Depth of Field

You know what I don't hear about anymore? Depth-of-field.

There was a time when distributors and buyers would complain about people shooting on video vs shooting on film because of the noticable difference in depth-of-field (in other words, how out-of-focus the background is) in 35mm. Shallower focus is "better".

And distributors and buyers could actually recognize that video "look" of an all-but-infinite depth of field caused by the tiny imagers the video cameras use(d). They prefer(ed) the look of 35mm where the subject is in focus and the background falls out of focus.

So then a whole bunch of companies like Letus made adapters so you could use 35mm still lenses with video cameras -- with similar depth-of-field results. Those things were clunky as all get out to use, but they looked great. The result was big portrait-like looks where the background and lights would get soft and bloom in a way that cinematographers (and buyers) liked.

And then Nikon and Canon and everyone and their grandmothers made DSLR's that had the same (or even larger) imagers than 35mm motion-picture cameras. And those cameras look even more awesome.

Here's a picture of Pushkin. Taken with an iPhone.

And the end result of all these advances? Nobody cares about shallow or deep focus anymore. Nobody cares if you shoot on a Red, or a four-thirds, a Canon 7D, or a Panavision with Kodak 500T. No buyer or distributor cares what you shoot on anymore. Sure, if you shot on a video camera from the late 1990's they might say "this looks like poo" but other than that, you can pretty much do what you want.

Which is good, because pulling focus is a major pain in my chops on set. Shooting with deeper depth-of-field makes the picture look a little more in-focus all around. I mean, even when I miss a focus mark, it's still in focus. And the slightly smaller four-thirds imager on our Panasonic GH1 (slightly larger than 16mm motion picture film) works out great for that.

Now we have the best of both worlds -- a nice balance between shallow depth-of-field and blowing focus all the time. It also means a lot fewer retakes. Just ask our actors how many times I have to do another take because I blow the focus. Probably no more than a half-dozen times a day. Right?

OK, maybe a dozen...

Pushkinly

Pushkin -- I would call him "Mr. Fun". Stories include: him drunk dialing my dad's ex-girlfriends (yeah, I'm not going to blog about that one, you'll just have to ask me sometime), the way his tail would be up in a question-mark and then flip over to be a question-mark in Spanish, and how he would patrol the whole house in a fun lurky cat-stalky way.

He was so so soft. Really luxuriantly soft.

Floaty duck-cat with cat toy. He looks like a bad composite here, doesn't he?

These pictures were taken by my sister at the end of 2001.

Pushkin Stories

My favorite Pushkin story is the way he met my dad. My dad was adamantly opposed to "having animals in the house." To him, having a pet is such a great responsibility because he was brought up on a farm, and on the farm the animals come first.
And furthermore, cows and chickens are major pains in the ass.
He never realized that cats are vastly easier. You don't have to milk them every day. They're relatively clean. You don't need to "walk" them.
In any case, friends of mine had a spare cat. It was a cat who originally belonged to their neighbor, who had gotten a pit bull which effectively chased the cat of of its own house. So the cat was living with Kevin and Andrea but they already had a couple cats and those cats weren't getting along with the new cat.
So I took the cat on the condition that I'd bring him back if my dad really had such a big conniption that I really couldn't keep him.
The first night, I kept the little fellow in my room. Then I moved him down to what was then my office -- the back porch of the house. I could put his litter box there and keep him closed off from the rest of the house. That wasn't such a bad deal for the cat as the back porch is bigger than most New York apartments. In any case, I had him there for about a week. He hid in the cupboards for about a day. He didn't come out until I was talking on the telephone. Then he immediately jumped on my lap. That's when I learned that he absolutely had no fear of people and loved to hear them talk.
So one day about a week later I'm out at work and my dad, not realizing I'm not there, stops in to check on me in my office and he opens the door to look in.
Sitting on my chair is this cat.
I so wish I had a picture of my dad, standing there slack-jawed at the cat, and the cat looking back at him.

But rather than be scared of the very angry man, the cat jumps down off the chair and trots over to the door where my father is just seething. The cat rubs himself on my dad's shins (as cats are sometimes wont to do.) He's being all purr-y and affectionate when my dad had been very clear that he wouldn't accept any animals in the house.

My dad, for whatever reason, decides that my sister is somehow primarily to blame for the illegal importation of this cat into his home. Which worked out well for me. It did not work for the logical disconnect -- my sister lives hundreds of miles away. And furthermore, the fact was that my stepmom (who hadn't moved in yet at that point) was thrilled that we had a cat.

So my dad talked to me about it and I promised that the cat would only stay on the back porch and my dad wouldn't have to worry about him. We hadn't named him. Some things like "Howard" were suggested. I think Kevin and Andrea were calling him "Ivy" as in "IV" (although I don't remember if that was because they felt he had a greenish look to him or because he was the fourth cat, or because of his markings.) In any case, a couple weeks later I find out that when I was going out to the theater at night my dad was secretly letting the cat out into the rest of the house.

Ha!

A couple weeks after that my father agreed that the cat could stay downstairs. No animals allowed upstairs (this was actually the rule many years earlier when we had a dog.) But the cat wasn't restricted to the back porch at all, he just isn't allowed upstairs. So what did the cat do just as soon as we let him out of the back porch? He makes a bee-line, up the stairs, for my dad's bedroom, and jumps up on my dad's side of the bed, where he curls up and goes to sleep.

Yes, he was actually as silky soft as he looks. 

A year or so later after my stepmom had moved in my dad was complaining about how the cat was sleeping on his side of the bed. Finally my dad said he managed to solve the situation by getting Pushkin off his side of the bed -- by turning the electric blanket on the other side of the bed. My dad said "I got Pushkin off my side of the bed so now he sleeps on his side of the bed."
Wait. His side of the bed? My stepmom was not amused but it cracked me and my sister up.

Rest, Pushkin

Pushkin

199? - 2011

Pushkin died today at the age of about 13 or 14. He had liver failure and had stopped eating, his health having declined rapidly over the last week. 
He was always such a nice cat who loved people and responded to the emotions of humans. He is missed.

A New Kind of Awesome

My sister took pictures of cats. You will be looking at my sister's pictures of cats.

Disembodied Pushkin cat head with a Winston in the background.

Is Pushkin really staring down Chien here? I have no idea. Pushkin is not an aggressive cat but Chien is a SERIOUSLY non-aggressive dog.

Chien looks the OTHER way.

Meydl and her blurry tail.

I decided to stick with Foxmarks and not go to Lastpass at all. Thing is, they're the same company now.
I'm completely fascinated with these kinds of anthropological things. Humans came out of Africa (many stayed in Africa) and some (Europeans) bred with Neanderthals. Now we know about Denisovans -- a new kind of not-quite-human whom New Guineans are related to.
Actually, I'm using Firefox Sync. It's not cross-browser though. Oh well.

No Paws on the Table

As my sister (who took these pictures of Pushkin and my dad) pointed out, there is an explicit "No paws on the kitchen table" rule at my parents' apartment which is routinely ignored by the 12 feet of cats which routinely roam the abode.

Pushkin has a Papal dispensation, however, allowing him to do whatever he likes without even the stern "talking to" the other cats might get.
And, I suppose, arguably there are no paws on the table. Tail, absolutely, chin, rump, flank... but paws might be safely tucked away.
Last night Pushkin fell asleep on my lap. Which as a normal adult cat he'd never done. Sitting on lap for pettings was more his style. But he's getting old and sleeps a lot more now.

Three Cool Cats

From back to front that's Meydl, my dad, and Pushkin. Jeanne took the picture with her iPhone.

The Catpocalypse

My sister Jeanne (and there's still question in my mind about how to properly pronounce her name... after 46 years) took these pictures.

Meydl and Andrew Bellware.

Meydl and Andrew Bellware getting more pettings (Meydl, not Drew).

Pushkin being petted so. He can't keep his eyes open.

Well That Didn't Take Long

Nancy McClernan has been hammering my email addresses (as well as Facebook -- I didn't realize someone could contact you on FB without being "friends" -- shows you what I know.)
It's been going like this. First she spams me with multiple versions of this email:

• Unbelievable. You libeled me on your blog yet again.
• 
  
• Remove your claim that I've ever said I was stalked. This is a lie.
• 
  
• You also imply I have stalked someone. This is also a lie.
• 
  
• Remove these lies about me from your blog now. Libel is an actionable offense.
• 
  
• Nancy McClernan

To which I (naturally) replied:

"Cease contacting me."

So of course she had to reply again:

• On Fri, Dec 10, 2010 at 9:51 PM, Nancy McClernan <nancy@mergatroyd.org> wrote:
• 
  
• I am done with your libels and your search-text harassment.
• 
  
• Nancy McClernan

To which I (again, naturally) replied:

Cease contacting me and harassing me.

Her follow-up so far has been:

• My lawyer will contact you.

Which I believe, in and of itself, constitutes a threat.

Will someone please remind me how she became something any of us care about? I'm sure if you look around on her blog you'll find more funny stuff. I only learn about the whack stuff she writes second-hand from actors who won't work with her anymore but still read her blog for amusement.

In the meantime, here's my cat. Pushkin. No really, he's there.

Happiness

Sometimes Cracked is stunningly well-written, in their linkwhoring way. Like this article on things you think will make you happy but won't.

My sister and I have instituted a new policy at our parent's apartment. Now, sometimes we institute a policy and we simply cannot get the parents to continue it. (That seems to be the case of the recycling container my sister put by the front door to prevent a buildup of plastic bottles and junk mail. We're now back to the build up of plastic bottles and junk mail.) But our new policy regarding the cats seems to be taking.

"My" cat, Pushkin, has always been a very fastidious eater. He only likes very small quantities of freshly put-out food. And he will (and always has) just walked away if another animal wants his food. Now normally if a cat were so finicky I wouldn't fuss about it. I'd say "what are they gonna do, starve?" But in Pushkin's case the answer might very well be "yes". He'd lost a lot of weight over this last year and not a vet in the world can figure out what's really wrong with him. His appetite though, now, is pretty good. But again, he only likes small amounts of food -- many times a day.

So the policy is that Pushkin can eat whatever he wants whenever he wants. Oftentimes this means we take a bowl of food and lock him in the bathroom with it (away from the other cats.) Still, he only eats a fifth(?) of a small can of cat food at any time. So we have to feed him a whole bunch of times just to give him enough food for one cat. And the reality is that feeding him enough means drastically overfeeding the other two (very fat) cats.

And I don't care. I'd rather Pushkin got enough to eat (even if really all he'd have to do is sit and eat the food as it's offered to him three times a day by my stepmom) and the other cats eat way too much than to have him go hungry. Yes, he actually gets fed upwards of seven times a day with his "special" meals. I mean, the whole thing is ridiculous because if he ate more than a couple bites at a time his weight would be fine. Plus, he could easily kick the ass of either of the other cats if they deserved it. And they do. But he just won't.

The Guardians

Wizard! You Shall Not Pass!

We found out how my dad gets so much work done. He has guardian cats who protect him. Woe to those who dare approach.

In the meantime, Pushkin graciously suffers through a combing from Iona.

Obviously he just hates it. It's nigh on intolerable to him.

More Cats!

Pushkin with his way-too-serious face on.

Winston/Bernard (or whatever, he's a cat -- he hasn't told us yet) saying "hello!"

Winston looks o'er the luxurious and silly Meydl.

My lovely sister took some pictures of the cats. She's stayin' on top of job number 1!

More Cats

Pushkin and Meydl. Just sitting on the kitchen table. Because there are zero rules when it comes to the cats. Apparently. (My parents will try to have patient discussions with the cats about why they're not allowed on the table. The cats have the expected reaction to these discussions -- that's why they're on the table.)
Pushkin always looks so serious in photographs. Meydl looks as cute and goofy as she actually is.

A Meydl In Hand Is Worth

My dad decided to take Meydl off the chair so that she wouldn't jump down and bother Pushkin. Ha!

Putting the cat to bed.

They both really love this chair. I don't know why. Pushkin really disappears into it, Meydl (being orange), not so much.

Meydl gets a bit squirmy.

Because we play favorites around here and ol' Pushkin gets the chair (apparently). I told my dad there was no way he was going to pick Meydl up off that chair ('cause as a cat, she tends to dig in with all four cylinders paws.) But boy, he proved me wrong.

And that's what there is to say about that.

OK, she gets a LOT squirmy. Does that tail even belong to her?

All of this so Pushkin can get some rest without a noisy kitten banging around the place.

The King in repose.

Ridiculous Animals

Pushkin being shy.

These cats get along pretty well now. They sleep near one another and they will play together even though Pushkin is an old man now and Meydl is just a little pipsqueak.
This evening they both ran to the door when I got home. That was fun.
Pushkin has, though, been a bit more off-put of late. He's not as big on jumping in my lap as he used to was. Maybe I don't watch as much TV?

Meydl, Pushkin, Dad, all trying to check email.

The two cats love my dad's desk-chair. They will actually crowd him as he's on the computer.

Meydl pretends she is a squirrel.

They do a reasonable job of sleeping through the night. Six am is another story though. Luckily with my stepmom back from knee rehab and walking with a cane already(!), they bug her for breakfast and not me.

More cat!

Need some graphics work done? Check out Enchanted Forest Studios.

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Dude, Steven Slater needs your support. Grab a beer, pull the emergency chute, and slide on down.
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Pushkin has the ability to look grumpy no matter what he's doing. But I finally got a shot of him squonching his head a bit here.
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Sendspace is an alternative to YouSendIt that has larger file limits for free. I may have already mentioned this before.

Open Source HTML

So, KompoZer seems to be a Dreamweaver-esque open-source html editor. I have another web emergency where I have to get a gallery up on the clonehuntermovie.com site.

Blogger says now that I'm only using 3% of my image space. That's good for five bucks a year. The only real problem I have is that I can't really independently access those images in a practical way as I'm shut out of Picasa because of a photograph which had an Ingres odalisque in the background. No kidding.

Man, I've been having optical migraines today. Swirling lines in my vision. No real pain but it makes it impossible to work...

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Pushkin looks in an arbitrary direction.

Strategize My Cat

Man, I hope I never need a "content strategy". I suspect than anyone actually embarking on a "content strategy for audience engagement" won't actually be engaging any audiences. Or making any money. That is, unless they're consultants telling other people they should have a content strategy... you know, for audience engagement.

I think I'd tape bacon to my cat first.
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[Pushkin hiding under a chair in my parent's bedroom.]

Serious Cat

The cats always look so dang serious when they're photographed. Pushkin, in particular, looks vastly more imperious when photographed than he really is.

Here he is atop his favorite chair.

My sister took this brilliantly composed picture of Meydl and my dad. Meydl has this thing where she has to walk all over my dad's Sudoku, swatting him in the face with her tail.

The cats essentially have free reign to do whatever they want. My parents will put up with anything. Even when my dad says "These cats have got to go." Nobody pays attention. Especially the cats.

The purpose of technology

... whether it's iPhones or the Internet itself, seems to be for one purpose: the posting of pictures of cats.

Here is Meydl earlier in the day sleeping on my dad's chair.

Well, truthfully I woke her up in order to take her picture. I don't have much truck with being mean to animals but I will admit that I do love to wake up cats! They have such grumpy looks on their faces when you wake them! Plus, it's not like they have to work the next day or anything. They just go back to sleep. I mean really, would anyone notice if a cat slept in late?

And then Pushkin later in the day getting ready to sleep on my dad's chair.