Nice Glass

Glass, it seems, makes me horny.

Long glass. Fat glass. Short glass. Fast glass. I like to hold it, weighing its heft. Judging its length. Testing its speed.

I like to slowly swab it, daubing it, cleaning slowly with fluid and wipes. Circling smoothly with dry compound cleaners and soft bristle brushes.

I gingerly care for my glass, covering it, capping it, stowing securely with straps, buckles and zippers.

I like to hear about other people's glass. I like them to tell me about their desire for spotting scopes, digiscopes, telescopes and binoculars.

I like to hear about other people's un-filtered fish-eyes and crop-factored telephotos. Size, they say, doesn't really matter, but really, it all depends on what you need it for. Sometimes, a job requires a small one, no longer than my finger. Sometimes, it requires a heavy one, as long as my leg.

Groups and elements of glass, ground and polished to imperceptible tolerances, ashpyrical, concave and convex, meniscal and planar; infinite combinations to correct aberration as the lens drinks-in the available illumination.

Some suck more greedily than others, lapping at the light, slurping it down. Swallowing. Magnifying. Focusing. Diffracting.

But, glass is just glass.

Though, I suppose you could say that about anything. Regardless, it flips my Pavlovian switch like few things can. Or maybe it's Freud's switch. Hard to say, really. Doesn't really matter. I just cannot get enough of that fast fat watery glass.

So, tell me about your glass. I'd love to hear.