on a mission
It seems as though he's got no practical knowledge to base his authoritative recommendations on, only hype and articles. I tire of him continually telling me how to "do things right" in Photoshop instead of Aperture, which I'm getting a feel for now. Telling me "Lightbox really is better..." even though he's never used either program, and he didn't even get the name right; it's Lightroom
"You know...." the text drawls for him, the blinking IM window ever more infuriating, "it's really better to shoot in colour and convert to black and white after."
So, I'm on a quest. I'm getting my hands on the software and finding out for myself. I've been playing with Aperture and my photos from Europe for the last couple of days and haven't had much of a problem with it so far. Mind you, this is where I should insert my disclaimer that I don't have any experience with photography, aside from point and shoot fantasies and digital dilemmas. I'm definitely a hobby photographer, and so my evaluation will be from this kind of perspective. I have no delusions of adequacy here, I just want to compare so I can show him up.
I guess I'm stubborn that way...
Regardless, it means I get to update my graphics software across the board: Photoshop CS3 for both PC and Mac, Lightroom for both, and Aperture for the Mac. Whichever is the better program wins the space!
I'm excited, it's a small thing, but I enjoy having projects to keep me busy now that school is over and work is still getting rolling. It will encourage me to take more photos to see what can be done with them, and hopefully getting out more will help improve my skills.
Anyone have any experience with any of these programs? Wanna give me some thoughts on what you found useful, problematic? What you liked and disliked? I'm curious.
In other news, I start work tomorrow, I started NaNoWriMo yesterday (another project...), and I don't know which I'm more nervous about. I also spent my Halloween being lavished with free stuff and unprecedented male attention (which, frankly, kind of unnerves me...) and got to experience the Grateful Dead with a true blue dead head.
He takes me by the arm for a tour of the living room, explaining each vibrant, treasured Steal Your Face with reverence: the framed puzzle on the wall, the vinyl record his sister Emily painted, the embroidered patch, the sitckers. I hold them with care as he passes each to me, leaning on me as he leads me on his nostalgic journey.
He only plays live albums. He was there, and he can still see it when he hears the music. He puts on a DVD and points to a tower standing in the field. "I sat on that for the whole show, the next time they were there," he slurs with a longing that only true love elicits.
I stop him along memory lane when I hear it, the cheerfully plucked intro to Sugar Magnolia, setting aside the handfuls of memorabilia to kick off my boots as he turns up the volume. Socked feet are easier to spin in, and I twirl on the toes of one foot with my arms outstretched as I sing along.
Charlie's dancing, too. He grabs me, holds me for a few guided steps before releasing me again. We sing and dance together, the music knitting us a little closer than we had been before.
He tells me he cried when Jerry died; I would have, too.