Photoshop Endeavors

Raw image from the camera.



The old version as posted on my photo blog a couple of months ago


and the newest, most photoshopped version of them all.


I have decided to post these here as an example of how photoshop quickly gets out of hand. Can you really tell the difference? Sometimes I even have a hard time telling myself. The difference between the second and third one is mostly minor color issues, but the differences between the first and second amount to hours of torturing myself.

The problem with modern technology is that it allows one to become ultra nit-picky, and perfectionist. Actually, it doesn't just allow it, rather it requires it. Everything is scrutinized on a higher level than ever before, especially by people who have no idea what they are talking about, and it can drive a would-be photographer completely bonkers. One can spend years perfecting these things and never actually get anything done at all.

I have been working on my current portfolio for years and years. I will admit that my laziness and procrastination has mostly been the cause of my inability to just get it done. But getting these things done is not nearly as easy as it seems when you start out. Now I am at a point where I am ready to get my website up, but alas I have no money to deal with the financial requirements of said website. Nothing is free. There are ways to do super cheap, almost free websites, but if you go that route than you will not be taken seriously. Because after all, in the world of photography the people who will hire you want to see that you are capable of spending huge sums of money at all times. This is how they know that you are successful.

Nevertheless, I am trying to remain positive. I am seeking creative solutions to the problem. My overthinking mind is on the task now, and I hope to get something done sometime soon. I am trying hard not to let myself fall into the comfort zone of my dreary UPS night job. It would be easy enough to just give in and accept the life that has been given me, but no I refuse to do that just yet. I must insist on living the life I choose, for better or worse.

Time's up. The computer will soon cut me off at the library. See y'all.

Breaking Away From Boredom

To break away from the boredom of our dull existence, my little sister and I headed up into the mountains of Big Cottonwood Canyon to take some random photos. Nothing wakes you up early on a Saturday morning than a random drive into the high alpine coldness that is the Wasatch Mountains in March, especially when you have no real objective at all.


My little sister always wants to do this. I have no idea why because she doesn't take any pictures, nor does she like to have her picture taken. Nevertheless she sometimes finds herself in the frame. That is just one of the perils of hanging out with me.


Thanks to Walt, I have learned some spiffy new photoshop tricks that have allowed this photograph, at Storm Mountain pass, to look pretty decent in spite of the fact that I took it on my untrusty, old Nikon D70 that I want to drop kick into a pile of excrement, if only I could afford a Nikon D700, alas.


The light can be pretty magical and intense at Storm Mountain in the morning. I dig it.


And of course, what journey into the mountains would be complete without taking a picture of some random trees? The answer to that question is, 'no journey is complete without such a picture.

Down With The Sickness

It started on Monday afternoon, after my morning bike ride up City Creek Canyon. The ride went well. It was beautiful. I frolicked in the snowy hills amidst the piles of future drinking water. But after I got back I began to feel all soggy like a used handkerchief. Never mind, I thought. It's just stress fatigue from the long weekend. It was a very long weekend after all. So I chose to ignore the body aches.

Then on Tuesday it was still there, but I defiantly chose to go ride my bike again. This time I got back feeling like I just ran the first 57 minute marathon or something, even though I actually was riding so slow that joggers were passing me by at one point. I certainly was not straining myself. But whatever. I'm not one to whine, so I went to work. But I did not want to be there, so I coaxed my superiors into letting me leave halfway through and went home where I then spent most of the night shaking like a tumbleweed in a hurricane, freezing to death in my 70 degree condo. At this point I began to acknowledge that I was sick.

I do not get sick very often. Almost never. Unless, of course, it is food related. I am not one who is afraid to take risks in the culinary department. But discounting for the occasional bite of the Beto's demon, I do not usually fall apart into a gelatinous puddle of filth. So when I do get sick I try to deny it for as long as possible. And then, when I can no longer deny what is happening to me, I get totally pissed off at myself.

I woke up on Wednesday morning and staggered drunkenly into the bathroom, bracing myself against the wall to take care of business, then somehow managed to fall all the way from my bathroom to my couch in one single movement. It was like the most terrible St. Patrick's Day hangover ever. Except that my total St. Patrick's day festivities had consisted of a 12 ounce can of root beer at UPS. The only thing worse than drinking all night and waking up with a terrible hangover is not drinking all night and waking up with a terrible hangover.

After a while I seemed to recover a bit. My mom came over and took my temperature (I own no thermometer of my own) and found that it was 102. I was perplexed. It must have been several degrees higher during the night because I felt as though it was gone by now. But I was feeling positive. I watched 8 hours of Carnivale, and my spirits were high. Things were looking up. Until the nighttime came again, and the whole thing started all over again. I forgot to mention that when I am sick I have nightmares so evil that I can not describe them. I try hard to forget those things. So sleeping brings no comfort.

I woke up an Thursday and staggered drunkenly to the bathroom and began dry heaving obscenely for a while. Of course I hadn't eaten anything but some chicken soup about 15 hours before so there was no point in the heaving, my body was just being dramatic. But I figured it was high time to go to the doctor and make sure I wasn't dying of the soul cancer. After all, I don't remember ever being sick for this many days. Usually I get over it in about 7 hours. So my Mom was kind enough to drive over there again and take me to the instacare where I was abused and violated by a series of sadistic middle-men before I could see an actual doctor.
I have nothing but respect for Doctors. And I try to be grateful to their minions as well. But I have some bad experience with nurses, interns, evil spirits, and secretaries of secretaries who lurk in the shadows of the medical profession. On this day I will focus my complaints against a crude man who I will call The Evil Male Nurse.

Young, female nurses are usually really boring, although nicer to look at than any other classification. The best ones are usually the middle aged ones who have figured out that there is no harm in being friendly to the paying customers, but haven't become bitter and grumpy like the old female nurses. But even the old grumpy ones can be fun. But I have never met a male nurse who did not seem as though he was dissatisfied with his status and was going to take it out on me. And the Evil Male Nurses are a breed so wholly disagreeable that I get teary eyed remembering the things they have done to me.

This one wasn't particularly sadistic, or phsychotic. He was just a very unreasonable man. He took me into a small room to take my vitals. I was having a lot of difficulty remaining upright, so I thought I could get on to the bed thing. I was wrong. He corrected me immediately and made me sit on the kind of uncomfortable chair that emergency rooms are known for. I was like, ok, I can do this. He took my vitals and began asking me all kinds of stupid questions that I could no longer understand because the world was fading away before my very eyes. I heard a voice muttering something incoherent like, "I need to lie down."

"No!" He shouted. "You will be fine."

"I don't think so. I'm going to be sick."

"No you won't. But fine, take this just in case." He thrust a crude bucket into my hands, which I did not really need because I was already planning to throw up on him anyway. At this point I was slouching uncharacteristically low, even for me, cradling my head in my hands and holding the bucket between my knees, shaking, and sweating, and slobbering like a drunken hobo. I would have been embarrassed but I was blaming this guy for it all. Then just as I started to heave he pulled me up and demanded I follow him to another room. Whatever. I stumbeled behind him, feeling my way because my vision was very dark and fuzzy like the white noise on the tv. Then I sort of fainted into the room, somehow catching myself on the side of the bed. That's right, he didn't even catch me, but he was standing right there. I heard my mom freaking out in the background and if I was fully conscious I would have made a huge scene right then and there, but I only could manage to pull myself onto the bed and lie there gasping in terror that I was powerless to exact revenge upon this unrighteous dude. I was repeating in my head the immortal words from the Hagakure, "Even if a man were to have his head cut off, he should be able to do one more action with certainty." I was hoping this would inspire me to some form of beyond the grave violence I could thrust upon him.

Fortunately the doctor was a lot more decent, and the rest of the visit went smoothly except that unfortunately it was determined I have some sort of virus that can not be treated. I was therefore told to go home and drink lots of fluids and sleep. I was hoping by now to sleep forever. Being sick makes me sincerely wish for death. I'm a total baby in this way. If I had to choose between the flu or being shot in the kneecap, I would gladly take that bullet. I can live with pain. I can not abide nausea. So I went home with a heavy heart. Fortunately my sweet girlfriend, Rachel, came over and nursed me back to health in the most womanly ways, as no one else could. I was mighty cheered up. But alas, she left, and darkness fell. Nighttime was upon me again, and it seemed this disease was bent on taking me again. This cycle was starting to get on my nerves.

But then, I woke up. It was Friday morning and I felt fine, except that when I tried to walk I felt like an astronaut who just returned from outer space, and I was racked with hunger pains. I was tempted to eat nothing and read The Road all day just to see if I could gain some deeper insight, but decided that would be a bad idea for a lot of reasons. So I ate and began to feel good again. In fact, I feel fantastic. Now I am having lots of bad ideas. Recovery is a powerful drug. Now I want to get into all sorts of trouble in the dewy sunshine. The HWIC (Head Woman In Charge) at my condos came and told me the plan, and I told her I would call the right people and explain the situation. I will now begin draining the rancid pondscum from the swimming pool. It is the first day of spring. And that is just the beginning of the things I am going to do now that I am back.

Digging Through Old Photos

I have been hard at work searching through piles of film from my college days, trying to find stuff that is worth transferring to digital for my new portfolio, or other sundry purposes of dubious value. My current financial situation is preventing me from getting my website up and running, because I am broke. But I figure the best stragegy is to get as prepared as possible so that when I have some cash I can throw it all down with ease and simplicity.

Therefore, I was going through the hundreds of photos I took of the Hunter High School football team back in 2002 for a Documentary Photography class, trying to find the good ones again. In this search I found some ones that I have never really looked at before. I guess that is not that strange considering that I took about 600 photos for the project and only used 10 for the final presentation. Still I was surprised to find some really cool ones that I don't remember at all, like the one above.

I probably overlooked it because of the weird focus and motion blur that is going on, but there is such an intense energy and the scene of the entire team rushing at me from behind the guy in the foreground has brought back all the wild craziness of being down there on the field with those guys. It's the only way to watch football. I've rarely been able to get into a football game again from the dull safety of my living room.

Anyway, that project is some of the best photography I have had the pleasure of doing, and I will be posting a lot of them on my photo blog soon, but I just wanted to post this one here, for now.

S.A.D.

This must be, by far, the most ugliest day of the entire year. Perhaps the entire decade. Never before have I opened my curtains to reveal such a vile nastiness. What is going on here?I woke up to the terrible sound of violent winds roaring all around. I did not want to get up at all. The fact that my back is completely in pain did not help either of course.

I need to get outside. I have become unproductive and dull lately. I don't seem to have anything to talk about. I'm just typing this now hoping it will somehow pass as a blog entry until I can come up with something better.

It's time for spring to come. I insist that this smoggy whiteness must leave my field of vision. I am having visions already of dropping the bobsled. My thoughts are reckless. I keep dreaming about opening up my swimming pool. But the dreams always turn ugly at the end. Last night I dreamed of pulling the cover off and there were dead bodies floating under it.

That's disgusting, I know. But it's the way my mind is rolling right now. Nevertheless. Good times are coming soon.