Film vs Digital

I don't shoot very much film any more because it usually is not in my budget these days. It is also becoming harder and harder to find film. Even at Pictureline it's hit and miss what you are going to find, and Fuji is discontinuing all color negative films somewhere in the near future. It is a dismal situation.

Nevertheless, I would shoot film all the time if I could. I'm not really arguing that film is better. They both have pros and cons. And we have all had that fight way too many times. I just like film better. And here I will show you why.

(These photos were all taken for my future sister-in-law's High School graduation announcements at Cactus and Tropicals in Draper. They are not fine masterpieces of photography, but they illustrate my point here.)

First of all, here is a photo taken with my digital camera:

I will admit that my digital camera is not the most state-of-the-art. But, the truth is, I don't have $3000 to drop on a new digital camera just any time I might want one. Fortunately, I have some kindred photographers that sometimes help me out with better equipment when needed, but I can not buy it at this time. So this is what I am stuck with for the regular stuff. That is my first major, and practical, reason to hate digital. My film camera cost me $250 dollars about 10 years ago, and it is still a fine piece of equipment. My digital camera cost me $800 (used), and is now worth about $42 for the scraps it is made from.

I will admit that I had to underexpose that first image to prevent the highlights from blowing out. Digital is not known for having a whole lot of exposure latitude.

So, after doing a bunch of photoshop to it, just to get it looking semi-decent, I end up with this:



Now for a film example, taken in the same spot, in the same lighting, with only slightly different exposure, on Kodak Portra 160VC film. (I exposed this how I wanted to. The camera did not dictate it.)

Now, that does not even represent the best quality, because it is a cheap film scan from Walgreen's one-hour-photo. Nevertheless, without anything done to it in photoshop it already looks much, much better. The highlights are a bit hot, but it is not losing any detail. It could easily be burned in if I had a proper scan. The colors look far, far better, and more accurate to what the actual scene looked like. The lighting looks much more natural, and even. So why the hell would anyone want to do digital? I don't know.

Furthermore, look how much more control I had over the depth of field. I must admit here that I could have the same control if I spent that $3000 for a new digital camera, and then a thousand, or so, more for an expensive lens. But I was able to to the exact same thing with my $250 Nikon film camera, and a lens that cost me $50 on Ebay.

I did a little, tiny bit of photoshop on that one, just for the hell of it really.


I had to get that rant off my chest. I hope it explains why I am always frustrated and ashamed of my digital camera.

Rachel's Smile

Is worth 4 Million dollars and some change. At least.



That's my fiance. :)

Iceland Volcanoes

I figure that I should just address this topic once and for all, since people keep on asking me about it. Although I went to Iceland in 2008, I have never heard of Eyjafjallajokull. I don't even know how to pronounce it. Although it does not come as a surprise to me that many Icelanders are hiking to Eyjafjallajokull in spite of the dangers inherent in walking toward erupting volcanoes. It would make perfect sense to you too if you had been there. Just hearing about these things overwhelms me with a fearful nostalgia.

During my 2 weeks in Iceland, I climbed to the top of Festerfjall, and Eldfell. A person can put their hand on the rocks on Eldfell and feel the heat still emanating from an eruption that occurred in the 1970's. It's the sort of experience that makes you question your own significance in the greater scheme of existence. From there I also gazed lovingly at the Helgafell volcano, but did not venture to climb it because I needed a nap by that time.


*Helgafell volcano, as seen from atop Eldfell volcano.

But alas, I did not go anywhere near Eyjafjallajokull. Although I kind of wish I was there right now, in a weird masochistic way. I also did not see Helga, Hekla, Bárðarbunga, Herðubreið, Kollóttadyngja, Ljósufjöll, Öræfajökull, or any of the other 130 unintelligibly named volcanoes in Iceland. And I don't know anything at all about them.

The first half of my time in that mysterious country was spent walking around barren wilderness like the Man from The Road, having bizarre encounters with those eerily beautiful people who choose to dwell upon that crusty land, and some awkward encounters with other lonely travellers from various continents.





Then the second half of my journey was spent trying to escape from the Island of Heimaey. And ever since I did manage to escape I find myself inexplicably compelled to go back again. And I'm not just saying that because I have been watching too many episodes of Lost lately. There is something very disturbing about Heimaey. It was settled by escaped slaves, who were then hunted down like dogs by someone named Ingólfur Arnarson because they killed his foster brother, or something like that. Later it was sacked by Arab pirates who kidnapped some chick named Guðríður Símonardóttir. And then, much, much later some people left from there to become Mormons in Utah. Then I somehow ended up there from Utah and got marooned with a young, would-be actress from New York, and a couple of British gents, and we were all tormented, and harrassed by roaving gangs of scavenging hoodlums. So the cycle continues.



That sums up everything I know about Iceland, and volcanic eruptions. I hope that was helpful. And if you feel you need to go there to look at volcanoes, or to talk to vampires, or any other reason, I recommend it.

The Color Fest

I really think I will make the color fest an annual tradition. I'm pretty sure that you could go to it every year for the rest of your life and your mind would never stop being blown by the craziness of it. It is definitely one of the most interesting things to do in Utah. And besides, I love taking pictures of the weird people there.



Seriously. What the hell was that last pic about? This is one of those events that brings out the weirdos because you really can't be too silly for it. It's a rare chance to make bizarre fashion statements and then get all dirty with a lot of people. The strange thing is how most people really do wear the same sorts of things. Eighties fashion was apparently this year's theme. And then there is the old, standby hazmat suits.



Aside from all that though, I really tried to focus on taking pics of my friends this year. Last year I dedicated an entire roll of film to the same people, but alas, the photo gremlins got that roll. It somehow turned out blank. That's one of the risks you take with film. Mistakes were made. This year I was more prepared to capture the very important peeps.

Rachel
My lovely fiance. I do love her, even when she smiles. Although oft times her pictures come out looking all hard-ass, Don't let her fool you. Her pictures are all Grrrr! Yum. I like it. But in reality she is all sweetness and mercy. I like that too. And I should know. She puts up with all my nonsense. She definitely adds to my manly powers just by being around. Everybody should have a Rachel in their life to spice it up.

As a matter of fact, I wouldn't even know about this event if not for her. Last year she told me about it because her friend Michael Wiltbank was going to it, and I was like, "Yes! We must do that!" The rest is history. So I still owe her a few brownie points for bringing me into this adventure twice. Especially when you consider that this second time she woke up at 7 AM to go to 2 bridal showers. (I'm pretty sure that I'm don't envy that ritual of the women. Bachelor parties are much more awesome. No offense. Just sayin'. Nevertheless she was a real, hardcore trooper to go breathe in all that filthy dust with us after that sort of a workout.

She also brought most of the people below into this adventure. She is the instigator in these things. Somehow she always can get more people to show up. She has that mysterious power of popularity that I used to try so hard to understand when I was in high school. Now that I am older I have given up. I just bask in her popularity by proxy. It feels like I actually have a social life when I'm with her. But that's just the icing on the cake.

In short, Rachel is awesome. She is sexy, and awesome. She is one hot mess of awesomeness, even when she isn't all colored up. She isn't normally this filthy. But I liked it anyway. It was hot.












Amelia

My little sis. Apparently she got all crazy and rocked out while I was up on top of the temple. Therefore I missed her crazy side. I'm a little bitter about that. I've never seen anything like it.







Trent

One of my groomsmen, and Rachel's cousin. We hang out with him all the time. He is pretty cool, and has a beard like Jesus, which came in handy for filtering dust out of the air. I'm pretty sure that this was the best use for a beard ever. I want to grow one for next year's colorfest. Unfortunately I can only grow a scraggly neck beard. Therefore I am very jealous of this dude.







Brittni

A friend, and Rachel's wife. She is somehow very photogenic whilst covered with colorful chalk. That is a very special talent, not to be taken lightly.







Alyssa

Rachel's little sis





Jon

Rachel's little bro #1



Karalee and Ryan

Some friends from the UC who will very soon be married.


Angel

My photo friend who held the riot down so that nothing important happened before we got there. I knew she had that power. We photo geeks have a lot of mysterious powers. I'll just leave it at that.




Misc.








Me

Where Weekend Warriors Fear To Tread

Note: I'm feeling a bit nostalgic lately. I have been wanting to post some of my old silly blogs on here. I think maybe it will inspire me to start writing about silly things again, like I used to do when I was young, and full of life. This blog is sorely neglected. Anyway, I did find this one that I wrote about a horrid, but beautiful mountain bike racing experience I once had at Soldier Hollow. I always have a hard time explaining the love/hate relationship I once had with Mountain Bike racing. This one comes close to saying something. It was originally posted on Myspace on May 19, 20007. My mood was posted as "Chipper".

Soldier Hollow: Forgotten Pain, Forgotten Pleasure: Where Weekend Warriors Fear to Tread

"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, his greatest fulfillment of all he holds dear, is the moment when he lies exhausted on the field of battle - VICTORIOUS!"

Vince Lombardi said something like that. I think I know what he was talking about. But do you know what I'm talking about? For instance: Can you imagine what it feels like to burn 3000 calories in 3 hours? Most people will never be able to take themselves willingly to that level of masochism, and I truly pity them. It's quite a unique experience in the human condition. I don't even have the words to describe something that awful, and if I did I probably wouldn't tell you because you're happier not knowing. You would have nightmares, and I wouldn't want to be responsible for you losing sleep.

So I'll just say that by the time I reached the nearest Carl's Jr. restaraunt I was literally shaking, and my eyes refused to focus on anything that was moving. Add to that the fact that my face was completely encrusted with layer upon layer of dust, and streaked with mud and salt from the rivers of sweat that had been recently flowing through that barren, desert wasteland. The poor high school kid at the counter wasn't sure wether to take my order or call the manager, or maybe the police, or maybe an elite animal control unit.

My speech was slurred. It was hard to form the words. But somehow I managed to order a Guacamole Bacon Six-Dollar Burger Combo, large size, with a 44 oz. Dr. Pepper, and a side of fried zucchini; a hearty meal that would surely make Morgan Spurlock cry like a doomed baby who had somehow found itself crawling up Parley's canyon, at rush hour, in the fast lane. And I must confess, with absolutely no remorse, that I enjoyed every bite of that slut with the happy knowledge that I will still weigh-in 3 pounds less than last week. And that's not even mentioning the horrid things I ate yesterday. You don't want to know. Let's just say that there is a beautiful practice in the dog-eat-dog world of mountain bloodsport called 'Carbo-Loading', and somewhere in the deepest levels of hell a Dr. Robert Atkins is being forcibly violated, in my honor, by 2 large demons with lightning bolts tatooed on their hairy beer-bellies.

So, after shoveling that garbage into my mouth with wild, reckless abandon, I managed to walk out of the place feeling like a distant relative of the human race. I didn't look back, but if I did I was sure I would see everyone sighing in relief to know that the sweating, stinking phillistine had left the building. They could all feel safe again, but they would be left forever wondering what it was that I had seen, and how much it would cost to get some. I guarantee they couldn't afford it.

It was race #4 at Soldier Hollow that put me in this wretched condition. The race that separates the willing from the able. It separates the clean-shaven and virtuous from the foul and hedonistic, dirt-worshiping adrenaline junkies. I hate Soldier Hollow. Everyone I know hates Soldier Hollow. But those of us who have truly been there will never stop coming back for more. We bash our souls against that mountain year after year after bloody year. It is the first race of the season at high altitude that takes place on something you can actually call a mountain. After Soldier Hollow, you are done with the hills, and must be ready for anything.

Soldier Hollow is not a course to be taken lightly. That third lap took everything I had. The mountain forced its way into all the dark, moist holes in my training strategy. I apologize for getting crude with my analogies, but there's no other way to express the sort of pain and humiliation that I suffered today. But it was okay in the end. I got sixth place, which isn't bad at all considering. And now I know my weaknesses, intimately. The mountain has shown me the path that I must take, and I will not cringe in the face of adversity.

After all that I knew I was pushing my luck when Stephen Brown asked me if I wanted to go for a 3rd lap, after the race awards, but you can never say no to a personal, mano e mano grudgefest with an old foe. In fact when Tinker Juarez descended from Amasa Back with the Ten Commandments of XC Mountain Bike Racing, given to him by a flaming pile of Cryptobiotic Soil, I think it was the first commandment that said "Thou shalt not deny 3rd lap pissing contests with old foes."


The fat is in the fire. The bikefight is on.