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,
At wit's end
by Erma Bombeck
•
Some say our national
pastime is baseball.
Not anymore. It's gOssip.
In every supermarket
check-out counter are lines
of "inquiring minds" who
want to know why Shelley
Winters cried on her wed-
ding _night. ("Room service
was closed.")
At bookstores, literature
lovers ponder how two of
America's sweethearts,
Joan Crawford and Bing
Crosby, grew up to be Mom-
mie and Daddy dearest.
Crowds cluster around
Joan Rivers waiting to hear
intimate commetaries on her
best friend,
lor. ("Is sh
abeth Tay -
The appeti • for the empty
calories that comprise gos-
sip is insatiable. WeVant to
know when thy started tak-
ing drugs, if their affair be-
gan when she consoled him
at his wife's funeral. We
want to know if they had
their faces lifted and when
they discovered they were
missing. We want to know
how much money they take
home after taxes and who's
gay and how. does their il-
legitimate child feel about
being maid of honor at their
overdue wedding. We want
to know what we'd have a
civillian arrested for if he in-
truded into our lives.
A random poll revealed
that 83 per cent of the "in-
quiring minds" who read su-
permarket tabloids do not
believe one single word of
what they read.
Woolworth
Copywright 1979.
Field Enterprises.Inc..
A total of 83 percent of "in -
*ring mincla" who read the
supermarket tabloids are
known to lie wizen polled.
A friend of mine is your
average closet gossip-
monger. She is 53 years old;
has a high school diploma,
and honestly believed Ingrid
Bergman wore her own
clothes in "Bells of St.
Mary's". She doesn't know
what kind of car her neigh-
bors own, refuses to spread
rumors that Johnny Carson
is moving into her condo and
closes her ears to gossip
about other people's child-
ren.
But . . . every Friday, as
she is putting away her gro-
ceries, she gushes gossip like
a new oil field.
"Guess who had a vasec-
tomy after death?" she ask-
ed the other day. "I know,
you don't believe this stuff,
but they finally nabbed the
guy who went all the way
with Linda Evans. He was a
Cab driver who went all the
' way to Oakland with her. Not
only that, but there's a three -
porter starting on the true
story of why Burt Reynolds,
lost his hair. It's all tied up
with nuclear testing where
he was making a movie."
I miss baseball. You'd sit
outside and the air was fresh
and you could eat a hot dog
and talk to people. Occasion-
ally, someone would chew
tobacco and spit near, your
foot, but that's as bad as an
"inquisitive mind" got!
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ALBUM CONTENDER—To get this "good" shot, the author corraled three little
girls in the neighborhood, and took the shot with an auto focus camera, using the
built-in strobe to eliminate strong facial shadows. It's not a"great" shot, but it's
certainly good enough to find a welcome place in most family albumns.
(Photo by Holt Confer)
Through
441111.1.M the
Lens
By Holt confer
%41• Go-a-d;better
or best
For a good many years,
I've been writing 750 to 1,000
words a week trying ,to •
plain how :to take .great 'pic-
tures.
However, last week, driv- -
nig back from an assignment
in the Midwest, I began
thinking that maybe there is
a large group of readers who
don't really 'care about
• shooting truly great pic-
tures. After all, only a very
small percentage of the pic-
tures taken by the pros •
would fall into the "great" •I•
category.
Maybe, just maybe, my
reasoning continued, the
sometime picture takers
would be a whole lot happier.
if they got consistently .good
photographs'. . . and did not
suffer the frustrations of
admitting to, themselves that
the group of pictures they
just got back from the pro-
cessor wasn't in the "great"
category.
I don't want to discourage
the thought that it's good to
be severely critical of your
own work — or that you can
charge into picture -taking
situations with a certain
amount of reckless abandon
and still come up with pass-
able results.
All I'm really saying is
that truly great pictures are
a combination of lots of hard
work and an infinite amount
of luck. And while there are
some who would bring that
old axiom into play that the
harder you worlethe luckier
you get — it just doesn't al-
ways hold true in photog-
raphy. .. particularly when,
as nearly every amateur.
must do, pictures need tobe
taken without the benefit of
controlled studio conditions.
The hard work aspect for
most sometime picture
takers • consists of reading
the camera owner's manual
to get a basic understanding
of what all the buttons and
dials are for, selecting the
• type of film — either print or
slide, --that will produce the •
end, results you want, and
trying to coax your human
subjects into having pleasant
expressions. •
An I really see nothing
wrong with that. After all,
photography isn't your
livelihood. If the picture you
take doesn't come out right,
you're disappointed, of
course, but you still get to eat
regularly, pay your mort-
gage and go to the movies,
However, without any addi-
tional preparation, there is
one thing you could do that
would dramatically increase
your chances of getting a
good picture.
• And it's simply to take
more than one exposure of
the same situation.
Over the years, I've been
able to convince my amateur
picture -taking friends to try
all sorts of equipment, use
filters, experiment With
various types of film, even
change lenses occasionally
in order to get different per-
.
Putterip' Pete
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spectives. But I haven't yet
been successful in convinc-
ing them that a photog-
rapher needs to be really,
truly fortunate to get a good
picture on the first try. There
isn't a professional photog-
rapher in business, who
would go on assignment,
take just one picture, then
turn around and head for
home.
Therleast,_the_yry' least
Crossroads -Jan. 25, 1984—Page 13
• r.r '
brir
fr • •
One of the great things
about Toronto is the system
of ravines which run down to
the lake. Toronto was lucky
it had ravines, because it
meant, even in the days
before serious town plan-
ning, that valuable green
space was saved. One of the
biggest ravines is the Don
alley, which even- a Park-
way has been unable to spoil
completely.
I gave up jogging a few
months ago because of a par-
ticularly graphic description
I read about the jolt being
delivered to 'middle-aged
knees in each running stride.
The impact on the joint is
something more than three
times body weight, which in
this case, is considerable. So
I've taken up walking, hard
:walking, instead.
I got up shortly before
seven o'clock one morning
recently, and pushed off in
the dark and bitter cold to-
wards the Don Valley. The
moon was still up, low in the
sky to the west, and the cold
abated as I got into my stride
and began to warm up a
little. For. almpst an hour I
was alone in -the valley, ex-
cept for the cars on the Park-
way and a lone jogger. The
Don River was frozen over
for the most part, but the
ducks were there in patches
, of open water. A rabbit scat -
number of shots any pro
takes is three. One shot at
the reading shown on an
exposure meter, then one
shot a half stop over that
reading, and a third shot, a
half stop under that reading.
If' you want to be even
more cautious, then you'd
want to take a fourth shot a
full stop over your' reading
and fifth photograph a full
stop under the registered
reading. Now that technique
is good for the photographer
w,ho's shooting slides and
photographing inanimate
objects.
With print film, the over.
and under exposure problem
(unless it's very severe)
doesn't really exist because
of corrections that can be
made during the printing
process to correct for incor-
rect exposures. However,
since most of the print film
users seem to...photograph
people, then your multiple
exposures should be spent
making multiple exposures
of each subject. Chance are
you'll get a lot more pleasant
expressions (since pedple
have a tendency to_ relax
after the first photograph or
two).
Just be bold enough to
throw away all the bad shots.
So don't worry about mak-
ing 'great" pictures — one
of those will pop up every
now and then — just use
multiple exposures to get
your share of good pictures..
I stepped the pace up for a
while, to try to get my heart-
beat up to something ap-
proaching a training rate.
But I've discovered that the
only way to do that is to lug a
backpack with bricks in it,
and this morning the back-
pack was still in the bedroom
" closet, forgotten.
A big red fox burst out of
the bushes on the right, ran
up the pathway away from
me for perhaps fifty yards,
then ducked into the tall
grass down near the river
bank. I'd never seen a fox in
the area before. Meanwhile,
on the Parkway, just a few
yards away, drivers fought
towards their downtown
offices, oblivious not just of
foxes, but rabbits, ducks,
• trees, grass, and cold winter
air. I walked on a few hun-
dred yards, and above the
hum of traffic, heard the
harsh screech of a circling
hawk. I watched him for a
while. He flew across the
river and landedhigh in a big
tree on therither side. On the
way back, I saw the fox
again, skittering around on
the glassy surface of the
river. Breakfast in the form
of a fat duck was probably
what he had in mind. Incre-
dible. Right in the middle of
a big city like Toronto.
It was a great °walk. It
made the tea taste better and
tered across the pathway the first pipe of the morning
from ithe right and disap-i, an experience to be savored.
peered into bushes on the And it was a good way to
left. • start the day.
A few weeks ago, 1 went
back to Hockley Valley, that
idyllic area of the country-
side on the outskirts of
Orangeville.
The pines and spruce
cltis-
tered in the rolling hills were
heavily laden with snow that
had fallen that night before.
Sunbeams were bouncing
around and the valley glis-
tened.
Farmers, artists, writers
and just plain folks live in the
valley. And in recent years,
its tranquility has attracted
religious orders.
There are now four of them
that I know of, all located
within a stone's throw of
each other. They're. neigh-
bors. --And I've always
thought of the string of them
as Monastery Row.
The first to arrive were the
Franciscan Friars. They're
a teaching order. Some of
them look like Robin Hood's
Friar Tuck. And Friar Terry
wild showed me around was
just as jolly. None of them
seemed to mind the exhuber-
ant inner city kids who were
there for a week of religious
and nature study.
A few hundred yards from
the rambling monastery, the
teaching sisters of the order,
'the Felecians, live in 'a pic-
turesque farmhouse.
About a mile down the
road are the Christian
Brothers. You can get . a
glimpse of the squat cottages „
they occupy as you travel
along Highway 9.
The Brothers are an Irish
order and the Monastery is a
training school for novices.
The newest arrivals to
Monastery Row are the Cis-
terian Monks, formerly
known as Trappists. They
have a large modern build-
ing and one of the most beau-
tiful chapels I've seen in
years.
The monks were praying
silently when I went into the
chapel. Lay people also had
their heads bowed in prayer.
They were there on a retreat
from the hirily-burly of 'city
life.
In the spring,- the monks
will begin farming their 300
acres, and eventually will
become self-sufficient.
Father Justin, the abbott,
was saying that they had yet
to meet the members of the
other religious communities
in the valley.
So although their order is
more than 1500 years old, the
Cistercians arp Still the new
kids on the block ori Monas-
tery Row.
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