Physical Looks

Before I dive in, I want you to know this topic doesn’t come from any event in my personal life. I am inspired from reading the study called, Young Women’s Dating Behavior: Why Not Date a Nice Guy? Turns out that women lie about what they look for in a partner. They list the attributes that are socially expected, but studying their dating history shows they ignore those attributes and are actually attracted to a totally different list of attributes. Men do it too. For certain reasons it is considered culturally inappropriate for men to state they are very interested in a girl’s looks or shape. So men lie about how important this is. When discussing attraction, we make sure we have a healthy list of personality traits above anything physical.

But looks count— a lot. I’m not going to lie about it. And I refuse to be embarrassed by it.

When I meet a girl, there are many attributes I consider when weighing if I will date her or not. I want to stress that in a detailed analysis ‘looks’ would be broken up into many different characteristics. They would not be my first attributes. There are many more important things to me. That said, looks are important. And for this brief discussion the term ‘looks’ is used as an umbrella embracing all physical attributes.

Now, some of you have already deemed me a jerk. Before the rest of you join those ladies let me explain why looks count.

I’ll start with the most obvious: A good looking girl is pleasant to the eye. Enough said.

Second: Body type. Physical shape denotes whether the girl is active or not. I am a very active guy. I hike, climb, bike, and on and on. I love sports and I love the outdoors. They are a disproportionately large part of my life. Accordingly, I look for a girl who likes these activities so she will enjoy doing the things I do. Body type is a quick way to estimate her level of fitness.

Third: Staying in shape is work. This goes for both sexes: a person who is fit, with toned muscles, has put for the effort to keep his body strong. We all know how easy it is to give up and let ourselves go. As he led his men through World War II, Captain Dick Winters of the 506 PIR made the solid connection that physical fitness is directly tied to mental and emotional fitness. Soldiers who let their physical training slip while in the field let other aspects slip: more important aspects dealing with mental alertness and dedication and perseverance. The same holds true for us. A person who lets himself or herself go because it takes too much effort to keep in shape is quite likely letting other things in their life go that take too much effort. Granted, staying fit is harder for some of us than others. But giving up is a dangerous indicator.

The fourth: personal appearance. This includes make-up, cleanliness, and dress. First, if a girl is clean and dressed nicely it means she is interested in making a good impression. This doesn’t correlate at all with her availability to date. It does, however, give insight into the way she intends to interact with the world (including people she will date). Second, if she takes care of her appearance she most likely pays close attention to other aspects of her life; whether mind, emotions, or goals. A clean body likes to stay clean and tends not to live in filth and chaos. A girl who is willing to spend an hour a day washing and straightening her hair is often willing to spend ten minutes straightening her room or studying.

I think I’ve made my point by now. Yes looks do attract men physically. Perhaps many men never move past my first point: they like to look at and touch pretty girls and that is enough. But more importantly, looks can give a glimpse of who the girl really is: her passions, habits, and hobbies. And that is why looks count for me. They tell me about the girl.

North Thurston Peak

I touched the sky today.

I stood at the base of the mountains and looked up. The clouds, far above, crashed into the mountain tops. I turned to Amber Tolman and said, “I want to get lost in those clouds.”

She agreed.

Up there the snow was just relinquishing its grip. Among deep drifts, bare dirt exposed the still dormant bushes, bent from the weight of winter. Crouching, I ran my fingers over the first of the green spring shoots that were months behind their valley counterparts. They peeked cautiously through the dead matted grass, unsure of Spring.

Straightening, I raised my arm and ran my fingers through the thick feathery clouds. My hand was in the ceiling of the world.

Around us all was gray or white. The city, four thousand feet below, had faded into the clouds. The mists swirled past us, dancing over the ridge in intricate curving figures, vivid and varied. We were not alone lost in the gray. And though I wanted, we could not remain. We did not belong…we were strangers: travelers exploring a foreign realm.

So we plummeted from the clouds. My legs are so tired now. Of course; I touched the sky today.

Silver Island Campout

Shower after shower crossed I-80. I was nervous about the roads. To my surprise, the road along Silver Island was fine. I took Dad’s Pop tent. You pull it out of the bag and, pop, it is up. I used it years ago when we last came to Silver Island. There had been a wind storm and the fly had been ripped off. Luckily I had had enough foresight to lash it to our van door.

Janalyn, Michelle, Stefanie, Bryson, Nolan, and I roasted Starbursts. We cooked apples and dipped them in brown sugar and cinnamon. We made smores.

The girls decided to cram into one of the small square tents together. Bryson joined me in my large two man tent. We had plenty of space. Nolan slept alone in the other small square tent.

At 6:30 the storm hit. I had just gone back to bed after checking to see if there was any sort of decent sunrise. Suddenly the rain crashed down. I curled up warm in my bag. Then the wind hit. The tent shook and bent. A little water was seeping in the edge of the tent by our heads. That was normal for this tent. Not a big deal; we’d be dry as long as we didn’t go up there to bother the puddle. The wind grew worse. A bump brought my head out of my bag. The tent had come un-staked at our head and the end flapped up against us. That nice puddle of water was coursing through the tent now, soaking into Bryson’s pad, and the edge of my sleeping bag. Oh, and my shirt, pants, and camera.

Things were going down hill fast. By 7:30 our rain fly was giving up its last hold on the tent. The wind caught it like a sail. I climbed out quickly. I felt like a sailor as I clawed out knots in the icy rope attaching the fly. I made a complete circle attaching all the ties but the wind had already whipped my knots free. I circled, tightening again. My hands were frozen. The horizontal rain was hitting me in the face.

I fled to my car to find it already occupied by Janalyn and Michelle. They had gotten wet in their tent and had come to get dry.

The sky did clear up and we had a wonderful day.

We headed out to the caves. In the first I found a small piece of woven basket. I was shocked. It was definitely and Indian Artifact. So the rumors are true: the Fremont Indians did use these caves as shelter. The second cave had somewhat fresh animal bones. It looked like a fox had been in on the soft silty dirt.

Real food sounded great so we packed into our cars and trundled off down the dirt road to Wendover. The rain had been enough to turn it into the slimy goo I remember from my last visit. I was on a slight curve when my car spun. There was no warning. I was just suddenly sliding sideways. I corrected and kept us on the road. We slid and sloshed forward; the car fishtailing eagerly. I stopped my car and jumped out just in time to see Stefanie’s car, facing the wrong direction, slide off the road at the curve. After five minutes we had rocked it out of the trench and back onto the road.

We got out safely, got our food, and made it home just in time to get rained on by a passing thunderhead.