The pic is the thing

Jake and Stephanie are all in on the Uber Arthouse Project—a thing I just made up right now.

I’m trying something new: photos.

Yes, I’m aware: Photos are not, in fact, new. Neither is the idea that they should be included in blogs, social media and all things interweb to ensure maximum eyeballs/clicks/follows. I’m old, but I’m not sarsaparilla-sipping, shop-at-the-general-store, gonna-die-of-the-whooping-cough old. Everyone who’s anyone knows that sharing images remains an activity that is, in the words of one of our great bards, “hot” and “now.”

So I’ve added a wrinkle to my Uber chronicling, asking certain riders if they’d mind my snapping a quick photo of them. As it turns out—and I know this is wild—members of a certain generation really dig their pics. Particularly those photos in which they appear.

Kaycee and The Sunshine Band brighten the doorstep of D.P. Dough.

Other generations, I’ve found, don’t like this idea as much. When I ask if it’s OK if I get a quick shot, most believe me to be a creeper. Or maybe they’re just goddamn cranks.

They don’t understand “The Twitter.” Or “FacesBooks.” And, Jesus Christ, to folks of a certain age Instagram might as well be Tinder. For their delicate analog constitutions, Snapchat induces instant seizures.

Katie would not be denied: She and her friend were too rushed to stop for a photo, so she insisted on texting me this one.

Look, I get it: Young people can be insufferable. I’ve had a few Millennial riders I would’ve gladly tied to the Sonata’s bumper, “Vacation”-style, to learn just how long they could keep up. But most are charming, humorous, all-in-good-fun types. They aren’t any more vain than you, me or your Uncle Loin. Growing up in the age of mind-blowing technology just gives them access to a creative outlet we weren’t able to indulge. Grandma Ethel would’ve totally squeezed into a string bikini and Snapped a selfie to her FWB if, back in her day, the old bat had gotten the chance.

So why not have fun with it? Let the kids be kids, I say. No harm, no foul. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

And, y’know, if I maybe get a few more clicks out of it …