Fun with the Canon Rebel’s continuous shooting mode. I love my new camera!
Archive for November, 2006
During my stay in Chicago, I read something in the Tribune about a newly installed art installation of a bunch of headless sculptures in Grant Park. I didn’t take any note of the artist or the exact location, but it sounded cool and creepy.
Fast forward a week: Tim came to town and I dragged him to the Cultural Center because I’d never been there and I’d heard the building was an architectural delight. After eating some soup and looking at a the galleries and staring at the cool stained glass Tiffany dome, I thought Hey, we’re near Grant Park, let’s check out those creepy headless sculptures I read about. We crossed Millennium Park, took the requisite photo of The Bean, then found the north end of Grant Park. We turned south and started walking. And walking. And then we got to Balbo Drive and stopped walking.
Where could they be??? Everything across Balbo looked like sports fields, hardly a venue for an art display. So we headed west across Columbus Drive, looked around, and gave up. I for one was getting too hungry to enjoy art of any kind.
F*** the headless beasts. Let’s find ourselves a vegan philly cheesesteak.
But wait! Where’s Tim’s scarf?!
Tim’s lovely gray cashmere scarf was missing. It probably wouldn’t have mattered much, but it was a gift. A gift! And it was warm. And I could tell how much Tim loved his scarf. So even though I was getting grumpy hungry, I didn’t complain when he started retracing our steps, walking at my running pace through the park.
It seemed like a hopeless mission. But we had to at least check.
Tim joked that I should check the camera for a photo of him wearing the scarf. We laughed at that one, but I turned on my camera anyway. The last picture I took was on the lawn of the Petrillo Band Shell at the northern end of Grant Park:
Tim! I think I see your scarf!
Tim saw it, too….
That IS my scarf… in the process of falling off!
Like a couple of Sherlocks, we hurried past Buckingham Fountain and past some dead flowers and sad gardens. And then we were at Jackson Boulevard and Petrillo Band Shell was across the street.
What’s that splot of gray on the lawn?
Is it cashmere?!
It was a gift!
A break in traffic. Hurried feet across the street. Closer and closer. The edge of the park. The lawn. The bundle of joy!
Some kind stranger must have found it, realized it was a nice sweater, maybe even a gift, something that someone would come back for. So they wrapped it into a ball that wouldn’t blow away and left it for us.
People in Chicago can be so kind!
And Tim was happy.
The next day we hung out with Dawid who informed us that our intuitions were wrong: the installation was indeed past the sports fields at the south end of the park. I’ve since learned that the sculptures are by Polish artist Magdalena Abakanowicz and the title of the piece is “Agora”. It is a permanent installation so I will be able to see it next time I’m in town.
So that is my story about the scarf and the camera and Grant Park and nice Chicagoans. I love a good caper.
when i was in grad school and life gave me lemons, i skipped the lemonade and went straight for the hard stuff: cold beer, a cigarette (or 3), and my deck. in austin, i was so blessed in the deck department. now i’m all grown up. grown up and deckless. so when life gives me lemons, i buy stuff that i think will make me feel better and drink organic tea.
is this really progress?
i went to ikea today. now i have lots of flatpack furniture to assemble. soon i will have a desk!
the Good Earth Origial tea & herb blend is really good. spicy and sweet. i’m drinking it from a mug I scored at American Science & Surplus. i’m thinking this mug might make a good pen holder for my new desk!
I said I was richer in memories but not in words. I meant to add that I had given up on writing a novel. Oops, I had no time or inclination to make stuff up when so much was happening in the real world. I guess I could have turned all that into a novel but I couldn’t find the plot. Or the time. Or the inclination to sit in front of my computer.
I did read a wonderful novel while I was in Chi-town: Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt, recommended and lent to me by my mom. I’d write a real review, but I’m tired and you’ve probably read it already anyway. In sum, I give it two thumbs up. A wonderful memoir of a very hungry boy in a very scary Ireland. I don’t think I’ll be drinking any Guinness for a while. Or eating boiled pig’s head.
Back home? Or back from home?
Whichever the case, I’m back in London from my trip to Chicago, and with the strangest sense of the blues.
Don’t get me wrong: I love London. Even when it’s is gray and raining and I have to step over chicken bones and dog poop to get to the Fresh and Expensive to spend £1.49 on a few sprigs of thyme (organic, of course), even when the neighborhood drug addicts go ballistic across the street in the middle of the night (or get shot on the corner in a ‘gangland’ drive-by), even when it takes my future employer 8 years to complete a background check so I can start work because everything takes way longer than it should in this god-forsaken inefficient metropolis (my new start date is January 15th). Even though I complain sometimes, I do love London.
Don’t I?
I love London the way I love any big city: diversity, culture, old buildings, food, architecture, art, and a ceaseless supply of things to do. But it’s still a foreign place to me. My return flight was fine. The bus ride from the airport to the flat, tolerable. But when I got to the apartment, I felt suddenly overwhelmed. You know that feeling when you return from a vacation? You had a good time but once it’s over you’re glad to be home? I didn’t have that feeling when I got back to the flat, and that made me sad.
So I’ve been unpacking my bags, full of new stuff that I bought in the States at bargain prices compared to London. And old stuff, things I couldn’t fit in my suitcase on the first trip over.
New:
“Business” type attire for the new job that never starts
Canon Rebel XTi
“An Inconvenient Truth” on DVD
A binder filled with plastic inserts that will serve as a recipe book
Thermarest
Bike gloves
Loads of tea
Woolen Coat
Northface coat (two coats? i guess i went a little nuts)
A really sweet camoflauge hoodie with embroidery, scored for $10 at Nordstrom Rack
Aslo hiking boots
Indian “breath freshener” (fennel seeds and yummy candies)
Shampoo, face wash, tooth paste scored with steff’s 20% Whole Paycheck discount
A badass tattoo
Old:
Japan mugs from Marcella
Photo mobile
Stars and moon mobile
Random photos
Dark gray Lucky cargo pants, the most comfortable pants in the world
Robes
Red Kenneth Cole girly shoes (from their spring collection last year, uncomfortable only because I’m not used to high-heeled shoes, but cute as a button and handy for my soon-to-be suited-and-stylishly-booted self)
Stuff stuff and more stuff. So much stuff I can’t even remember it all because it’s been unpacked and put away (a minor miracle in itself, given our storage space). So much stuff, but I forgot to pack the comfort of home. Cheesy, impossible, but it’s how I feel at the moment.
So here I am in my London flat trying to make this “house a home”. Yesterday, Tim and I went to the library for an old familiar browse and checked out some CDs along with a book on “Time” and the graphic novel, “American Splendor” by Harvey Pekar. Later, we filled the flat with music and cooked a comfort meal of chili, polenta, and red wine, then played Scrabble with a timer, only 1-minute per turn! I still won. Today we mostly stayed in aside from a brief singularity of exercise and the aforementioned poop-laden thyme errand which ended in a big pot of lentil & chestnut soup. There’s nothing like a rich creamy soup and a nice baguette to help cure the blues.
The only thing better is a big spoon to eat it with.
My life in cameras. 1979 - 2000: 21 years and a long string of disposable film cameras, their bodies forgettable, their pictures occasionally worth framing. Then enter the Kodak DC280, my first digital camera. Life as I experienced it would never be the same. MASS 2000, my Move to Austin, the Tour of Austin by Duck, and a Cold Christmas in Chicago. Thank you, Kodak, for capturing the memories. But in 2003 it was time to move on up, and the Canon S50 graced my dorm room in Athens, Georgia. While still a simple point and shoot, the Canon S50 was a better camera with a wider range of features. I thank the S50 for helping me become a better photographer. It served me well these past 3 years, and I still love it like I love a good Gala. But I’m happy to say that I’ve outgrown it.
My new camera is a Canon Rebel XTi. My lenses are a 50mm/f1.8 and an 18-55mm zoom lens, the latter of which is on loan from a wonderful friend who has great taste in boots and women. At this point I could say something smart about the camera’s technical capabilities and the eliteness of interchangeable optics, but I have a lot to learn first. Right now, I love shooting with a “real” camera. I love that I can change the lenses. I love that the lenses take in a whole lot more light than my dinky but deadly point and shoot. I love the richness of the photos, the range of depth I seem to be able to achieve without really trying. I love the big LCD display on the back. This is love.
Soon after I bought the camera, I handed it over to my mom to photograph the acquisition of my second new thing: a new tattoo on my left shoulder. The new ink is overlaid on my existing atom, and meets up with the poblano pepper. And like the pepper, this tattoo is HOT. The design was mostly my mom’s, with Harlan Thompson of Deluxe Tattoo on the gun. He did a superb job, exceeding my expectations, especially regarding the rocket and the color! The amazing color! This is also love.
Jetlag continues on day two of my visit to Chicago(land). I awoke this morning at 3:30am, ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t ready to take on me, so I took on a new novel: Angela’s Ashes
At 6:36am, the sun rose behind a thick layer of clouds and oatmeal. The garden squirrel looked fat and full in her thick winter coat, a sure sign that winter is just around the corner. On this cold, gray, obscenely early Sunday, I was tempted to crawl back under the covers with my book and a cup of tea, but that would only put me to sleep, not to mention take away from this rare opportunity to spend quality time with my parents. No, the best thing to do in my condition was to keep on pushing. To hell with sitting still! To hell with lazy Sundays! To hell with the suburbs! Give me art! Give me culture! Give me new! Give me dopamine!
Give me consumers?
Give me tourists?
Give me shopping?
Give me Starbucks?
It was kind of strange that “The Missing Piece: Artists Consider the Dalai Lama” exhibit was held in the heart of The Magnificent Mile, the stretch of Michigan Avenue devoted to up-scale department stores, fancy but generic retail stores, and overpriced restaurants. Or was this the perfect location? After all, what better place to celebrate a man who took on issues such as the “religion of consumerism” than at its very temple?
With 88 artists presenting, the exhibit was vast: sculpture, video, audio, painting, textiles, and an obnoxiously verbose guided tour which seemed to follow us everywhere! With so many artists exploring so many themes, the show felt a little disjoint at times. In one room, I met a stunning portrait of a Tibetan child who stared at me with strength and suffering. Around the corner, a stack of phone books spiraled towards the ceiling like a double helix, carved into the likeness of the Buddha. Up some stairs, past the ubiquitous tour guide and her followers, I found some preparatory drawings from Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s “The Gates” in NYC’s Central Park. My attention was pulled in so many directions that it was difficult to fully absorb more than one or two of the exhibit’s many messages. But maybe that’s the beauty of The Missing Peace: the collection of themes forces us to find those that affect us the most.
One of the pieces that drew me in was Salustiano Garcia’s “Reincarnation”, a portrait of a small boy representing the future incarnation of the Dalai Lama. It was impossible to bypass this painting, a 1×3 meter explosion of red, and a boy with a perfect face staring me in the eye, demanding instant connection.
Then there was a piece by Vietnamese artist Binh Danh who prints photographs on leaves, then casts the leaves in resin. I don’t know how he does it, but it’s really cool. I believe the photos I saw were of Vietnamese prisoners. The message: war and violence impacts nature, which seems so obvious now, but I had to read the informative placard to get it.
Post art bomb, is it any shock that my mind was on food? I’d never been to Chinatown, so why not cruise south side and see what’s cooking? We ended up at The House of Fortune, and what a fortune it was: deep bowls of piping hot vegetable soup, piles of crisp szechuan broccoli, and egg foo young glistening like gold coins in a treasure chest of savory gravy. Their menu and website claim they have “been previously voted as one of the 21 Best Restaurants in Chicago by Chicago Magazine and Chicago Sun Times” but I couldn’t find anything ob either publication’s website to back this up. But who cares, right? The food was neither overcooked nor oversalted.
After our afternoon feeding, we were ready to explore a bit of Chinatown. But really, how many crappy gift shops and smelly groceries can one take after a filling lunch? Luckily there was the Ten Ren Tea shop to win my heart. Was it my fatigue that made all that green tea so appealing? I left the store with oolong, jasmine, white, and plum green tea. And a box of rice candy for mom.
Before heading home for the afternoon, we impulsively walked into the first bakery we saw so dad could feed his sweet tooth with an almond cookie. Some people like my dad can go into a bakery and buy the one thing that they know they like. Me, I see a case of strange pastries and want to taste EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. The night before, we had red bean paste ice cream at a japanese restaurant, so why not continue the theme? We bought a red bean paste mooncake, then saw another fluffy looking ball of goodness rolled in coconut whose tag said “[something in Chinese] red bean paste”, so we bought that too. It turned out to be a “glutinous rice ball” filled with bean paste. Mom aptly pointed out that it had the consistency of a breast implant. The rice flower was gelatinous and surprisingly unsweet, while the bean paste was thick, dry and mildly sugared. In a nutshell (or riceball encasing as the case may be), the ball o’ bean was weird, yet strangely satisfying.
Dad didn’t like it.
I’m very tired. The night before my flight to Chicago, I managed about 4 hours of sleep… a bottle of wine tends to do that to me, but it was my last night in London, and I wanted to take my man out for a tasty farewell dinner at the Northgate, so what’s a little lost sleep? The flight to Chi was long, but decent. The flight was half-full and I had two seats to myself. I finished Catch-22 and worked on a bit of that novel that has no chance of hitting 50,000 words by the end of this month but it’s the ride that counts (isn’t it?). Wouldn’t you know it, weather was rough Chicago-side, and I was stuck in Detroit for a few hours. But again, what can you do but grab a box of airport sushi and a window seat? (Aside: Detroit’s airport is lovely - water fountains, and an impressive electric train system running right through the terminal!). Once I did find a flight to Chi, I arrived to find that my checked luggage didn’t make it with me. So much for my toothbrush and clean underwear. But my ride was waiting for me outside! Thanks, dad! And boy was I ever ready to be home.
Though my luggage was late, my newest gift to myself was not: my Canon Rebel XTi 10.1 mpx digital SLR arrived before I did. But I was too tired to play with it, so I went to sleep, only to wake up 4 hours later at the wee hour of 6am, feeling a bit like a kid on Christmas morning, anxious to open my presents.
So I’m tired again, but I think I’ve got some Christmas joy out of my system. I took a bunch of shots today, some at American Science and Surplus, one of the coolest stores ever. A few initial thoughts:
- I love the feel of a “serious camera”
- Even with my el cheapo CF card, the continuous shooting mode is fast and furious
- My lens is a Canon 50mm/f1.8 II, which takes nice pictures but I’m still getting used to it… it’s not nearly as wide as my Canon s50, and in Auto or ‘P’ mode, it tends to take shots with a very small depth of field. This reminds me
- I need to become well acquainted with the camera’s manual setting
But it’s fun and wonderful and I’m really happy I bought this thing. And now I’m really tired.
i hate computers. they take up so much time! i spent what felt like my entire evening trying to set up an anti-spam mechanism for comments. in the end i gave up and enabled moderated commenting. no immediate gratification (unless you’ve registered with typekey), but at least this site now has some subtle essence of community spirit.
my day has also been owned by the Canon Digital Rebel XTi 10.1 megapixel digital SLR camera that i’ve decided i’m going to buy. what began as a trickle of technolust ERUPTED into a sea of drool. it took me most of the last two days to decide to buy the camera body solo with a 50mm/f1.8 lens. now i need to find the best price. DAMN YOU INTERNETS, HOLIDAY-WASTING POO-HEADS!
ooh, but a new digital camera will be great from my coming travels (Chicago for Turkey Day, then New Zealand for X-mas!).
also, writing a novel is really hard. 50,000 or bust! sigh time to get ill.
My favorite corn bread is not sweet. No, that sugary stuff just disguises the beauty that lies within: corn! I adore corn! And all it needs is a bit of buttermilk and a little fat and salt to bring out its marvelous flavor. My recipe for cornbread is based on Valyn Perini’s Everyday Cornbread. I don’t know who Valyn Perini is, but I happened upon his recipe while searching for a traditional savory cornbread recipe (a harder task than it sounds).
My recipe is adjusted for the vegetarian, and those lacking a well-seasoned cast iron pan (we can’t all be proper southerners).
Savory Cornbread
1. Preheat the oven to 450 F.
2. Mix together:
1 3/4 c cornmeal (or polenta)
1 t baking powder
1 t baking soda
3/4 t salt
3. Whisk together
2 eggs
2 cups buttermilk
4. In an oven-proof skillet, melt 1 T butter.
5. Pour the melted butter into the egg/buttermilk mixture and mix together. Don’t worry about getting all the butter out of the skillet; rub what remains around the skillet to give it a uniform cover of buttery bliss.
6. Combine the bowl of wet stuff with the bowl of dry stuff and mix just until the dry stuff is moistened.
7. Pour the mixture into the skillet. If your skillet is too small for all of it, make two batches!
8. Put the skillet in the oven and cook it ’til its done (stick a knife in the middle and see if it comes out clean, it should only take about 10-20 minutes).
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