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Travel

• The Louisville International Airport has the most amazing Dyson hand dryers in the restrooms. They really do dry off your hands in 10 seconds. Design-wise, Dyson is the Apple of things that blow and suck.

• On both legs of the trip, we sat towards the rear of the airplane, behind the wings. This is a good news/bad news thing. On the plus side, I can look out the window and make sure at least one of the wings is still attached to the plane. On the down side, those wings wobble a disconcerting amount, especially during some turbulence.

• Dulles International Airport is nowhere near Washington DC. Don’t let ‘em tell you different. Watching the cab fare go up and up and up isn’t the most relaxing way to start your vacation.

Downtown DC

• Downtown Washington DC is one of the cleanest, nicest urban areas I’ve ever seen. I don’t know that I saw a spot of trash where it shouldn’t be. Old buildings were classy, not dilapidated. There was only one thing I noticed:

• Washington DC has a huge homeless problem. There was a small park outside of our hotel where in the evening about 10 people slept. This was four blocks away from the White House. We walked to find breakfast on Saturday morning, and in almost every nook and cranny you could fit a person in, there was a person.

• We stayed a block away from the embassies of both Mexico and Uruguay.  I always imagined that embassies had big courtyards that you could run into and request political refuge, if the need struck you. These were like storefronts. They were both next to much bigger, much nicer banks. It was a bit disillusioning.

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• You can practically stumble across history in the town. We went to the Hard Rock Café one night (several people mentioned that I should try the Ethiopian food in the city, but I gotta be me), and as we were walking out, we noticed that Ford’s Theater (of “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” fame) was right next door. One of Prince’s guitars is less than 100 yards away from one of the great crime scenes in American history, and I don’t mean “Graffiti Bridge.”

The Mall

• While we were walking along the Reflecting Pool between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, we met a woman dipping her toes in. Considering the vast amount of duck poo that coats the Pool’s concrete bank (they never show that in the official photos), it was kinda gross. She asked us how deep we thought the pool was, to which I honestly answered “I don’t know.” I knew immediately that I had just missed an opportunity. Had I answered “Ankle deep, I think,” we all could have found out for sure just how deep it was.

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• Washington must be one of the most photographed places on the planet. Since everywhere you go there’s an amazing site, there are people taking photos everywhere you go. If you’re trying to stay low profile, DC probably isn’t the place for you — you’ll always be in someone’s shot. Eventually, I just gave up and started taking photos of people taking photos. My favorite was of four guys trying to get their photo taken in front of the Washington Monument doing the “YMCA” in mid-air. The guy taking the photo was having problems getting the shot. I didn’t.

The Metro

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• Since we flew in and didn’t rent a car, we depended on our feet and the Metro system to get us around Washington DC. The Metro system is very clean, convenient, fast and easy to use, and wasn’t that expensive. It’s a shame that it’s apparently losing money hand over fist. It did made me rethink my whole opinion on public transportation. Maybe it’s not just for hippies, vagrants and vagrant hippies after all.

The Smithsonian
• Ah, America’s attic. We were able to hit the American History museum and the Air & Space museum. There were a lot of hands-on exhibits, so of course my mind goes right to Swine Flu fears. I remember from my eighth-grade trip that the prop U.S.S. Enterprise was at the Smithsonian, so I wanted to see it. Unfortunately, when we asked someone where it was, he seemed disappointed that we were asking about a fictional ship — and he made sure we knew that it wasn’t real. Glad he cleared that up for us.

• In the Air & Space Museum, I got to touch a sliver of moonrock. Swine Flu be damned, I touched a piece of the Moon. Besides, if I get the flu from a moonrock, don’t I automatically get superpowers?

The Wall

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• The Vietnam Memorial wall was built just after my eighth grade trip. I’ve of course seen it on TV and read about it, but it really is powerful when you get right up to it and see it with your own eyes, and get a feel of just how much 53,000+ really is. A parks department volunteer guide, who was himself a Vietnam Vet (three tours), was stationed at the wall, answering questions. He showed me a spot to take photos where the reflection of the Washington Monument made for a nice shot, and gave me, and others around me, some history and interesting tidbits. Probably the most powerful point of the whole thing was a simple exchange between him and an older man wearing a cap with the Marine symbol on it. “Welcome home, Marine,” he said. The man returned a quick salute with a simple “Thank you.” He then looked at the panel next to me, found a name, and slowly ran his thumb across it. I didn’t take the photo.

The Jackholes

• I’m cynical by nature, but I have respect for certain things, like memorials. The Vietnam Memorial. The World War II Memorial. These structures are there to remind us the sacrifice others made to allow future generations their freedoms. So, when you find the name of your state in the World War II Memorial (they’re all there), don’t have your buddies take your picture throwing faux gang signs and making goofy faces. When you’re at the Vietnam Memorial, don’t hug the wall and have your buddy take a picture because the reflection looks cool. You’re not making art; you’re making yourself a jackhole. Cemetery rules apply: If you wouldn’t throw gang signs in a cemetery, don’t throw them there. If you would throw them in a cemetery, get the hell away from me.

The People

• One of the cool things about a city like DC is the people. We heard, we believe, English, Spanish, French, German, Russian, Hindi, Turkish, and several we didn’t recognize, along with English of different accents.

Things I learned

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• I can spend nearly 24 hours a day for five days with my wife, and still miss her when I had to go to work the next day.

• Objects on a map appear closer than they really are when you have to walk your carcass from one end of the city to the other.

• When you bring a pair of sandals as your only footwear on what is primarily a walking vacation, make sure they won’t rip the skin off your toe or heel. Otherwise, you might have to rock socks and sandals for the bulk of your stay.

• I dress like a tourist no matter where I am, apparently. All I need is a map to complete the look.

The Justification: Ever tried to herd cats? If so, then you know what it’s like to take group shots of 10 kindergarten classes in one day.

The Explanation: Every year, the paper I was working on put together a special section titled “The Class of Present Year +12” (in 2003, it would be “The Class of 2015,” etc.). In it, we’d take pictures of every kindergarten class in the county’s schools (and not just the public schools, my friends; the private schools, too. If you think 5-year-olds in private schools behave better than their peers in the public system, think again). Once we gathered all these images of the precious tots, we’d package it all together, sell advertising to companies that wanted to be part of a “feel good” project, and then make sure everyone’s parents knew that Little Johnny and Janie were going to be in the paper that day, so buy 12 copies!

Win/Win, everyone’s happy, right? Well, not if you’re the one that had to traipse around to all these far-flung schools and try to get 20 or so little germ factories to sit still and look at the same point for five or 10 seconds. Generally, when taking a photo of any group, you take two or three, in case someone blinks. In this case, I’d take four or five, because, invariably, some future jackass that will be your kid’s co-worker at some point would decide this was their big moment and do their best Broadway jazz-hands, usually elbowing their buddy next to them. Chaos ensued.

(By the way, I really don’t have anything against kids, who are, on average, perfectly lovely people. Just want to throw that out there. But I’m sure that even the most doting of parents will, at their most truthful, admit that they wish their kids would, sometimes, just cut the crap. The thing to keep in mind is that these weren’t MY KIDS.)

So, when I’d get back to the newsroom (and I’m using the term “news” pretty loosely right now), I’d take a look at the photos and see that, of the four pictures I had, about 20% of the kids were looking off in the distance, blinking, or otherwise not putting their best face forward. And it wasn’t just me; everyone’s pictures had the same problems.

Then it occurred to me. Out of four shots, all the kids were looking at the camera at some point, just not all at the same time. Since I didn’t move, and since they stayed (pretty much) in the same positions, it would be easy to make a composite shot in Photoshop. The devil on my right shoulder said “do it.” The angel on my left said “Meh, whatever.”

So, in summary, if you had a child in kindergarten sometime during the first half of this decade, at a certain school system, there’s a good chance that I cut off your kid’s head, and depending on how much trouble they were, I wasn’t always gentle. But, hey, YOUR kids were probably looking at the camera and smiling, right? It’s those damn other people’s children who are the troublemakers, so no worries.

The point of this long, slightly rambly story is that, now that digital photography is everywhere, it’s easy to doctor photos with programs such as Photoshop, and the temptation can sometimes be overwhelming. It’s easy to say “I’d never doctor a photograph that was going to be published,” it’s hard not to bump up the contrast, remove the red-eye, make this part of the photo a little lighter, that part a little darker (just to help the composition, you understand)…. At what point does it go from touch-up work to forged photography?

Simply messing with the lightness and darkness of photographs (called “dodging and burning,”) got Time Magazine in a spot of trouble when they ran a picture of O.J. Simpson’s mug shot after the slow-speed Bronco chase. While Newsweek ran the photo pretty much as is, Time’s version was darker and more sinister. The illustrator responsible said that he wanted to make the image “more artful, more compelling,” by illustrating the shadow that had fallen over a then-loved sports figure (it’s true – O.J. Simpson at one time played football). Enough people saw it as “demonizing the black man” that time did something they had to that point never done – they pulled the cover and replaced it so that the one that hit the newsstands was a much less controversial shot (only subscribers to the “evil” cover, so call now!).

Of course, photo retouching isn’t a new game. Russia was an old pro at it in the 1920’s (pre-Photoshop). Probably the most famous case was that of Leon Trotsky, a friend of Lenin who ran afoul of Stalin’s politics. Suddenly, like a teenage boyfriend who cheated, he was eliminated from the photo albums, and from the public record. When you consider the technology the Soviets  had to work with, it wasn’t a bad job, actually.

Next week, we’ll take a look at modern examples — some funny, some not-so-much — of altered photos being used to tell stories that should never have been told.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The word is “schadenfreude,” and you have to respect the German culture that came up with a single word that encompasses such as specific feeling. Its definition is “a mischievous delight in the misfortunes of others.” Sure, it’s the basis of moral-driven stories (we all felt it when Darth Vader threw the Emperor down the ventilation shaft; no one I know of stood up and said “BOO! Emperor Palpatine was the duly elected ruler! This is an illegal coup!”), but we see it in our everyday lives, as well. One might say it surrounds us, it penetrates us, it binds the galaxy together. Or one might not. Your choice.

Case in point: I was driving my best friend and his family to the airport, and we traveled up I-265 towards the Kennedy Bridge. This is one of the biggest areas in Indiana for writing speeding tickets, and they were out in force that morning. We counted five pull-overs in about a two-mile stretch. They even had cops on motorcycles, so you know they meant business (IHiPs?).

Driving back, I knew to look for it, and was traveling about 60 MPH. The PT Cruiser that blasted by me at 80 MPH, however, did not. He wasn’t 500 yards ahead before he got the signal to pull over and get his day ruined. I chortled all the way back home; it isn’t often that there’s such as perfect setup, and it’s even less often that you know exactly where to look for it. Was it small of me to get pleasure out of the pain of another? Probably. Was it funny? Definitely.

The concept was brilliantly covered in the musical “Avenue Q” with the appropriately titled song “Schadenfreude” (warning: salty language):

GARY: D’ja ever clap when a waitress falls and drops a tray of glasses?

NICKY: Yeah…

GARY: And ain’t it fun to watch figure skaters falling on their asses?

NICKY: Sure!

You get the idea.

Some kind souls are nice enough to post some of their misfortunes online simply to allow others to feel better. One of the best places to find such things is on fmylife.com. F— My Life (fill in the blanks for yourself) offers user submitted examples of why their lives are f—-ed. For example:

“Today, I finally decided to tell my mother, a former Miss North Carolina winner, that I was several weeks pregnant. She immediately burst into tears and hugged me. She kept saying, ‘Thank god, thank god.’ At first I was relieved. Then she said, ‘I thought you were just getting fat.’ FML”

or

“Today, my 250 lb ex-Marine dad announced he was going to start randomly punching me in the crotch, without warning, to ‘improve my reflexes.’ FML”

or

“Today, I missed my flight. Why? My niece thought it would be funny to empty out my suitcase and hide inside. FML”

To select the manner in which you can feel superior, categories include love, money, kids, work, health, intimacy, funny people and miscellaneous. For an extra “kick ‘em when their down” moment, you can vote “I agree, your life sucks” or “You totally deserved it.” Because sometimes their life does indeed suck, and sometimes they do indeed totally deserve it.

Some other sites to brighten your day at the expense of others:

• We all have them, but submitters to awkwardfamilyphotos.com are actually posting their family keepsakes. Let’s just say the 1980’s weren’t very good to some people, and some poses seemed like a much better idea than they turned out to be (I’m looking at you, Awkward Drill Team)

• One of the fun things about our society is that pretty much everyone has a camera in their cell phone, so for the first time in our history, no stupid thing has to go unrecorded. Such photos often wind up on FAIL Blog. It’s choc-full of failures that people have photographed, such as a guy on a bicycle using a wastebasket instead of a helmet, or the sign that reads “Open 8 Days a Week. Closed Sunday.”

• As a graphic designer, I try really, really hard not to end up on Photoshop Disasters, where the site owners state “Clumsy manipulation, senseless comping, lazy cloning and thoughtless retouching are our bread and butter.” Photoshop is like fire: In the right hands it can be one of our best tools; in the wrong hands, you can remove thumbs, screw up lighting, make various body parts whither inappropriately, and do a host of other damage. Some of these mistakes are harder to find than others, but once you see them, you can’t not see them. From mom ‘n pop ads to the cover of Entertainment Weekly, no one is immune to bad digital manipulation. You might think you are, but you’re not.

So, the next time something bad or embarrassing happens to you, remember that it’s not real unless it happens on the Internet. So, by all means, go ahead and post it — sometimes the purpose of our lives is to be a warning to others.