So, I’ve been thinking about this Bryon Evans fella lately. Not like, personally tracking him down, but more his whole vibe, his way of tackling things. This guy, Bryon, he was a legend at one of my old gigs. Proper old school, you know? Everything had to be meticulously planned, double-checked, then checked again just for good measure. A real character.
Anyway, I had this urge to sort out my digital life a bit, specifically my old photos. It’s a mess, thousands of them just sitting there. And a little voice popped into my head, “What would Bryon Evans do with this chaos?” He wouldn’t just drag and drop into folders named ‘Summer 2005’, no sir. That’s bush league stuff for Bryon.
So, I thought, right, let’s give the “Bryon Evans Special” a go. My own little experiment, a personal practice session in extreme organization. Here’s the play-by-play:
- First off, I decided every single photo needed a ridiculously detailed filename. None of this “*” nonsense. Bryon, in my mind, would demand something like “2004-08-15_Seaside_Holiday_Brighton_Pier_Aunt_Mildred_Eating_Candyfloss_Looking_Slightly_*”. For each and every one.
- Next up, the metadata. Oh, Bryon would have a field day. I’m talking precise locations, even if I had to jog my memory for an hour. Camera models, lens settings I definitely didn’t remember. Who was in the shot, their mood, the brand of their shoes if visible. The full nine yards.
- And the folder structure? Don’t even get me started. Not just a simple “2004”. It had to be a labyrinth: “2004” leading to “2004_Q3_Summer_Holidays_UK” which then branched into “2004_08_Brighton_Family_Trip_Week2” and finally “2004_08_15_Pier_And_Arcades_Day_Out”. It was intense just thinking about it.
I dove in. Full of beans, ready to channel my inner Bryon. The first twenty photos? Honestly, it felt quite satisfying. “Look at this precision!” I thought. “Bryon would nod approvingly, maybe even crack a rare smile.”
By photo number sixty-seven, I was losing the will to live. My back ached from hunching over, trying to remember if Uncle Barry preferred stripes or checks in 2006. I’d sunk about five hours into it and barely scratched the surface. Was Bryon’s method even humanly possible for a collection this big? He probably had a secret filing system for his filing systems.
Waking Up from the Bryon Dream
This whole Bryon Evans re-enactment really got the gears turning in my head. Back in his day, maybe that obsessive level of detail was the peak of professionalism. Or perhaps Bryon just operated on a different plane of existence, one where time moved slower and details were king. Fair play to him, if that was his thing.
But for me, right here, right now? Trying to wrestle my digital mountain into Bryon Evans-levels of order felt like painting a house with a toothbrush. I soon realized I was spending far more time fussing over the memories than actually, you know, looking at them or remembering the good times.
It brought back this memory from that old workplace. Bryon was asked to put together a quick list of suppliers. Just names, contacts, basic stuff. A week goes by. The manager asks for an update. Bryon wheels out this trolley laden with binders. Each supplier had a multi-page dossier: company history, financial reports for the last decade, CEO’s pet’s name. The manager just blinked, took a deep breath, and said, “Bryon, a simple list would have been fine.”
So, what’s the takeaway from my little Bryon Evans deep dive?
- Chasing absolute perfection can totally stall you out. Or in my case, make you want to throw your computer out the window.
- Sometimes, “good enough to get the job done” is actually the best way.
- I’m definitely no Bryon Evans. And honestly, I’m pretty chuffed about that.
In the end, I just made folders for “Year” and then “Month-Event”. Slapped on a few keywords. The whole lot sorted in an evening once I shook off Bryon’s ghost. And guess what? I can find any photo I want, easy peasy. Bryon’s methods were probably great for Bryon. But I’ve got photos to look at, not an archive to curate for future historians. Life’s too short, you know?
