Remember when Chad T. lost his beloved new camera during the joyousness of New Year's Eve and appealed to Slog for assistance? I asked him if it ever came back to him. Turns out that it was merely hiding behind a strainer being used to make (early) New Year's Day drunk mashed potatoes (full update from Chad after the jump).

From the comments on the post: a link to a website—IFoundYourCamera—devoted to reuniting lost cameras with drunk etc. would-be owners. Photos from found cameras are posted, including this one of a nice family with our new president in Philadelphia:

And here's a sensible tip from a Slog commenter (will wonders never cease!):

Take a picture of a handwritten or printed note that has your address on it, or your phone number, or your email address with an IF FOUND plea. Lock this picture so it can't be deleted. It's really easy. If somebody finds your camera and scrolls through the pictures to try to discern where it came from, this solves it.

Slog: We Live to Serve.

I've been too embarrassed to update Slog on the whereabouts of my camera. But...

One night, a few days after I wrote to Slog, I was lying in bed, It was 2am, I was naked, and my friend Stacy called me. We had been out that night, and Stacy lives across the street, so I'm usually her emergency contact when something happens. So I answered. Stacy can barely get a word out of her mouth. I can't tell if she's crying, laughing really hard, or both. She asks me if I'm already in bed. I say yes, I had just lied down. She tells me she is coming over. I tell her I'm naked. She tells me to get dressed. I wonder if she is hurt, or maybe she locked herself out of her apartment, and the thought even crossed my mind "maybe she found a hot dude for me."

I hopped out of bed and began to get dressed. Not even a minute later, Stacy calls and tells me she is outside, still sounding hysterical. I say "that was fast" and she tells me "yeah, I ran." I head down the hall, and as I open up my back door, I see Stacy, crying AND laughing, and then a big flash in my eyes. Stacy had taken a picture of me. With my camera. What the hell.

Here's the backstory: When we arrived back at Stacy's apartment after the New Year's Eve party, we decided to make drunk mashed potatoes. This is something we do often. I guess I was trying to take pictures in the kitchen, but paused to strain the mashed potatoes, set the camera down on the counter, and then set the strainer down in front of the camera. We looked everywhere in that apartment, except behind the strainer. So after all the searching, all the phone calls, all the craigslist ads, all the whining, complaining, moping, avoiding my mom, and the Slog post, it all came down to drunk mashed potatoes.

Two funny things about this story: One - when I turned on my camera, there was not a single photograph from New Year's Eve. Not a single photograph. I have very vivid memories of taking many, including a video of me forcing two of my female friends to make out. Nowhere to be found. I have no idea. Two - we didn't even eat the mashed potatoes.

Chad