Thinking out loud

I do judge a book by it's cover.

The front, the back, the pictures, the text, the feel.

And if I like it, I buy it and read it.

I also judge people by their appearance.

The hair, the style, the accessories, the attitude.

And what's outside again gives me a pretty good idea of what's inside.

In both cases, I'm sometimes wrong.

But not always. Not even often.

Then there are movies.

Movies have been judged by professional reviewers and many in the public before I make the time for them, so I start out with biases of all shapes and sizes.

My judgement over the years has come to be based on the dialogue, the personalities, the space between chases and shoot-outs and the morality of the individuals and the whole.

Those biases have set me against such innocent movies as The Little Mermaid, and for such unexpectedly thought-provoking movies as I Am Legend.

When it comes to action hero flicks, there is one standard that outweighs all others in my book: not how many times our hero dodges a bullet or explosion or nuclear holocaust, not how many people he wipes out of necessity while saving the rest of the world, I tend to judge an action-hero flick by the strength of its female character.

With that standard, Spiderman comes in last. Indiana Jones is good -- especially bringing back the strongest woman from the first three movies to bring closure to the last. Star Wars always has had strong women. Depends on the 007 movies -- most women are expendable, there only for their looks and entertainment value. X-men have weak and strong in all shapes and sizes and genders. Ironman brought a strong woman in a surprising way -- one who never fired a shot or dodged a bullet, but who wasn't walked on, was confident, clever, capable and interesting.

Give me a good cover, a friendly countenance and a strong role model and I'll give you a thumbs up. Every time.

Blast from the past:

Some very close, personal friends in super-hero action at Universal Studies -- 10 years ago.

An annoying realization

Now I remember -- I'm a wimp.

All these years I think I'd forgotten that or moved on from it or put it in my past or something.

But just today I remembered junior high and the gymnastics unit. To get a passing grade you had to walk across the balance beam. You know balance beams -- those things four-some feet off the ground that the Olympians do somersaults and flips on? I just had to walk across and I was so petrified that I had the entire class stand around and move along the beam with me to catch me if I fell.

I'd forgotten that in all the years of hiking up mountainsides and riding on ski lifts.

But now I remember.

Because I'm feeling wimpy again.

Everybody in my family is certifying for scuba diving and I just simply cannot do that. Possible reasons: 1 -- I love air too much to be so far from it and depend on a gadget for it. 2 -- The power of the ocean has been known to intimidate me when it's taken me places I haven't wanted to go. 3 -- Snorkeling out beyond the reef freaks me out because looking at the drop to deeper ocean makes me think of falling. 4 -- Deep and dark is way out of my comfort zone. 5 -- Sharks. Or eels or tiger fish or stingrays.

Add it all together and you'll find me sitting home once a week waiting for word that everyone survived the latest lesson.

Second wimpy thing this year: Angel's Landing. Though I've hiked the incredible Zion trail twice, I refused to take my family there because of the 1,000-foot drop-offs in every direction. Now they're going on their own and loving it. I could no more hike that trail again than jump out of a plane with nothing but a sheet tied to ropes to break my fall -- something else they've also all done.

So how does one deal with this annoying realization?

The options:
First -- look to all the people in the world who are wimpier than I am.
Second -- look at all the people who don't get scared by doing dangerous things and figure something's wrong with them.
Third -- remember all the brave things I've done even when they were scary.
Fourth -- accept my limitations and be grateful for those who are different.

I think I'll do number 3:

-Had three more babies even after knowing what it was going to be like from the first time.
-Learned to ski and keep skiing even though there's speed and steep slopes involved.
-Stood in front of a classroom of 30 kids with knives and tried to teach them to make cinnamon rolls (see "Keep the kids away from the power tools" by Louise R. Shaw).
-Fought pornography and those behind it, as a spokesman for a statewide constitutional amendment in Oregon.
And, currently:
-Drive the freeways of Salt Lake City on a regular basis (see "Stereotyping" blog entry).
-Admit to my inadequacies in blog format to anyone who might stumble by.


I'm happy for everyone who can jump out of planes and into deep oceans. I'm happy that now I'm over 50 I can just do what I want and don't have to pass a unit in P.E. I'm glad for the things that I've done despite my fears. I'm glad for those who understand my limitations and love me anyway.
















(View from as far as I got on Angel's Landing)

Rare indeed

When they first announced that gallery artists were welcome to display their work at the Great Salt Lake Bird Festival, I declined. 'Didn't think I'd have anything of interest to serious bird watchers. But then the woman in charge saw some of my sunsets and oceanscapes and convinced me they were just the kind of thing she was looking for. Yes, I could do sunsets and oceanscapes, and while collecting the framed pieces and putting together a few matted ones as well, I found some pretty gorgeous stuff. Seagulls were everywhere -- in front of lighthouses, flying singly above a setting sun, swooping in to land on a beach drenched in late-afternoon sun, flapping madly in bunches in front of my favorite monolith, Haystack Rock -- bringing life to an already arresting scene.

When I say "gorgeous," and "arresting," you may think I'm bragging. Not so. I don't take a lot of credit for my photographs. I only capture what God has created. I don't tweak it in photoshop, I don't enhance the color or move items around, though I have nothing against others creating their own art in that way. But in my case I see it, I love it, I push the shutter button, I share it.

So, though I'm not so sure serious bird-watchers are all that into seagulls, I was pretty pleased with the scenes I had captured and framed to share. Here's one:


















Two days before the Festival began I thought I had everything ready to go. Then, call it the randomness of the universe or call it another gift from God, my screensaver popped up with this shot:






















I love how my screensaver rotates through my thousands of pictures before going into hybernation after I've stopped using it for a while. This is a little trick my computer-savy son showed me, which greatly facilitates remembering -- and daydreaming -- and smiling. I sit for the 10 minutes and jump from sunset in Hawaii to family reunion in Utah to crocus in yard, to Japan to state capitol to graduation -- getting whipsawed to beautiful places and random memories.


But I'd forgotten about this Snowy Egret that I'd watched spread its wings, while I patiently squinted through my lens in Florida on the very first outing I took with a digital camera. I printed it up in time for the Festival and one of the bird-lovers there exclaimed over it, pointing out what I didn't know, that it is rare to find an Egret in a tree like that.


It is also rare to have it jump to your attention when you'd forgotten about it long ago. And rare for it to happen just in time to be shared.

And rare, whether in birds or in pictures or in moments, is to be treasured.

Stereotyping

Sometimes a thing is so widely done by so many in your community that it comes to represent that community to you as a whole rather than something done by just a few individuals.

Case in point: Driving. There are so many crazy drivers in Utah that I've come to think of Utahns as people always in a hurry, always trying to get an advantage over their neighbor and always distracted from what's safe or wise or considerate.

This became even more obvious when we were driving in Las Vegas and went to change lanes and someone slowed to let us in. Yes. Las Vegas. That never happens in Utah. If you try and change lanes, cars speed up because they're better and faster than you and the place they're going is more important.

And because that hasn't just happened once, but happens all the time, I've come to stereotype Utahns in a negative light on roads.

Second case in point: Basketball games. I once lived in a community where fans clapped politely when the opposing team was introduced, in respect to their talent and their reputation and their hard work to get there. This same community clapped in appreciation when a great move was made by the opposing team and recognized that every call against their team wasn't necessarily a booable offense of the referrees.

Basketball games here are an embarrassment to the community. The rabid fans are rude and insulting -- not just as individuals, but as a whole.

I'm a Utahn. These observations reflect as much on me as on anyone else, so let me turn them into suggestions: Hey Utah -- slow down out there and take your turn on the road. Recognize that good is good and bad is bad for every team -- not just your own personal favorite.

Stereotypes can change if we do.