Archive | July, 2009

Ansel Would Be So Proud

10 Jul

We vacationed last week in the absolutely breathtaking Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks, leaving behind the children and bringing along my new camera.

Let me make clear that I am not a photographer. I wish I was one. Or ideally, had a really talented one who could follow me around and take great pictures to document the incredible things I saw but can’t capture on film.

 The texture of moss growing on granite rocks. The contrast of the gnarled branches of burned trees standing sentry in a meadow as a new circle of life begins in the forest. The tacky fat tourist man who was wearing a shirt so small and tight that his stomach hung down 2 feet out from under it.

But I had to try and take pictures on a trip like this. On our rafting trip down the Snake River, the guide pointed out that as we rounded a corner, we would see the same view of the Grand Tetons that Ansel Adams immortalized in one of his most famous photographs.

So, I took a LOT of pictures. Often to the great dismay of my husband who really did not want to hear me scream one more time “Oh, look!!! Stop the car!!!”

I am a *delight* on vacation, I tell you. An absolute delight.

Of the eighty million pictures I took, this best summarizes the trip. In it, you will note there are bison snacking RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW, and he is stubbornly driving forward and laughing. Probably to keep from crying. Or smacking me.

It's just a furry cow. No need to stop.

It's just a furry cow. No need to stop.

However, 20 seconds later, one of the bison totally sided with me and forced a photo op by marching out in front of our car. Not only did I get a picture, I got the answer to the age-old question, “Why did the bison cross the road?” In this case, he was following a very tiny bird.

The bird is the little dot on the yellow line. It was not harmed. They are friends, apparently.

The bird is the little dot on the yellow line. It was not harmed. They are friends, apparently.

Despite my marginal skill and  some resistance to my developing craft, I got a few nice shots. However, in my attempt to be artsy, I also failed miserably more than a few times.

Such as the close-up of the bison hoofprint in the geyser basin at Yellowstone.  Signs everywhere there gravely warn people to stay on the boardwalks lest they fall though the earth’s crust and be boiled alive. It happens. You can even buy a book called Death in Yellowstone, that explains these things.

But the bison do not read, so after the tourists go to sleep, they treat the whole area like a big hot tub party, leaving lots of little hoofprints. I found one of these prints particularly interesting, because the buffalo had cracked the earth’s crust and started its own little natural spring.

So I carefully zoomed in, adjusted the exposure for the bright light, and snapped away. Then, back at home, pulled it up full size on the computer and realized with great joy… I had captured a Yellowstone classic.

Yes, I know what it looks like
Yes, I know what it looks like

The coochie hot springs.

Next year, I am buying postcards.
 
 
You can read more about our adventures in Jackson, Wyoming in my blog for the San Antonio Express-News by clicking right here. There are no questionable photos and the word “coochie,” is nowhere to be found. However, somehow it still may manage to be entertaining.
Advertisements

Dear Facebook Quiz Addicts

8 Jul

Now listen, I love you all. I’m glad we are connected.

There’s been a hole in my life ever since we lost touch after: (check one)

  • college
  • high school
  • third grade
  • that one time at band camp
  • I got that restraining order against you

But still, I am enjoying this renewed connection. I like knowing what you’re up to, I love the pictures of your kids or cat. I enjoy trying to decide which of us has aged better. (Hi, Lisa. You win. I still like you.)

 However, there remain some things I don’t want to know about you.

I don’t want to know which swear word you would be,  how big of a b-tch you are, what sexual position you would be, or how many celebrities without makeup you can name. I am not at all worried about whether or not the Transformers would like you back.

I read Harry Potter, too, but I don’t care which Hogwarts House you would be assigned to, especially if you are over 40, because that is just sad. I don’t care if you are a Fork Biter or a Knife licker, and frankly, that sounds dirty. I don’t want to know what your lucky number is, especially if it announces it to me in a sparkly animated .gif that takes up two-thirds of my home page.

I don’t care what cookie, ice cream flavor, candy bar, or sandwich you would be. I do not want to lick your profile lollipop, and also? That is just gross.

I’m not totally anti-quiz. I will give you a pass of they are hilarious or ironic or historical like “How long would you last in a fight with God?” or “Which fiend of history are you?”  You get a pass on style points for those.

I know, you get bored. You take these things late at night and you can’t sleep because you drank 12 Diet Cokes after noon, or when you are locked in the bathroom with the laptop hiding from your children who are home for the summer and just won’t. stop. asking. questions.

Or maybe that’s just me.

But before you hit that little button that asks “publish to your News Feed?” I want you to think long and hard. Does your third-grade crush, your husband’s cousin, your BFF from college and the rest of the free world REALLY NEED TO KNOW THIS? Step back from the computer and count to ten.

And it’s not a quiz, but if for even a millisecond, you think you should tell the world that you just sent a friend an “I Weep Alone” using gothic gifts? I am begging you, turn off your computer and go get some sunshine.

Love,

Lettergirl

P.S. For the record, I would last 15 seconds in a fight with God, although I know better than to start one.

%d bloggers like this: