As I stated in a very old post:
Back when I was a young artiste, I used to fantasize about a computerized "Art Machine." It could manipulate shapes and colors, lines and textures, and make anything you wanted. Of course, it was big enough to fill a room, and in my fantasy I had a staff to make it work, because I really didn't know anything about computers. Oh, and to get the image perfectly from your brain to the screen, the machine hooked right up to your brain.
Fast forward to the present. I finally have my art machine, and it does just about everything I imagined back in the 70's. It's small enough to sit on my kitchen desk, between my coupon holder and the dog's medicine. Unfortunately, it doesn't plug directly into my brain, and learning how to make all the art stuff work the way I want it to is frustrating...
OK, so that was over 6 years ago. I have learned it little bit more about digital art and image manipulation since then. And I have just learned that the final, elusive, seemingly impossible component to digital art, that of extracting images directly from the brain, is becoming... a reality!
Full article here.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
I’m not sure if I believe in parallel universes, but if they do exist, there was a portal to one in my garage ten years ago. But I couldn’t bring myself to look into it.
Ten years ago we still had our daily newspaper subscription. We’d had one for years, but by 2001, we really weren’t reading the paper much any more. We liked our big Sunday paper with the comics and all the ads and coupons, but often we just didn’t get around to reading the weekday issues. And lets face it, if you haven’t read yesterday’s paper by the time today’s paper arrives, it’s probably not going to happen. And it might not happen with today’s, either. Instant news on the internet was rapidly rendering printed news obsolete. As the pile of old newspapers, too many unopened and unread, grew each month, I was ready to cancel our subscription and save a few trees. Jerry still wanted to know it was there for him when he wanted to read it, however seldom. So, we had our newspaper delivered every day.
That was the state of affairs on a sparklingly beautiful September morning ten years ago. It was about 6:45 AM Pacific time, and I was getting ready to take my son to school. His zero-period class would start at 7:00. On my way out to the car, I picked up the newspaper that had been tossed onto the driveway just an hour or so before. I tossed it into the garage and got in the car while I waited for my son.
If you know anything about teenage boys and early mornings, you know that they are not a good match. Michael had it timed so that he stayed in bed until the very last moment, allowing himself just enough time to get up, dressed, eat something and get himself out the door so I could get him to school just as the bell was ringing. I did my part by being ready in the car to take him there. So on this particular morning, as I was sitting in my car in my driveway, waiting for Michael to come out, I turned on the radio, (it was NPR,) and they were reporting live about some kind of big breaking news. As I listened, it sounded almost frantic as the reporters relayed what was happening. A plane had crashed into the
? For a moment, I thought it might be like
H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds: eerily
realistic, but in the end, just a story.
But no, this was real. World Trade Center
Michael got into the car, still sleepy and grumpy and not caring much about what was on the radio. I remember thinking how serious it sounded and I asked him if he thought he should stay home. He said he didn’t know, but he might as well go to school. I dropped him off and came back home, the gravity of what was happening in
beginning to sink in with every passing minute that I listned to the radio. New York
I had called home to Brice and told him to turn on the TV. I don’t think we turned it off for the next 2 or 3 days. I won't try to describe the feelings. I think everybody old enough to understand went through their own shock, grief, anger, and whatever else. As the days and weeks passed and we slowly resumed our normal lives, it became clear that that "normal" felt different now. Our world had changed.
Days later, still adjusting to this new reality, I came upon the portal to another universe. It was that newspaper from Tuesday, September 11, still unopened in the garage. I knew that inside it contained news, sports, weather, advertisements. But I also knew that it was printed in a universe that didn’t have four hijacked planes in a diabolically choreographed plan that killed thousands of people and forever altered the mindset of millions more. I never did open it, but I held onto that newspaper for several months, the way I would keep a seashell or a dried flower. It held a memory of something that might have been, and maybe still is, somewhere in time and space.
Friday, September 02, 2011
I found a tasty recipe today when I was looking for a way to use up some fresh spinach. (I had bought some without remembering that I already had some.) It was good enough that I want to share, so here is the recipe.
I used a whole bag of pre-washed baby spinach instead of one cup that the recipe called for. I also added a couple of links of turkey Italian sausage, and I used half & half instead of heavy cream. The photo is from the website, from someone else who made it, and mine came out pretty much like the picture.
photo by CookingMommy
photo by CookingMommy
Thursday, September 01, 2011
It's really just the twangy guitar part that's stuck in my brain. And of course the lyrics that say, "You just make me want to walk...like a camel." Why do I have this stuck in my head? I have no idea. I just woke up this morning wanting to hear it, so I found it on YouTube to satisfy my urge, and then proceeded to listen to other music in order to try to wash the Camel Walk from my brain. Usually, that works for me, and in fact, I found a very nice little song from Ryan Adams that took the Camel Walk away, for a while ...
Ryan Adams - Lucky Now by theaudioperv
But then I had to take Marley to get her nails trimmed, and by the time I got home, The Camel was back, and it's still here.
Little Debbie, little Debbie!