I don’t understand how cross-polarization works, but this is a neat trick you can do if you have a polarization filter on your camera.
I tied a shoelace to a CD, spun it in front of my camera and got some neat photos using this trick.
* Xavier the Renegade Angel (runs on the Cartoon Network.)
* I think this photo was circulating in a previous Internet famous fame cycle, but no matter. It is perhaps the best photo ever taken. What I love about the photo is that everyone is cringing in some manner but almost none of them can actually see what is happening.
I left out the ‘t’ when first typing photo and came upon a word that could spread like wildfire if it had the right definition: phoo. A phoo is…
I need some time to think of a good answer, but it’s going to be along the lines of “a photo that isn’t really a photo.”A lazily or quickly taken photo? Maybe this is it: “A photo taken by someone who doesn’t care about taking photos.”
I’m trying to restore a sense of balance in my life by playing poker less and putting my energy into other activities. I have not been successful playing poker less often, in spite of the fact it is often frustrating, tedious, and lately, not profitable.
But as I am a man of leisure, I have enough free time for both. I’m trying to post more regularly. I will be adding a chunk of photos to my Flickr account soon (first one up).
I have also been toying with the idea of doing a bimonthly music podcast of about six songs a week. There are some logistical issues, and I’m not sure I’m up to the commitment of doing a biweekly podcast. Maybe I’ll give it a shot for a month and see how it goes.
I have been thinking of writing a Pancake City book for a while now. Fifty/fifty old and new material. I like the idea of writing a book where I only have to write half the book.
I think I’m going to have to go back to unplugging my wireless adapter and put it in another room. It has been pretty effective in getting me to concentrate.
Just thinking out loud. Well, writing out loud. Except that I’m writing, so there’s no sound involved. I guess I’m thinking out loud and writing out silently. My ideas, also silent, may be sound, figuratively. And literally? What are we to call the noiseless voice in our head that “says” our thoughts without lips? You know, the one we can hear without ears.
What is the difference between the memory of candy cane red and seeing the red in a candy cane in real life? Does the memory have any reliability, any truth?
Okay, I need to stop. I probably sound like the intro in a Philosophy 101 book. Leave some comments, people–it encourages me to write.
One of the Wii Kitties.
I have a lot of things I want to write about, but if I don’t write them down soon, I’m going to forget them. Notes for myself:
sake, Mom’s Christmas tree, family comments, podcast, bad dog, james bond, robot chicken, “let the cat out of the bag”, poop bag review
Some Photoshop doodles I found on the hard drive. I forget if the titles were supposed to be intentionally pretentious.
Last weekend, I went to the Renaissance Fair. Had a great time (photos of people you’ve never met here!). The fried cheese–delicious. Best food item at the Renaissance Fair not on a stick, and I dare say it would provide a tough challenge against the whole array of stick-based foods, including Cheesecake on a Stick, Grapes on a Stick, and Stick on a Stick.
The only down part is that, with all of the visual and aural stimuli created by the performers, craft shops, and uniquely-dressed visitors, I became momentarily distracted and lost my backpack.
Version 2: I was drunk and lost it between the time we left the pub and went to throw knives. (In a layout that doesn’t make sense now that I am sober, the knife-throwing game is right around the corner of the pub.)
The lost-and-found didn’t have it, so I called the office on Monday to see if someone had returned it. Here is the exact conversation I had:
ME: “Hi. I lost my backpack last Saturday, and I was wondering if someone turned it in.”
LOST N FOUND: “We did find a few backpacks on Saturday. What color is it?”
ME: “It’s an olive-green backpack.”
LOST N FOUND: “One moment.” [puts me on hold, comes back a minute later.] “What’s in the backpack?”
(It’s obvious to me he wants to make sure it’s mine, lest I am a con artist trying to pull of the ol’ “Backpack Switcheroo”)
ME: “There’s a sunglasses case, a camera pouch, and ½ a bottle of Arizona Ice Tea. But it’s lemonade inside, not ice tea.”
LOST N FOUND: “Hmmm, mmmm. And who made the backpack?”
Excuse me? How many olive-green backpacks with a sunglasses case, camera pouch, and ½ bottle of lemonade-filled
ME: “Jeez, I don’t know. Jansport?”
LOST N FOUND: “That’s right. It’s yours.”
What would have happened if I had given the wrong brand name? What if I slipped and said “Trail and Country” or the “Just Give Me My Mother-Fucking Backpack Already” company? I am probably better off not knowing.
Anyway, they agreed to mail it back to me. I got it back today.
You know what’s still in the backpack? THE LEMONADE. They didn’t even empty the bottle. They mailed me back my ½ bottle of week-old lemonade. And paid the postage for it too.
Create Your Own McDoanlds Sign (although warning: the site is annyoingly preachy.)
I broke down and bought a Flickr Pro account a few days ago, so I’ll be putting up more photos. Family and anyone else who’s interested: here are the photos of when Tina and I went to France. I might add some comments to them in a few days, but the France photos don’t particularly lend themselves to comedy.
Update: Actually, I will add comments in a day or two. I’ll view it as a comedy challenge: making the French funny. All I need now is some fish, a gun, and a barrel.
For Christmas, I gave Black Cat a photo of herself. She wasn’t very appreciative though.
Mom–a.k.a. “Grandma Tuna”–sorry, but the truth hurts.
I had a wonderful time. I’ll probably blog about the trip later, but in short, Ireland is beautiful and the people are very friendly, there are a lot of things to do in Paris, and Belgiums love waffles. But not syrup on waffles, so I’m sure not visiting those freakazoids again.
I took 853 pictures. If I have your address, I will show up unannounced one night and force you to see every single one. I am even going to transfer them to slides and dig up an old slide projector for full effect. There is no escape. Pretending you are not home will do no good. I’m bringing a heat scanner.
The photo above is of the Sacre-Coeur, a Catholic cathedral and second-highest point in France. I still have no idea how to pronounce it.
I first saw this photo of President Bush writing a note to Condoleezza Rice on a liberal blog, and thought someone was making a silly joke. Then I realized Reuters took it.
What I like best about this photo is that he isn’t sure that he needs to go to the bathroom. “Do I need a bathroom break? I’m not sure. Better ask Condi.”
Not that I’m making fun. Sometimes I don’t know if I need to go to the bathroom. The older I get, the more often I say “Let’s give it a shot.” The tail end of my GI tract pays out less often than a slot machine. I know what it’s like to be president.
The president’s writing style is interesting too. It’s like his caps lock key keeps getting switched on and off. Maybe the case switching is actually a secret code, e.g. “bathroom” means “boring meeting / let’s go to video arcade” and “BATHROOM” means “give Kofi a wedgie”.
You know you made a bad movie when even the photo caption writer is taking a dig at you.
