We can’t help but judge book covers

Flagstaff, Ariz., 1975. I'm 18 years old and standing in a convenience store on a lunch break from my part-time job. That's when I see the book.

Book cover, I mean. It's shiny black, except for one eye-catching drop of red. When I turn it in the light, I see the bare outline of a child's face. No eyes or real features, save for the mouth. A single drop of blood issues forth from one side.

I bought the book on the spot, simply because the cover was so compelling. Went home to my college dormitory and consumed it in two nights reading when I should have been memorizing the genus names of turtles for Zoology 101.

"Salem's Lot," by Stephen King, whose work I knew nothing about until a book cover turned my head. Creepiest, most haunting vampire story since Bram Stoker's "Dracula."

"Don't judge a book by its cover" — yet another wise old saying that isn't entirely true.

The saying should read: "A book cover is rarely a meaningless, incidental accident, though it does not necessarily mean you will or won't enjoy the book. Either way, first impressions will always be consequential."

I'm saying that human beings can't not make judgments about book covers.

My single patients have been talking about the latest evolution of online dating: Tinder. I confess I don't know much about it, but apparently it's all the rage. You look at a few photographs, then either swipe your finger one way for "nope," or swipe your finger the other way for "hmm, maybe."

Wow! Finally an online dating format that is shamelessly and naively honest! Never mind the "love to take long walks" or favorite movies or "deep conversations by the fire." Tinder users are immediately drawn (or not drawn) to … the cover of the book.

Tinder, it seems, is willing to tell the truth about an instinctual pattern of courtship that has been happening since forever. And certainly way before cyberdating sites existed.

The truth is, when we're standing in the grocery or sitting in a club or bar or restaurant or moving through our day at work, we notice people. And we notice them first, usually, by seeing them. And they see us.

It's called oculesics: the study of eye-related, nonverbal behavior that evokes instincts and social cues in primates.

We look. We see. We make eye contact but immediately move our eyes away. This is Tinder's "swipe left." Nope.

But, sometimes, two people make eye contact and … hold it steady for about one or two seconds. We might or might not shift the angle of our head. Reveal a slight smile. If we're really forward, raise our eyebrows.

Something has clicked. Something has connected. It's an intangible bzzz. And a complete mystery. You can't decide to make it happen. It's a happening.

This is Tinder's "swipe right." Hmm. Maybe.

This is how most love affairs begin. Yes, occasionally you will hear the story of two friends or co-workers who know each other for one or even several years before, suddenly and with no warning, the happening happens. Bzzz.

But this is the exception, not the rule.

In most cases, absent this more or less immediate first bzzz, the love dirigible has very little chance of ever leaving the ground.

We don't like admitting this truth, because we've been told it makes us "shallow." It doesn't. It merely makes us human.

This experience doesn't stop when you make an emotional commitment to one person. You can still sometimes experience the bzzz … with someone who is not your partner. It's not a big deal. Assuming you are indeed committed, you simply notice it, enjoy it for five seconds or so, and then let it float away. It doesn't mean you're unhappy or on the prowl. It just means you're alive.

Now, is the bzzz enough? Don't be ridiculous.

Does the bzzz tell you everything? Of course not. In fact, it doesn't tell you much at all. But it is the overriding factor in most courtship beginnings. It's why you decided to engage the person at all. Without it, you probably wouldn't have his or her phone number in your pocket.

By the way, this is neither a commercial nor an endorsement for Tinder. It's just my endless fascination in watching courtship models morph, shift and change.

What will never change, of course, is the longing in the human heart for meaningful and lasting connection.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Las Vegas Psychiatry and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His column appears on Mondays. Contact him at 702-227-4165 or skalas@reviewjournal.com.