Friday, March 14, 2014

Selfabsorbie



This is pretty amazing to me, for all the wrong reasons.

A US Airways plane blew a tire while taking off in Philadelphia, forcing a bumpy landing and emergency evacuation of all passengers.  Imagine the fear and horror as those people had to pull their self together and slide down the emergency ramp (is that what you call it?).  In the background, smoke pours from somewhere in or on the plane and you know that this big old sardine can is full of jet fuel.  Your feet his the ground and you raise yourself to a standing position and run for your life toward a safe spot in the distance, but you know that plane could still explode like a giant firecracker. Your life is flashing before your eyes...

This is a good time for a selfie?

Wow!  That is just unheard of!   WRONG.  Apparently this also happened on Dec. 11 when a routine tour flight took off from Kaluapapa Airport in Hawaii and ended up in the water.   Passengers were advised to put on life vests and jump in the ocean.  There are fish in the ocean that outweigh me, people.  Also, they were faced with a significant unknown - like, how long will I be in that shark infested ocean, captain?  Was the last instruction, "Cameras ready, everyone...jump!"

Selfies are something I don't understand.  Maybe it would help if I look up the definition when it is added to the new edition Oxford Dictionary (oxford=smart). As I created pages on social media sites, I had to search high and low to find a picture of myself - I tend to use one taken of me by someone while I gave a seminar on (of all things) discipline because it doesn't induce as much nausea as most of my impromptu sightings caught on film by others.  My second string pictures are from toddler years or a grainy costumed carnival shot of my brother Sam and I looking decidedly civil war era-ish.   

Forced to find something for this site, I took my first selfie and confirmed what I already knew:  I don't want a picture of myself, I see me every morning.  I want to see pictures of other people, other places and other things.  Things that won't cause me harm or death.  Things that won't eat me in the near future.  Or maybe just a picture of the thing that will eat me...without me.  The less time I spend confronted by me, the better.

If I did want a picture of myself, the last thing I'd want to remember is a moment of sheer terror. What's that about?  Who is that picture for?  I could understand if there was a message, like "Mom, it looks like I'm not going to make it, so take care of Lassie and tell my boyfriend I was never going to go to prom with him; I was planning a relationship escape mid-April...don't cry for me, Argentina..." or "Joe Bob, this is all your fault for making me take this flight."   Then the selfie has a purpose, I suppose.  

Unfortunately, after a few of them make the rounds from the same people over and over again it starts to feel like "Hey, look at me!  Good news - more me!  Nothing to say - just want to give you a chance to look at me.  Have you had a chance to see how fabulous I look today?  Everything about your life needs more digital me!"   

Kardashian ladies, do you think there aren't enough pictures of you floating around - you have to help the paparazzi?   Miley Cyrus - trust me, they have you covered in the photogenic sense - obviously not the clothing type coverage - did you need to post 121 selfies (according to Mashable)? 

All good things come to an end, and I'm hoping this is one of them.  Future genealogy researchers of my family, please use the stick figure above on the left to represent me.  Close enough.

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Love, Cherdo