Sam memed me.  What the heck, I was feeling short on inspiration.  I’ll deal with the psychological ramifications of responding to a challenge from a lad nearly half my age in therapy  :)

The challenge is simple: you’re supposed to list five things you’re addicted to.  

#1.  The Internet.

This one goes right at the very top of the list.  I’d never heard of the Internet when I first got to university and my World Politics TA, whose name I do remember but won’t list here, made us all learn how to use something called “e-mail.”  I learned how to use “e-mail” in October, but didn’t actually know anyone else who had it until the following spring.  

Nowadays, I get e-mail on my cell phone.  I actually find this annoying, because I don’t always want to have e-mail coming in on my telephone, especially on weekends off.  You can tell I find this annoying when I take my phone out of my pocket every time it gives that specific shudder vibration that indicates a new message has come in.

My mail is online, my photos are online, I’m connected to half of the known universe by blog, facebook, and flickr.  Friend me!

Yeah, I definitely think that qualifies as an addiction.

#2.  Shoes.

My name is Chris, and I’m a shoe whore.

I think I’ve admitted this before — I seem to recall having a length discussion about Danny’s inner Aztec goddess who threatened to eat his still beating heart right out of his chest if he didn’t purchase a pair of shoes.

I don’t actually buy shoes that often, but I have been known to purchase a pair and get home only to realize that I already own them (fortunately on all occasions I’ve been able to add “in another color.”)  The shoe section of our closet — which is far too small–is overrun.

#3.  Books.

“You know, you can get those for free at the library,” my mother is fond of saying, every time she comes over and sees the bookshelves.  She’s so not an addict.  The first time as an undergrad that I walked into a professor’s office and saw every wall lined with shelves sagging under the weight of books crammed in every which way, I thought, “I’m not alone!”

At this point, I have most of my academic books at work and my fun trashy books at home.  I’m starting to grow short on space for books at work, though, because I spend part of my budget on books for research. Granted, I haven’t picked up David Cook’s Martyrdom in Islam yet (I really can’t for thelife of me remember what I was doing that I thought it would be useful), but some of the others–Desiring Arabs, Ornament of the World, Muslins in Spain 1492-1611–I have devoured as quickly as humanly possible.  Hey, I’m a history geek.  I like this stuff.

At home, on the other hand, I’ve got The Devil Wears Prada on my night stand.  Granted, at the moment, I’m reading a trashy Egyptian novel by an author you probably haven’t heard of, but trust me: it’s trashy.

#4.  Food.

I know, we all need food to live.  If I’m an addict, we all are, right?

Well, here’s the thing.  There’s food, and then there’s food.  I am loathe to refer to myself as a “foodie” because a former coworker used to proudly call herself that.  Mainly, I think it was so that she could excuse her own bizarre tastes and self-diagnosed food allergies under a mask of snobbishness (“I’m a foodie” sounds so much better than “Eating onions gives me explosive diarrhea”).

Natalie’s friend Jacques–the one who took us to Teotihuacan and then out to dinner with his partner where I learned many interesting Spanish words–asked me if I was a foodie, and I said, “I wouldn’t say that I’m a foodie.  I just enjoy eating.”

“Well,” he said, “That’s what being a foodie is.”

So maybe I am a foodie.  I don’t know.  I like trying new recipes in my kitchen, and I like trying new foods when I go out.  Our pantry is stocked with spices I’ve only used a handful of times, and on very rare occasions we have to have a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner because a recipe I’ve tried has turned out very, very, very badly. 

But at least we tried it.  ;)

#5.  Photography.

I dithered about putting this one up here.  Am I trying to sound cool?  I wonder.  Then I think about all of the meetings and places that I have wandered into with my camera to the consternation of colleagues, my parents, my boyfriend, and people who have decided to just pretend they don’t know who I am.  I’m usually gracious enough to respond positively when they ask if they can have some of the photos later.

I don’t tend to take a lot of photos at home (although I think Ray would dispute that).  When I’m traveling, however, my camera is always with me.  Always.  We can be just going to dinner, and I’ll bring it along.  Something might happen that I’ll want a photo of!  When Natalie and I went to Puebla, I didn’t bring my camera to dinner and missed getting a photo of the chiles en nogada that we had for dinner the night we arrived.  I may never forgive myself.  We were seriously tempted to have them again just so that I could have the chance.

As much as I’m addicted to photography–and believe you me, when the Adorama weekly specials arrive in my inbox or the quarterly B&H catalog arrives in the mail, it’s like pornography–I still question whether or not I’m a decent photographer.  I’ve taken my share of decent photos, some of which I’ve liked enough to put on the wall in my office or at home.  But then I look at the photos of the pros–some of whom are barely out of high school!–and I feel inadequate. 

And then I pick up my camera and keep trying.

I think at the end of this, I’m supposed to tag others for the meme, but I don’t like doing that.  So, here’s the thing: if you do this, leave a message and link in the comments so I can keep track!