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Home > Archive > Oct 19, 2006

Laughing Matters
By Sharon May
Managing Editor
I'm discovering that almost everyone hates cameras. Not the contraption itself, of course, but they hate being put in front of the lens. In my reporter function safely behind the viewfinder, I see the effects my camera elicits.

When I approach people with my camera slung over one shoulder, I see alarm spread over their faces, as though my innocent camera were an anthrax sprayer, and their bodies shrink from me like deflated balloons. Some even turn heel and scurry away.

I'm quickly learning whom I can approach without wasting my time and theirs. People with scowls are out. So are extremely busy looking people, who rush past with DO NOT DISTURB practically penned on their foreheads. Talking on a cell phone makes a good defense, too. Drooling and nose picking work as avoidance tactics as well.

I tend to head for the curious. If someone looks at me with a questioning glance – as in, "Who is she, and what's she doing with that camera?" – that's my signal to hone in and plead for a tiny interview and a photo. If someone smiles at me, well, that's an invitation personally addressed and delivered to me and my camera.

Most people are willing to answer my simple question, after some initial hesitation. But when they hear I'm not going to ask them something controversial – like "Should Warren Jeffs be allowed to marry more than one cellmate?" – they relax a bit. And I would never ask my subjects to reveal something embarrassingly personal. For example, I would never ask something like, "What size pants are you wearing?" Or "What doesn't your spouse know about you?" Or "How often do you secretly pass gas during the day?"

Although these might be a hoot to ask, I would probably have to offend 1,000 people before finding one loony willing to submit an answer for public disclosure.

Instead, I ask innocent Barbara Walters questions – short of the infamous vacuous tree question. I ask people for opinions that won't have their neighbors decorating their houses with egg yolks or writing nasty rebuttals.

So it's usually not my notepad and being quoted that send people into gales of protest. It's the darn camera. I usually save that little detail for after the question, hoping that after investing five entire minutes of their day, they won't mind posing for a two-second snapshot.
I'm usually wrong. That's when the backtracking starts, the bodies stiffen, the demurrals and refusals begin: "I have food in my teeth." "My hair's a mess." "I don't have any makeup on." "I didn't sleep well last night." "I have a giant zit on my chin." "My nose hair needs clipping." "I woke up bald this morning." "My ex-wife doesn't know I'm still alive." "My eyebrows were eaten by moths last night."

But "I take terrible pictures" is the main complaint.

I tell them my digital camera has a beautification chip, but privately, I know just how they feel. I would say the same thing. But mine wouldn't be frivolous resistance. Because I really do take terrible photos. Even my loving family would agree – although not to my face.

I think the bad-photo syndrome runs up the female side of my heritage, judging by my mom's and grandmother's photo albums. Both of them clipped their faces from family photos. Years from now, their progeny will think of them as their headless ancestors.

I’m not that silly, of course. I tear up the entire photograph. The only time I've ever taken a good picture is when I didn't know the camera was pointed at me.

I think the same applies to my reluctant subjects. As soon as I frame their face in my viewfinder, they freeze, and I see an effigy smiling stiffly into my lens. I can take 200 shots while coaching: "Smile, look natural, open your eyes, relax, say 'cheese,' pretend I'm Angelina Jolie." Yet all 200 shots turn out with the exact strangled-mannequin expression.

I've heard that to take a good photo, "you have to make love to the camera." Well, nobody better try that with MY camera. But I guess exuding personal confidence is what gets a camera purring.

But hey, if I were talented enough to fake that, I wouldn't need to be dragging my camera around town begging people, "Do you prefer Cheetos or Corn Doodles? And please let me take your picture. Honestly, no one will even notice that boil.

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