These ads always give me a great sense of relief, because God knows I’d rather my child* be in the company of
or
or
than these assholes
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* My theoretical child. I don’t have kids. But to be clear, I would rather be and/or hang out with people with autism than people in a Hilfiger ad.
Brought my camera along on the half-mile stroll that serves as the dogs’ inspiration twice a day. If you know what I mean.
I know I’m supposed to edit myself out of the photo, but I thought the reflection was sort of cool.
I wanted to get a photo of this dog — thought the black fence against the black and white dog was cool …
. . . .but forgot momentarily I was attached to a dog or two myself:
All is well. After a brief discussion of who was alpha, we proceeded along our way.
While this could easily be a reference to my brother, who will soon be joining me on the other side of the half-century mark, it is in fact a reference to the lens that our photo teacher recommended as a great all-around lens: the 50 mm with a wide aperture for interesting shallow depth of field photos. He confidently asserted that it would not be expensive and would be a good addition to our camera bags.
Not sure what his definition of “not expensive” is but this did not gibe with mine:
At the same time I was pondering this advice, I was puttering around in our basement looking for the lenses from my ca. 1984* film camera — which, like my dslr camera, is an Olympus — and found that I was already the proud owner of a 50 mm (ok, ok 49 mm) f/1.8 lens.
I started trying to figure out how to use it with my current dslr camera. It didn’t fit directly, and the first two calls I made to photography stores that will remain anonymous resulted in the advice that (1) this was impossible and (2) that it would cost me $150 for an adapter. Seriously: just that contradictory. But I went on ebay, ordered the adapter in the (blurry; damn!) foreground of the photo above — for $14 — and voila! I have a nifty fifty!
Clearly I need to learn more about how to use it, but damn it’s going to be fun!
BTW, I actually grew this pepper. But that is for yet another blog post.
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* Faithful readers who are paying close attention and/or are related to me will say, “ca. 1984? but didn’t you say you got your 35 mm camera for high school graduation? And you graduated high school in 1978, so what gives?” The full answer to that will have to await another post that I’ve been meaning to write about having my backpack stolen in Singapore with my camera, money, and passport from the lobby of the Sheraton, putting my frantic mother** on a plane back to the States, contacting the law firm I was working for in Taiwan,*** being put in touch with a Chinese pop star who happened to be a friend of one of the partners, who loaned me money and took me out to dinner****, which allowed me to scramble around Singapore in a taxi getting a new passport, visa and plane ticket. I was cameraless until that summer when, back in the States and visiting friends in New York, I bought a new one almost identical to the graduation gift, and carried on with my untutored but enjoyable photographic career.
** You think I could have afforded the Sheraton on my own at that point??[UPDATE: ******]
*** And that is one of the other reasons for this post. Just the other day, I found myself trying to explain what a telex was. It was sort of 1984’s email in a way. You typed into a teletype machine in (say) the Sheraton in Singapore and it would print out momentarily at (say) a law firm in Taipei.
**** If you think the style disparity between me and Miss South Africa was vast, I only wish I had a photo of my dinner with Theresa Teng.***** But, alas, the thief had my camera.
***** Only when I googled her for this post did I learn that she passed in 1995 at a very young age. RIP, Theresa. You did a very good deed for a very lost and scruffy Waigwo student at the height of your stardom. Above and beyond.
UPDATE: ****** For the record — see Comment #1 — this was not my mother’s fault. I violated Travel Rule #1: Always Keep Your Backpack With You At All Times. I’ve also violated Travel Rule #2: Don’t Stay In A Hotel With A Preying Mantis on the Bed. And #3: Always Wear Sunscreen when Lying on A Beach Below the Tropic of Cancer, even in February. And many more, I’m sure. Live & learn!
Today’s photography practice: chickens. One of my friends who is currently raising chickens* asked me to photograph them, and I jumped at the chance to try to improve my skills in the color and motion departments. Motion turned out to be key.
Chickens move. A lot. Sort of randomly. And just when I thought I had one of them in focus, she would turn and run.
Luckily at least Leroy’s tail plumage was pretty enough that this resulted in several not-bad photos:
I finally solved the motion problem by using the “burst” feature, which takes a quick series of photos every time you hit the shutter. It ended up sounding like a high-fashion shoot: clickclickclickclickclickclickclick cmon, ladies, show your stuff! clickclickclickclickclickclickclick work it! work it! etc.
This resulted in a couple of pretty decent chicken pictures, at least for an amateur.
As it turned out, it was my first paid photo gig:
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* Not the one who named her chickens “Sesame,” “Soup” and “Enchilada.” Another chicken-raising friend.
It’s the latest prescription for extreme ultra-Orthodox Jewish men who shun contact with the opposite sex: Glasses that blur their vision, so they don’t have to see women they consider to be immodestly dressed.
This is sheer genius! With modern technology, if we can’t convince bigots to bring their thinking into the modern world, at least we don’t have to change our behavior to cater to their stone age views. Bigot Glasses: think of the uses!
The ultimate genius, of course, is that Bigot Glasses only affect the bigot, so the rest of us can go about living our black, female, Islamic, gay, and/or disabled lives in peace.
There is, of course, one set of these glasses I’d invest in: grumpy old lady glasses. Technology that erases tattoos, pulls up pants, covers up exposed underwear, brushes hair, feigns respect, and edits out the word “like.”
When I started my first photography class, the instructor asked us to state what style of photography we were interested in. What was stunning to me is that the rest of the class (“Digital 101″) had answers. That is, they each knew the name for the styles they were interested in and rattled it off for the class. I thought to myself, “random shit and southwestern colors,” but those didn’t appear to be standard categories. I listened to my classmates, chose two that sounded close, and replied, “landscape and architecture.” Everyone nodded knowingly, that is, knowing more than I did about the styles of photography to which I had just randomly pledged my interest. Well, not totally randomly because — as I think I’ve mentioned — I determined quickly that my photographic interests do not include “portrait.”
One of the other things I’ve found interesting and sort of unexpected is the question of when and how much to stage a photo.
Now obviously, Saguaro doesn’t wear glasses or read a Kindle,* so I do a bit of staging when I’m goofing around.
But I was a bit taken aback at how much the instructor seemed to assume that we would be rearranging the scene before us, and not just by asking the owner of the naked behind we** were photographing to clench. When your preferred photographic genre is random shit, however, you can’t stage. It’s right there in the rulebook. It has to be random.
So when I found this excellent collection of randomness and color on Santa Fe Drive,
I knew it was a perfect shot for me. And you have to trust me, that’s just how I found it. Possibly TMI, but I don’t even own a bra in that color. Nor does Tim. Nor either of the dogs. Herewith a couple of other random photos, with many more to follow, I’m sure.
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* He reads e-books on his laptop.
** The editorial we. I’ve never actually photographed a naked behind.***
*** Well, not a naked human behind.
I know, I know: 2009 called … to congratulate me on discovering its Photoshop technology. I just learned that Photoshop Elements will take a series of photos and create a panorama. I started with . . . ok ok I have to fess up to something first. We are supposed to prepare a photo essay for the class I’m taking and because I have no imagination, my essay is on . . . ramps. I know, right? Get over it.
My original concept was to photograph small, out of the way, unlikely ramps, like these two in rural Maine somewhere north of Portland.
I was clearly in need of some coaching in the technical and compositional departments, but you get the idea. My concept was on some level to be able to say to large international chains that remain out of compliance in 2012, “you see! Ralph’s Home Sales of Somewhere Off Rte 1 in Maine, managed to install a ramp; so can you!”
Since I don’t have the time to go anywhere out of the way, I’m left trying to tell a story through photographs of various ramps around Denver. During the class session in which we critiqued one another’s first few essay photos, my classmates had lots of helpful advice like, “your theme could be dogs!” and “you could sit at a coffee shop for a day and photograph the people who patronize it.” But I’m stubborn and don’t have time to sit at a coffee shop all day, so ramps it is. And dammit, I think it’s kind of cool. And! It turns out that panoramic photography is sort of an interesting way to show how a ramp relates to the accessibility of the building it serves:
This was my first attempt at panoramic stitching. (That term gives me the mild creeps, with a sort of Frankenstein vibe.) It was so much fun, I spent today trying to dream up fun ways to use the technology. Turns out graffiti walls make cool panoramic shots.
So does the dragon on Su Teatro’s building. I was too close and trying to do too much, but it’s sort of cool. I think I need to go back in the morning when there are no cars and photograph it from the middle of the street.
Here are three more ramp panos. The first — on 17th at Curtis — is more an illustration of how several levels can come together in an almost imperceptible way.
The ramp below is on University Blvd just north of Asbury, and what I liked the most isn’t really visible from the pano: The fact that the ramp starts low on the right, rises to the entrance and then the red wall keeps rising at the same angle — decoratively only, I believe — continuing the slash of red color from one side of the building to the other.
Finally, this is the west entrance to the DU aw school which is not visually very compelling, but lends itself nicely to panoramic treatment.
Since I was already wandering around the DU campus with a camera, I had to take the following photograph that to me poses a deep and unfathomable question: did anyone anywhere on the design team have an 8th Grader? Access to an 8th Grader? A friend’s 8th Grader to whom he or she could have shown this design? Does anyone even think like an 8th Grader? In other words, DOES ANYONE ELSE SNICKER WHEN THEY SEE BENCHES MADE OF LIPS?
Or is it just me?
Scalia Suggests ‘Hand-Held Rocket Launchers’ Are Protected Under Second Amendment | ThinkProgress.
Can you guess why Scalia suggests hand-held rocket launchers are protected under the Second Amendment? Because you can “bear” them. That is, you can, theoretically, lift them onto your shoulder. So for this reason, “it does not apply to cannons.” I swear this is not The Onion. Seriously, folks, if we’re going for originalism, we can’t stop with the bright line between hand-held rocket launchers and cannons. Clearly your Second Amendment rights, per Scalia, are calibrated to the amount of weight you can bench press. Clearly this guy’s
constitutional rights are greater than mine, given that I’m not sure I could heft a Saturday Night Special. But this, too, is flawed as originalism goes because at the time the Second Amendment was drafted, wasn’t the average body size smaller? Shouldn’t we all be limited to the weapons that the average late 18th Century constitution-drafter could heft? And if “bear” means only what it meant in 1781, how can freedom of the “press” apply to the internet?
I am not, repeat not, a biblical scholar. In fact, my sum total of Bible-reading consists of (1) Christmas with the in-laws,* and (2) being stuck in a hotel room without a novel to read myself to sleep. I do feel qualified to opine on fast food chicken, though, because I love junk food. The best fast-food chicken is — objectively and indisputably — Popeye’s. Why? Grease and flavor. Sure the Colonel’s chicken is good because it is thoroughly battered and bathed in grease. But Popeye’s has that plus a tasty, spicy flavor that puts it over the top. All this is to say that my total boycott of Chick-Fil-A** for their hate-based policies will have precisely zero effect on their bottom line.
This woman, however, sounds like she could require an extra line on their next annual report. Plus she knows her Bible.
The long and short of it– on 8/1 (the day Mike Huckabee wants Chick-Fil-A supporters to patronize the restaurant) go to Chick-Fil-A. Ask for a large water and nothing else. See if they adhere to Proverbs 25:21[***] and give it to you. If they do, yay! You took a few cents from their hate fund! If they don’t, well…I guess they’re proving their principals aren’t so “biblical.”
My favorite comment was:
The point is CHRISTIANS are ONLY under the NT not the OT! So her point was invalid on bringing up the OT when that law was abolished 2,000+ years ago.
So, I’m confused: the Ten Commandments don’t apply to Christians? That actually explains a lot, for example, the fact that the murder rate and the rate of both divorce and teen (presumably out-of-wedlock) birth is higher in more conservative states. Scholars have attributed the latter to economic, historical, and other scholarly factors, but perhaps it’s simply that God repealed the Ten Commandments and the Blue States didn’t get the memo.
Balloon Juice also had this excellent photo:
Though again, for the record, KFC is only the second-best batter-dipped, grease-soaked chicken. Popeye’s is the way to go.
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* Sorry, guys, but you knew I was a heathen**** when I started dating Tim.
** When I first saw a Chick-Fil-A sign sometime in the 80s or 90s, I seriously thought it was pronounced “chick filla” — rhymes with Godzilla — because I could not believe anyone would be so backward as to be unable to say or spell “filet.”
*** “If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink”
**** OK, not total heathen. I’ve summarized/made light of my own religious views elsewhere on the blog.
Thought Snax 