, like, queen-size bed crashlanded in the mountains near a ski resort. That's right, assholes! Just your average family hanging around on a bed in the frigid Rockies having the best motherfucking story time of their lives. Look alive, Grandma! No slouching! I don't care if your arthritis is "acting up." This shit is forever.
Because, you know, everyone is suddenly a photographer, every stay-at-home-mom is opening a photography business and they're all trying to one-up each other with the orchards and the furniture and the train tracks and the rusty pick-up trucks parked in corn fields. And for Chrissakes match your fucking clothes! There's a plan here! A scheme! Coordination. This is art for hellsakes. Photography at its motherfucking peak and you, you numbskull that wore stripes, YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING! What the fuck were you thinking, Grandma?
I'm thinking of joining up with the movement, actually. It's family photo time, bitches. Show these orchard folks how it's done. Maybe tow my entire living room out to, oh, I don't know, the desert? The Great Salt Lake? We're gonna do it up right. Set up the flat screen, the coffee table. Cover that shit with dirty dishes and old Us Weekly magazines and maybe some sand, like a desert wind storm naturally whipped that shit up onto the couch, you know? Maybe plant a couple of Seagulls around the scene and then order us a pizza and stare at the television like we're having the greatest fucking time ever! Because that shit is going to be above the mantle FOREVER and all you people who just putzed around on a sofa in the orchard will grit your teeth and wish you would've thought of towing your living room out to the desert.
So yeah. The Furniture In Orchard family photo. Don't say I didn't warn you. If you don't get your shit together and drag your Shabby Chic Seaglass Menagerie Bed with Whisper Linen White bedding out into the nearest orchard and have the best goddamn time of your life laughing and lounging around in coordinating (Did you hear that McKellan Brittany? COORDINATING! Not matching! There is a difference between coordinating and matching!) outfits you should know that you have completely failed your family you fucking asshole.