Irrelevant Cheetah

I like my digital camera. It’s a Sony, and it’s got lots of bells and whistles. It allows you to manipulate the shutter speed, and the aperture, and the ISO rating, and it’s got some other neat features, like night-vision, white-balance setting and RAW shooting capabilities. It’s more than adequate for all of my picture-taking needs.

It also has, of course, a built-in flash, which you can set to flash automatically when the camera decides more light is needed for the settings you’ve chosen. You can also set it to “always off” or “always on.” Ordinarily, I leave the flash set to automatic and let it do its thing. After all, I figure it should know its business better than me, and since I am in no way a professional photographer, I’m normally pretty content with the results.

Yesterday I visited Forest Park, just outside Portland, and I took my camera. It’s an awesome park that I’ve been reading about for a while now, and I wanted to do some hiking and take some pictures. Despite discovering, post-arrival, that my tripod was missing a part and thus would be of no use to me, I was looking forward to the excursion. I shouldered my pack, grabbed my camera and set off with a smile in my heart and a song in my step.

Then I tried to take my first picture. Nothing too fancy – just a shot of the trees ahead of me on the trail. It wasn’t too early in the morning, so the sun was out, and the light was good. I lined up my shot and pressed the shutter.

Like an overeager Boy Scout, the flash popped up and went off.

Hmmm, I thought. Somebody’s got a case of the jitters. Just to be sure, I double-checked that the flash was still on “automatic.” Yup. I lined up another shot of a moss-covered boulder and pressed the shutter.

Flash!

Obviously I hadn’t been the only one that morning sucking down the espresso. I looked at the camera. “Thanks for the help,” I said, “but I really don’t need flash here. See the sun? Look! My aperture’s wide open, it’s bright out. Let’s try that again.” I re-framed the shot and clicked.

There was no flash. Obviously my not-insignificant skills at debate had convinced the flash of the error of its ways. After reassuring myself that Ansel Adams had nothing to fear from my photographic skills, I continued on my hike.

Thirty feet down the path, there was a moss-covered log buried in ivy – a great shot, and in the dark, too. Sure enough, the flash agreed with my initial assessment that more light was needed, and flashed on cue. Then, as if determined not to let me forget it was there, it continued to flash happily for the next ten pictures, no matter what I was shooting.

So I tried to reason with the flash. I am nothing if not diplomatic. “Look,” said I. “Ordinarily I just let you do your thing. After all, you’re designed to do one thing and one thing only, and that is to emit light. It’s your job to make sure my photos don’t look like I’m taking snapshots of the interior of a barn at midnight during a lunar eclipse, and normally, you do an awesome job. No complaints from me.

“However,” I continued, “lately – and don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to step on any toes, but lately, you’ve been… well… a bit overzealous.” I held my camera at arm’s length and waved it around the forest in order to illustrate my point. “Do you see this light?” I asked it. “See the sun shining? Does this seem in the slightest bit dark to you?”

There was no response, so I pursued my line of reasoning. “Look around! Why, I am almost ready to put on my sunglasses – that’s how bright it is out here.” I was exaggerating slightly, sure, but I was trying to make a point, and I didn’t think my camera would mind. “My point is that you don’t need to flash. Really. In fact, I would almost prefer that you didn’t, in the majority of cases here. For example, I don’t need to see all of the details on that log over there; in fact, I’m actually trying to capture the contrast between that log and the sun shining through the trees. Do you see that?”

Still no response, so I went in for the kill. “All in all,” I told it, “you’re doing an excellent job. But if you don’t quit flashing in all of these pics, I’m going to have to turn you off. And I don’t want to do that. After all, you’re supposed to be the expert here, not me. But if we can’t reach an agreement, well…” I let the threat hang in the air.

I wanted to let that sink in for a minute, so I walked another few hundred yards before raising the camera again. I deliberately chose a nice, bright scene, with the sunlight dappling the leaves in a clearing. I aimed, focused, and…

Flash!

“All right,” I said. “You had your chance. Apparently we don’t have an understanding. You give me no choice: as of right now, I am taking over all flash-related decisions. Got it?” And with that, I set it to “off,” and continued on my merry way. If I needed a flash, I turned it on, and then turned it off when I didn’t. There were a few episodes when I could tell that the flash really wanted to second-guess my decision, but it kept quiet, and I took my pictures victoriously. I felt a little smug; it’s not every day you win an argument with a light-emitting electronic device.

And the pictures? For what it’s worth, my flickr photo set is here. It may be the first of many – Forest Park is over 5,000 acres, and I barely scratched the surface. And I’m leaving my flash set to “off.”

…suck.

That is all.

There’s one thing that’s probably on every Cheetah reader’s mind these days. Admit it. You all have been thinking to yourselves, Hey! Wolf’s from Alaska! I wonder what he thinks of all of this Palin nonsense!

Well, wonder no longer, and allow me to fill you in. It’s pretty simple, really, and I think it’s the same reaction you’d get if you asked anybody else from Alaska. Palin-mania has affected the way I interact with others. I tell people that I’m from Alaska, and then I cringe, awaiting the inevitable. Sure enough, their eyes light up. “Palin?” they ask. “Palin palin palin palin palin palin! Palin!” I get the feeling that I could tell them I’m from Mars, exhibit a third arm and the ability to turn lead into gold, and they would still ask me about Ms. Palin. “Say, that ability to synthesize matter must come in handy! Can you make me a pair of glasses just like Sarah Palin’s?”

Please don’t blame me for Palin. For that matter, please don’t thank me, either. I didn’t sic her on you, and believe me: I’m far more tired of her than you are. It’s gone so far that one lady, upon hearing that I was from Alaska, responded “Oh! You’re the ones who gave us Palin!” as if I and all the other inhabitants of the Great Frozen North got together one morning and decided that we shouldn’t be the only ones to suffer. Not a bad idea, now that I think about it, but not the case.

As for my reactions to her:

Not every Alaskan plays hockey. Some of us think it’s an idiotic sport.

Many of us have never used the phrase “You betcha!” Ever.

Many of us like to pronounce all of the letters in words, even when they end in ‘–ing.’
No, you can’t see Russia from my house.

Not all Alaskans are gun-toting, beer-guzzling, moose-skinning, Creationist-believing Republicans who would just as soon shoot a wolf from a helicopter as they would call a Democrat a terrorist. Most of them are, but not all.

Bottom line: I’m sick of the whole mess, and I really wish she would go away. And in that regard, you have the advantage over me: even if McCain loses this November and Palin falls out of the national spotlight, I still have to listen to her as governor for at least the rest of her term and probably her next one, since most Alaskans are dumb enough to vote her in twice.

Think of me with compassion, won’t you?

Memo to prostitutes: YER DOING IT WRONG.

About fifty blocks east of my area is 82^nd Street. The area has gained notoriety lately because of its indigenous population of streetwalkers – also known as “ladies of the night.” The local police have been kind enough to look the other way, as they prefer that all of the local hookers concentrate their efforts in one area and not “pollute” the rest of Portland.

This past weekend I was (un)fortunate enough to travel through that section of town for the first time, and my first impression went something like this: What is that smell? Where’s my wallet? Where the Hell is the bus? Is that a body part in the gutter? Oh, jeez, that one-eyed guy is looking at me funny. Luckily, the bus came not too long after and I survived my first (and hopefully last) foray into this part of town.

Upon reflection, I realized that what is rather amusing to me is that prostitutes not only hang out in this seedy section of town, they do most (if not all) of their business there. It seems to me that if one wanted to make money as a hooker, one would go where the money is, and there’s not a whole lot of dough freely floating around 82^nd Street, unless it’s already earmarked for hypodermic needles and 40 oz. cans of malt liquor.

I’m not an economist, as evidenced by my lack of a portfolio and by my knowledge of forty-seven different ways to cook Ramen noodles. What I do know, however, is that if one wants to make money selling a product or service, regardless of what that product or service is, then one must go where the customers have money. And these ladies aren’t doing that.

I suppose if you’re a crack whore there are advantages to working in your own district. No commute, for instance; you can literally roll out of bed and get to work. But, dearie, if you want to sell a handjob for more than $5, don’t you think it would behoove you to frequent an area where the average Joe (or John, if you follow me) has an annual salary of more than $9,500? Aim high! Stop accepting food stamps as an alternate form of payment, and put a higher price on your services! It’s simple economics.

John Maynard Keynes would be so proud of me.

Last week for the paper I reported on a town hall-style meeting that took place in the student union here on campus. The topic: global warming, and how it affects lower-income Americans. The main speaker has written several books on the subject and had one main important point: that the world must do something about global warming in the next six months, or else the effects could be devastating. Global warming, he said, was no longer just something we could put on the back burner. Something must be done now.

About sixty people showed up to this presentation, listened to the different speakers, and gave their input at the question-and-answer session. It had a very grass-roots atmosphere to it. It was heartwarming, it was encouraging, it was good to see.

It was flipping useless.

I’m an environmentalist, through and through. I hug trees, and I cut up my plastic six-pack holders with scissors before I throw them out so that birds don’t get them wrapped around their neck. I want to save the environment as much as, if not more than, the next guy.

But you know what? Before anything else, I have to admit that I’m a goddamn cynic, and watching those people flail uselessly, thinking that they can make a difference, was actually kind of sad.

As far as I’m concerned, if we, the human race, can’t pull our heads out of our collective asses and fix the problems that we helped cause, then we deserve whatever we get. And pulling our heads out of our asses is going to take a lot more than a couple of “concerned citizens” sitting around and self-importantly congratulating one another for taking the bus one day a week or spending some cash on the reusable grocery bags. It’s going to take real, concerted effort from politicians – the people who, whether we like it or not, have the power to enact laws and regulations and enforce compliance with environmental laws. And I just don’t see that happening, no matter which party ends up inhabiting the White House in a month. The environment has always taken a back seat to other issues, and it always will, unless it comes up as a response to another issue, like drilling for oil.

And most members of the human race think that they’ll be able to drag hundreds of thousands of pounds of crab out of the Alaskan sea every single year forever. Most people think that the Amazon will be there forever. Most people think that plastic bags magically “go away” when you throw them in the wastebasket, and most people don’t really see an immediate need for alternative sources of power like solar and wind.

So I can’t help but pity those poor folks that seem to think that attending town-hall style meetings at their local university will make a difference. I pity them, and then I console myself with the thought that if/when we can’t get our shit together, it’ll give some other species a shot, and maybe they’ll do better than we did.

Hopefully we won’t leave our room too messy when we exit stage right.

They’re everywhere. They’re insidious. Every time I turn around I see them. I’d swear they’re following me, and it probably won’t be long before they haunt my dreams.

I am talking, of course, about these:

Specifically, that style of eyeglasses, with the rectangular lenses and the large, wide temples.

Honestly, I don’t know if their global domination plan has totally come to fruition, or if they’re concentrating their efforts in the Pacific Northwest, but I see these glasses everywhere. They’re on men, they’re on women, they’re on cross-dressing Smurf-lovers.

They were popular before Palin-mania (and don’t get me started on that) and now they’ve just taken off.

Perhaps it would be different if they were flattering, but they’re not. If you wear them, I apologize, but they’re really not that flattering to your face. I mean, your face isn’t rectangular, is it? How about your eyeballs? Aren’t they more… I don’t know… oval-shaped? Some of these glasses are so wide that they come dangerously close to crossing into Star Trek territory and looking like Geordi LaForge’s eyepiece:

There’s no way you can see a complete field of vision out of some of these. They seem to be specifically designed for shifty-eyed folks: you know, as you dart your eyes side to side to keep an eye out for the coppers, at least you’ll have 20/20 vision.

Bottom line: can we please get over this eyeglass fad and go to something not only less irritating, but something less pervasive? I really am going to start dreaming about Eyeglass People following me, looking at me sideways with perfect vision.