S-not such pretty pictures

I was at Stratton Mountain today for a photo shoot and learned that there's probably a story behind every pretty picture in a magazine. 

My story begins on the coldest day of the year (so far) with a very nice Austrian photographer I'll call Klaus. Klaus had called the night before to remind me to “be bright.” So I arrived at Stratton carrying three coats — the brightest I could find in the closet, including a cantaloupe-colored jacket purchased at like 99% off several years ago. But before he had even seen one coat, Klaus tut-tutted my lime green ski boots. They’re 10 years old, and I paid ungodly sums to have them custom fit. They’re hideous, but comfortable. 

So off we went to the ski shop, where they fitted me with silver Rossignol ladies' boots, complete with fur trim, and some Rossi skis, which turned out to be great skis. If only my feet hadn't been swimming around in the boots.

Then we trotted off to another fancy ski shop to borrow a jacket, because "cantaloupe" and "pool blue" weren't what Klaus had in mind. A Vanna-White-type woman with a German accent took a $500 red Marker coat, complete with rhinestone in the zipper pull, off its hanger and found a hat to match.

"You'll be varm in zat," she announced. But "zat" wasn't exactly the most insulated coat in the store. She also announced that it was "MINUS zhirty-two" at the summit. ;l/......./.;¬¬¬£££££££££££££ (WHOA--cat on the keyboard)

I wanted to wear an insulated coat underneath but wasn't supposed to look fat. I also had to leave the face mask and neck gator behind. Can't make it look cold and unpleasant for the nice readers! Same with mittens. A big thanks to whoever invented those hand-warmer thingees. I should have shoved a couple extra in my underwear. Oh, and I wore big girly earrings with my earlobes showing, so that felt nice in the frigid air.

So we started skiing and Klaus, reminded me to smile. Except my teeth froze. I'd duck behind the coat's collar when he wasn't shooting to stay warm, but had to purse my lips so as not to get lip gloss on the collar. And once behind the collar, my breath formed frost on my upper lip, creating a frosty white mustache.

Then my nose started to run, so I sniffed and snuffed to keep it from spoiling the $500 coat's collar. A few minutes later, as we sat on the chairlift, I noticed that when I exhaled, a fine mist of snot sprayed gently down onto the coat. 

After a few easy runs, Klaus headed for the moguls. “Turn here,” he said pointing to some huge mounds of snow separated by ice.

“OK, I’ll try,” I said from behind the now wet collar. “I’m not the best mogul skier.”

And I wasn’t. "Should I hike back up and try it again?" I asked.

"Yes," Klaus nodded.

I hiked four times for retakes. Donna Weinbrecht I'm not.

"It vill get you varm," Klaus kept saying.

Yeah, and it will also get more snot on the coat. 

So I'm not sure if he got any good shots or not. But I somehow survived with no frostbite, and there’s a red Marker coat -- infused with phlegm -- for sale for half-a-grand at a ski shop in the base village.

YouTube? Or MeTube?

Skiing the other day, I saw a guy with a video camera strapped to the top of his helmet. I rolled my eyes (behind my goggles). What was this guy filming? His ski day? As seen from his eyes — or rather, from the top of his head? Was he going to use up bandwidth sending it to his buddies? Or post it on YouTube?

Perhaps I was subjected to too many slideshows as a child and an uncle who would take 12 photos of the amaryllis in bloom, each from a different angle. I’ve always found the “how-we-spent-our-summer-vacation” slideshows and home movies not only dull but selfish. If you’d like a trip down memory lane, please wander there yourself. I once dated a guy who would set up a slide projector at parties and then would show pictures of his latest rock climbing adventure. We watched slide after slide of his backside, as he worked his way up some cliff.

His roommate called it the “Me Projector.”

Now, with cameras in cell phones and digital video camcorders, everyone seems to be recording their every move. In July 2006, YouTube reported that 65,000 new videos were uploaded daily, with viewers watching more than 100 million each day. And that was two years ago.

While it’s hard to determine how many of these uploaded videos are professionally-made — music videos, clips of The Daily Show or Colbert Report, or old footage of Robin Williams doing stand-up on stage — most I would venture to guess are posted by people like helmet-cam guy.

And Dave, the World’s Greatest Chef  (it says so on his apron), cooking southern fried chicken in his kitchen (or someone’s kitchen).

And a girl named Zexy, who was filmed making Jell-O.

And the parent who filmed kids playing violin, a video that has mercifully only had 96 hits.

The first video uploaded to YouTube, on April 23, 2005, was titled, “Me at the zoo.” In it, a kid talks about what makes elephants interesting. They have trunks. Thankfully, the video lasts only 18 seconds.

With most of these videos, there is nary an editor or producer in sight.

I can understand the parents and grandparents of the violinists wanting to see that video. And I’ve had a few good laughs watching Sadie, the farting bunny, which is worth all of its five seconds. And all the funny cat videos. But what are the rest of these videographers — and their stars — hoping for? That Steven Spielberg will ask them to direct his next movie? Or that Warren Miller will underwrite their next ski video? Or Rachael Ray will invite them to be their guest host?

Or are they simply saying, “Look at me!”?