I blame it on bovine
This week’s disturbing personal revelation: I have bovine vision. Possible translation: I’ve officially lived in Cache Valley long enough that whenever I shut my eyes to sleep at night I see cows, cows and more cows – some are dancing, some just chew their cud. But they’re everywhere. MOO! Actual translation: My color vision is really screwed up. I recently watched an episode of Mythbusters on the Discovery channel. You know, it’s that show featuring a red-haired, fruity guy and a beret-haired, gay guy. Every week they do science kind of things to test urban legends and myths as well as the will and determination of their audience to watch for an entire hour. The episode featured the myth that bulls are attracted to the color red, which is why matadors use a red cape to sucker them into an untimely, kebab-like death. In a science kind of way, the crew tried various colors to attract a bull, and discovered in the end that the bulls prefer brunettes over blondes, which I still find to be a remarkable tidbit of knowledge. No really, the crew found out that bulls do not charge objects or capes of any specific color over others, but rather to sounds and movement. The movement of the matador’s cape is what dupes the bull, not the fact that he is wearing hot tights and what closely resembles Mickey ears for a hat. Naturally, the follow up question to the color study is, “How much is one of those silly matador hats?” A slightly more science kind of person would more likely question the ability of bulls to see color at all, considering the apparent lack of color preference. Therefore the Mythbusters did ask a similar question to a bull’s eye expert and learned that bulls do see color, but in a more muted palette. The program then showed a short picturesque video segment of a mountain meadow landscape and then adjusted the colors to imitate how the landscape would appear to a bull or cow. After viewing the segment twice, I would have drawn the conclusion that the Mythbusters show is a sham, but my wife was laughing too hard. I could not distinguish the color variations – hence the revelation of “bovine vision.” I was fully aware before seeing the show that I had impaired color vision. I have an illness, and most people call it “color blindness.” The political correctors would prefer to call the disease “chromatically challenged,” but that just sounds like made-up, fancy lingo for what they really want to call us, “oatmeal-for-brains.” Obviously, I prefer “color blindness.” As a kid, I first discovered I had a problem when viewing some Ishihara color test charts. I thought the other kids were just picking on me by telling me about “supposed” numbers hiding in the charts. So I pummeled them. Actually, I didn’t, but I would have if they hadn’t stood perfectly still in front of a large multi-colored dotted mural. Damn color vision. Soon after the discovery, my dad was reading a magazine article about color blindness which showed a normal picture and then similar pictures with the colors skewed to imitate what color blind people saw. He asked me which picture looked most like the original, and upon hearing my reply, told me that I was really screwed up. He may have simply said “Whoa,” but my juvenile selective hearing remembers it differently. Now that I know I see everything like cows do, it really explains a few things – like why nobody ever bothers asking cows what shade of paint looks best, or if a skirt “goes” with a specific shirt. For years I have simply answered color-related questions by retorting, “I have no opinion.” Now I can spice up my responses by saying, “Don’t ask me, I have bovine vision.” Some people like to laugh at my disability, and I generally don’t mind. It makes life interesting, and if I have a moment of feeling down, I just ponder about when the time comes that I potentially get drafted into the military, get sent into the woods with a big gun, and get orders to shoot the folks in the differently colored uniforms. I’ll definitely claim the last laugh. So what if I can’t tell fall has arrived until leaves are on the ground? So what if I thought Boy Scout pants were brown for 15 years? So what if I have no future as a bomb disarming specialist? I’ll tell you what; it’s a hell of a lot better than enduring those dancing cow dreams. Comments or column ideas can be sent to Garrett Wheeler at g.wheel@aggiemail.usu.edu.