I've seen links from a number of other people on this one....and I'm forced to agree. This is definitely the best commercial EVER.
Not safe for work. Not even a little.
Filed under "art" because....damn.
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Good time at the beach
Poor Misti is from Arizona, and left 116 F weather to come shoot with me in Oregon. It was nice out there....70-75 F or so, which was great for me. She was freezing.
All the same, I got a message from her earlier today saying she'd landed a job at home from my photos! How cool is that?
Monday, April 28, 2008
Presented without comment
Edit: Okay, obviously I need to leave a comment of some sort, because I keep getting comments and emails about where these photos have been seen before. Perhaps you missed the sideline over to the right that says all images here are copyright 2007 or 2008 Groundwerks Productions?
No, you haven't seen these photos before, unless you saw them here or on my Model Mayhem profile. I guarantee it...as I took them the Sunday before I posted both of them. I personally know both of the models; they are friends of mine. I know the location - it is in Salem, Oregon at Copperjohn's Pub. I know the photographer...he's me.
K? K.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
A moon with a view
While I was shooting this second one, I had my hand shading the shutter and the other shading the lens from passing cars behind me and off to one side. It was a several-second exposure, and a guy came walking his dog from the side. The dog saw me first and went totally apeshit, because there I was, standing very still (trying not to jar my lens) and not saying anything. I think I scared both of them into another life, and I probably gave the guy's wife something to say when she sees the skid marks in his undies.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Camera blogging, and how to be frustrated.
I haven't posted much about the equipment I use yet, so I suppose I should. If you're not into cameras, well, this is going to be a geek post.
My platform of choice at the moment is the Canon Digital Rebel XT, bought about a year and a half ago. I went with Canon rather than one of the alternates largely because the mount for their SLR lenses is the same across the spectrum of low to high-end camera bodies, so when I upgrade I won't need new lenses. Not every manufacturer can say the same.
A while back, I'm not sure when, I lost both my alternate battery and my charger, so I haven't ben doing much shooting. During my last outing with Dad, the battery I do have finally ran outta juice, and I had to borrow one from him. I've been casting about for ideas on whether to replace just the lone battery and charger, or whether to ...um... upgrade somewhat.
Then I made the mistake earlier of looking here. I swear, that's purest camera-geek porn. What I ended up getting is close to the bottom of the page, the "Battery Grip BG-E3", which features an alternate set of camera controls on it and an interchangeable clip that takes two of the (you guessed it) normal batteries used in the camera body, or six AA's. I got it thinking that it had an internal battery pack, and that it came with a DC adapter, which turned out not to be the case. What really frosts me about this is that I know full well as soon as I purchase another battery and a charger (which I could have done anyway), I'll find the one I lost.
Oh, in case anybody's interested, the lens I use most of the time is the EF 70-300mm f/4-5.6 IS USM.
My platform of choice at the moment is the Canon Digital Rebel XT, bought about a year and a half ago. I went with Canon rather than one of the alternates largely because the mount for their SLR lenses is the same across the spectrum of low to high-end camera bodies, so when I upgrade I won't need new lenses. Not every manufacturer can say the same.
A while back, I'm not sure when, I lost both my alternate battery and my charger, so I haven't ben doing much shooting. During my last outing with Dad, the battery I do have finally ran outta juice, and I had to borrow one from him. I've been casting about for ideas on whether to replace just the lone battery and charger, or whether to ...um... upgrade somewhat.
Then I made the mistake earlier of looking here. I swear, that's purest camera-geek porn. What I ended up getting is close to the bottom of the page, the "Battery Grip BG-E3", which features an alternate set of camera controls on it and an interchangeable clip that takes two of the (you guessed it) normal batteries used in the camera body, or six AA's. I got it thinking that it had an internal battery pack, and that it came with a DC adapter, which turned out not to be the case. What really frosts me about this is that I know full well as soon as I purchase another battery and a charger (which I could have done anyway), I'll find the one I lost.
Oh, in case anybody's interested, the lens I use most of the time is the EF 70-300mm f/4-5.6 IS USM.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Coastal photos
Dad and I took a shooting excursion over to Lincoln City, then down as far as Newport. I think I did more shooting today than I've ever done - I filled up all six of the memory cards I had with me, which is a lot. Here's what I've had time to work up so far.
The Coast Guard helicopter from Newport came over twice.
Yaquina Head Lighthouse...
Just for perspective - yes, those waves are exactly as high as they look.
Very rough surf.
I spent quite a bit of time working on this shot.
This one, too.
Quite a bit of snow in the Cascade Range, at least for Oregon. I got this after I was trying to get a good photo of a Great Blue Heron, and he decided being elsewhere was a good idea.
The Coast Guard helicopter from Newport came over twice.
Yaquina Head Lighthouse...
Just for perspective - yes, those waves are exactly as high as they look.
Very rough surf.
I spent quite a bit of time working on this shot.
This one, too.
Quite a bit of snow in the Cascade Range, at least for Oregon. I got this after I was trying to get a good photo of a Great Blue Heron, and he decided being elsewhere was a good idea.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Piano Man, and how not to run a restaurant
Red got me tickets for my birthday, over a month ago, to go see Billy Joel in concert at the Rose Garden in Portland today. First, let me say that the Piano Man certainly does not disappoint in his concert - a thorough mix of favorites going back to before I was born up to much more contemporary stuff, and at one point getting a member of his road crew up to do the vocals for an asskicking cover of Highway to Hell. Simply awesome.
But let's backtrack just a bit, for I have something about which I wish to rant.
Consider this. You run a restaurant which, on nights that the Rose Garden is actually doing something, represents the closest (and, for all I know, only) thing resembling an actual restaurant with real food within walking distance. As such, you are guaranteed standing-room-only attendance from people who, like me this evening, are hungry, and who, like me, want to partake of something with alcoholic content. One would think that, under such circumstances, one might make an effort to create an environment where people are interested in eating, with food people are interested in eating, and with staff capable of delivering it.
Sadly, this is not the case.
First, we came into the Rose Garden before the concourse was actually open. How we managed this, I'm not quite certain, but Red and I were chased off the "concourse" by an officious red-bejacketed harridan demanding to know what I was doing as I was walking by, as if it weren't relatively obvious that a) I was walking and b) I had no particular destination as evidenced by my inquisitive looks at all and sundry. I was told I could go into the above-mentioned restaurant, or exit the Rose Garden, but one way or another, my foray into the wild realm of Breaking The Rules was at an end. I felt like such a lawbreaker.
Anyway, so the restaurant was an option, right? I could go and get a drink, whiling away the hour and a half I had to await for the show with a beer and food. Ah, bliss!
Sadly, this was not the case. We didn't have a reservation. Lawbreaking denied, we were ushered toward the doors with all the hospitality of a dinner hostess toward a guest bearing a roadkilled possum as a door gift. Into the actually sub-freezing temperatures we went. Were there other options for food and drink, you ask? Well, no. Not so much.
25 minutes and approximately three frostbitten toes apiece later, we were permitted entry once more upon the concourse, somewhat chastened. We made our way to the restaurant, and waited in line for a table, were seated by a pleasant hostess, and then the real fun began.
Were I a waitress (and I'm not - I don't have the legs or the pleasant temperament for it), I would make an effort to learn the ways of fermented spirits; specifically, I would take the time to learn the difference between an amber ale and a cream stout porter. When asked for one, and given the wrong one by the bartender, I would not deliver it and ask with a blank gum-chewing look, "Well, that's whatcha wanted, dintcha?". No, see, amber ale is reddish/amber in color and transparent. Cream stout porter is as dark as strong coffee, and has a distinct creamy head on it.
Were I a professional cook (and I'm not, see above), I would not serve up a requested reuben sandwich with a) soggy, greasy marbled rye bread, b) enough mayonnaise that, if one were to wring it out, could be used to fry the accompanying fries in, c) a mere wisp of sauerkraut, and d) barely enough corned beef to constitute a halfhearted insult. The sandwich was vile in every describable way, and a few that can't be put in English. Not that I didn't try. Its sole redeeming feature was that it was hot, which I appreciated more than the revolting texture or cardboard-soaked-in-axle-grease taste. Were I a professional cook, I would also not serve up limp fries that had noticeably been fried in the same batch of nasty oil that had been used for deep frying fish of some unidentified kind.
The less said about Red's "Asian Salad", the better.
Were I an owner of an establishment, I would not charge $11 for the aforementioned sandwich and fries, and I would not be charging $8 for a 14-oz plastic cup of porter. The beer, at least, tasted okay, but that's probably because they had somebody from another company doing the tap cleaning and carbonation. I would have left a $.03 tip if I had had any pennies, but since I didn't, I left a note reading as follows:
"You have accomplished and served the most inedible food at the most unreasonable prices I've ever found. Congratulations on your achievement."
But let's backtrack just a bit, for I have something about which I wish to rant.
Consider this. You run a restaurant which, on nights that the Rose Garden is actually doing something, represents the closest (and, for all I know, only) thing resembling an actual restaurant with real food within walking distance. As such, you are guaranteed standing-room-only attendance from people who, like me this evening, are hungry, and who, like me, want to partake of something with alcoholic content. One would think that, under such circumstances, one might make an effort to create an environment where people are interested in eating, with food people are interested in eating, and with staff capable of delivering it.
Sadly, this is not the case.
First, we came into the Rose Garden before the concourse was actually open. How we managed this, I'm not quite certain, but Red and I were chased off the "concourse" by an officious red-bejacketed harridan demanding to know what I was doing as I was walking by, as if it weren't relatively obvious that a) I was walking and b) I had no particular destination as evidenced by my inquisitive looks at all and sundry. I was told I could go into the above-mentioned restaurant, or exit the Rose Garden, but one way or another, my foray into the wild realm of Breaking The Rules was at an end. I felt like such a lawbreaker.
Anyway, so the restaurant was an option, right? I could go and get a drink, whiling away the hour and a half I had to await for the show with a beer and food. Ah, bliss!
Sadly, this was not the case. We didn't have a reservation. Lawbreaking denied, we were ushered toward the doors with all the hospitality of a dinner hostess toward a guest bearing a roadkilled possum as a door gift. Into the actually sub-freezing temperatures we went. Were there other options for food and drink, you ask? Well, no. Not so much.
25 minutes and approximately three frostbitten toes apiece later, we were permitted entry once more upon the concourse, somewhat chastened. We made our way to the restaurant, and waited in line for a table, were seated by a pleasant hostess, and then the real fun began.
Were I a waitress (and I'm not - I don't have the legs or the pleasant temperament for it), I would make an effort to learn the ways of fermented spirits; specifically, I would take the time to learn the difference between an amber ale and a cream stout porter. When asked for one, and given the wrong one by the bartender, I would not deliver it and ask with a blank gum-chewing look, "Well, that's whatcha wanted, dintcha?". No, see, amber ale is reddish/amber in color and transparent. Cream stout porter is as dark as strong coffee, and has a distinct creamy head on it.
Were I a professional cook (and I'm not, see above), I would not serve up a requested reuben sandwich with a) soggy, greasy marbled rye bread, b) enough mayonnaise that, if one were to wring it out, could be used to fry the accompanying fries in, c) a mere wisp of sauerkraut, and d) barely enough corned beef to constitute a halfhearted insult. The sandwich was vile in every describable way, and a few that can't be put in English. Not that I didn't try. Its sole redeeming feature was that it was hot, which I appreciated more than the revolting texture or cardboard-soaked-in-axle-grease taste. Were I a professional cook, I would also not serve up limp fries that had noticeably been fried in the same batch of nasty oil that had been used for deep frying fish of some unidentified kind.
The less said about Red's "Asian Salad", the better.
Were I an owner of an establishment, I would not charge $11 for the aforementioned sandwich and fries, and I would not be charging $8 for a 14-oz plastic cup of porter. The beer, at least, tasted okay, but that's probably because they had somebody from another company doing the tap cleaning and carbonation. I would have left a $.03 tip if I had had any pennies, but since I didn't, I left a note reading as follows:
"You have accomplished and served the most inedible food at the most unreasonable prices I've ever found. Congratulations on your achievement."
Monday, November 5, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Presented largely without comment
Just because it's one of those family photos that she'll kill me for in about 10 years. :)Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Wedding Photo
Red's little brother and his new wife, from their wedding in August. The only special effect on this one is the desaturation I did of the original RAW file. 1/160s @ f/5, 400 ISO at 120mm using natural light on a very bright sunny day.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Some new photos
Okay, I suppose putting the bikini photo first is shameless. :)Nicole, very bright sunny day; 1/500s @ f/10, ISO 400, 90mm using a 70-300mm lens.
Harley-Davidson owned by a friend of mine, with Julie. 1/100s @ f7.1, ISO 400, 25mm using an 18-55mm lens. Sunny day, shot partially in shade using a gold reflector.
Portrait of Melanie. 1/500 s at f8, ISO400 at 165mm, using a 70-300mm lens on a bright sunny day. Thursday, July 5, 2007
Saturday, June 30, 2007
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