http://www.ehenke.com/user.php?member=1Writing by Warrenenhourly42010-09-07T18:58:55-06:00Tue, 07 Sep 2010 18:58:55 -0600Tue, 07 Sep 2010 18:58:55 -0600
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=175I have 5 Canon lenses (EF 50mm 1.8, 24-70 2.8L, 28-135 IS, 75-300 IS, 100-400L IS, 70-200 2.8L IS) and 2 bodies (1D MII, and 10D). I’ve also had other Canon equipment, an Elan, D60, and other lenses. I’ve spent over $15,000 on Canon Photography gear. In the past few years I’ve gone with their pro gear. For those of you who aren’t camera buffs, the “L” lenses are the professional line; ultra sharp, extremely durable, and way expensive. I had minor problems with the 100-400L shortly after I purchased it. Occasionally an “error 99” would force me to turn off the camera, remove the lens, remount it, and turn the camera back on. Initially this happened rarely (once in a full day of shooting). But by the end of the year, it happened enough that I researched the problem. A quick Google search (try it: search 100-400 error 99) showed that I was not alone in my frustration. I posted this on the DPReview.com forum (it's not the first time it's been on it, see these other discussion lines: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=175
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=214 Chapter 1: The Offering As Jasper's nose hovered above the dusty ground, he fought to silence his thoughts. Since before dawn, when he first knelt with thousands of other citizens of Gardone, he’d tried to ignore the voices in his head that claimed his life was a sham. He shook his head to silence them. His burning neck told him the sun was approaching its high point, which meant it was almost over. To his right, his mother's nose also hovered close to the ground. He knew she was praying. His father, to his left, didn’t struggle against evil thoughts, nor did any member of the massive congregation behind him. Or so he thought. He felt alone. He didn’t pray because repeating the sacred words made him think of the last Offering one year ago when a scream disrupted the ceremony. He hadn’t slept for weeks afterwards. And because they were forbidden to discuss it, he never had. But now his mind replayed the scene again, this time in Kalina’s voice. It was her voice begging the Guide to let her stay. Because he was in the front row, the screaming would be louder this time. He shook his head harder, but it didn’t help. Until now, his life had been simple. The city was clean and garnered with gardens. He’d grown up to the sounds of laughter, music, and pleasant tales. He lived safe in a good world where his fears were not of bloodshed, war, or lurking evils. He feared his thoughts. He was the new prince, an example to others, and yet he questioned the teachings of the Guide? The Guide’s ways brought peace and prosperity to Gardone. Everyone, including Jasper, loved and cherished him for it. But something was not right. He cracked open his right eye and through a slit of light obscured by thick eyelashes, saw his mother's face. Her forehead was pressed against the earth and her mouth moved in silent prayer, the same prayer he learned ten years ago at his first Offering. He gained courage. It was midday on the day of the Offering and his eye http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=214
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=170I’ve often wondered how some people can feel so much hatred and anger for others. I’ve seen movies where former Vietnam Vets speak with extreme hostility toward Vietnamese. If they every cross with a Vietnamese person it can even result in violence. I have struggled to understand this dynamic. How can somebody hold on to so much anger? Recently, I had an opportunity to gain some insight. I play an online game called “World of Warcraft,” commonly referred to as “WOW.” If you aren’t one of the eight million people who play this game, hold your judgment until you finish reading…I’ll give you some background. The effects of this alternate reality of this world aren’t limited to the imagination. Marriages have been formed and dissolved, lawsuits have been filed, and in-game items have been traded and purchased using real world currency. In fact, I have spoken with a 21 year old man who works in an office in China with 40 others. They play WOW eighteen hours a day. They grind away in the game earning gold, the currency of WOW. The gold is sent to their supervisor’s in-game character and then marketed in the real world for $20 per 100. In this WOW Sweatshop, he earns $200 per month and is thankful to have a job to support his family. But that’s another article. In WOW, I play a short little gnome named ZieZee. As a gnome, I am part of the “Alliance,” and therefore allied with the human, dwarf, and night elf races. Most of the others characters I encounter are real people sitting at their computers plucking away at a keyboard while exploring a vast world of swords, magic, monsters, dungeons, cities, etc. I can chat with them, team up with others finish quests, or even form guilds comprised of hundreds of individuals all working together. On the other side are players who create characters that are Orcs, Trolls, Tauren (big Ogre-like creatures), or Undead. They are known as the Horde and enemy of the Alliance. The two sides cannot communicate, grhttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=170
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=164We usually think of educated people as being “trailer park proof.” It’s a harsh stereotype, but we generally seem to expect more domestic problems, violence, and crime in places of poverty. To me, it's strange how we have defined crime. There are certain types of illegal acts that we, as a society, tend to view as committed by a ‘real criminals.’ A 17 year old boy who robs a convenient store of $318 with a fake gun might be considered more of a criminal than the a bookkeeper who reroutes a few thousand dollars into a personal account. Or compare a dock worker who loads his truck with several crates of goods to a CFO who cooks the books to inflate his stock options by 2.5 million. The dock worker is more of a ‘criminal’ in our society (and according to the stereotype, more likely to have grown up in a trailer park). How is it that white collar crime carries a lighter criminal stigma than the blue collar thug? Why is shafting thousands of people of their retirement by a well dressed, respected, and educated business professional not as blatantly ‘evil’ as a desperate man holding up a bank? The robber carries a threat of violence which matches our perception of a ‘bad guy.’ The charming good-looking white collared thief looks like people we are taught to respect and trust. We see them as a different type of criminal. They lack the violence and somehow that elevates them. We are more afraid of the ‘bad guy” yet only a small percentage of us have actually been accosted by a common thug. On the other hand, all of us have been wronged by the white collar criminal. The government bailout of the Savings and Loan scandal of the 1980’s cost billions of dollars. In fact, if you average it out, every tax paying citizen in 1985 had a personal responsibility of over 30K to cover the money stolen by corrupt bankers. There were so many infractions that unless you had stolen millions you weren’t even prosecuted. There were too many crooks for our system to inveshttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=164
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=212Passion Kills Boredom My desires aren't sold cheap So I'm often Bored Like burning acid Boredom eats my heart and soul Stealing my spirit Empty of Spirit I meander through the void the prey of cheap thrills My soul now enslaved Instant Gratifications Are my ties that bind Passion is traded Like a hooker on main street For thrills and disease Focused on the stars I can escape from the void And reclaim my soulhttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=212
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=162Getting our first microwave oven was a big deal for me. I remember being completely amazed that I could melt some cheese on a piece of bread in seconds. It changed my life! I also remember my dad stepping in with some fatherly advice, once, when I pushed the button to open the door while it was still cooking. “Don’t open it until it shuts down. It’s part of the cooking process.” What he really said or really meant I can’t be sure of. It was a long time ago. I know I love my dad and he gave me a ton of good advice. But I also know some of the advice probably wasn’t meant to stick with me throughout my entire life. Like the voice I hear in my head nearly every time I use a microwave, especially if I go to stop it before the counter has reached zero and the beep has sounded. “Don’t open it until it shuts down. It’s part of the cooking process.” I wonder what voices my own kids will hear as they grow older. I wonder what voices will speak to them so deeply they won’t even consciously hear them. It’s crazy to think that such an obscure indirect remark would remain with me throughout my entire life and forever impact my interaction with microwave ovens. Yet sentences that constantly replay all our heads, whether hidden beneath layers of unconscious fear or sitting at the surface, shape and define us. My family, religion, the media, friends, movies, books…they have all had a part in creating these sentences. Some roll off my tongue daily. “It’s part of the cooking process.” Some, although simple, took introspection and even therapy to discover. “Anything I do must be done perfect.” Some are destructive and prejudiced. Others may have saved my life. And a great many would be constructive if framed correctly. And still, some are all of these. “Don’t talk to strangers.” Albert Einstien once said, “Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen.” I believe he was talking about these sentences. The sentenhttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=162
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=208Rudolf’s heart raced and his mouth twitched. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the others. He hated the teasing. Even though it happened every year, dealing with it never got easier. “Where’s your red nose Rudolf?” somebody yelled as the boys burst into more laughter. He tried to walk with a normal easy stroll but he felt tense and awkward. It was hard to normalize this situation while he battled both embarrassment and fear. Embarrassed everyone was staring at him and fear that another snowball would smack the back of his head…or worse, that a sudden shove to his back would throw him again face first to the ground. “We want to see you fly Rudolf!” “So would I,” he thought amid their jeers. His head suddenly lurched forward and he felt the cold sting of another snowball. He didn’t pause to brush off the snow, determined instead to distance himself between himself and the school. He both loved and hated his name. Christmastime was the worst. Most of the rest of the year passed with only minor incidents but after Thanksgiving the teasing continually got worse. By the last day of school before Christmas break he expected this. Even the snowballs. But his name was all he had from his father. He held onto the name in the same way that he held on to his imagined life with a father he’d never met. Somewhere out there was a man named Rudolf who understood. And Rudolf tolerated the teasing because the pain of letting go of the idea that someday he’d find his father hurt more than the snowballs. After a few blocks, the mob lost interest and Rudolf was left to walk in peace. He shook the icy water out of his hair and wiggled his shoulders to rub his coat on his back. It soaked up some of the freezing slush that had drizzled halfway down his spine. He picked up his pace to get home where he could take off his wet shirt and wrap up in a blanket. The house was cold and empty. His mom worked two jobs and wouldn’t be home until juhttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=208
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=202School was out for the day and I was watching corny teenage drama on TV when it started. While lying on the floor, hands behind my head, feet crossed, and laughing at a thirteen year old boy covered in popcorn; the TV first spoke to me for the first time. In a deep raspy voice it said, “Tonight your brother will die.” At first, I didn’t do anything. I thought it was a mistake or somebody talking behind me or in the other room. But twenty minutes later it happened again. “The knife in the kitchen will be crimson by morning,” said the same dark voice. This time I sat up and turned around. My brother, laughing, was watching the TV from the couch behind me. “Don’t Hal!” I snarled. “That’s not funny.” “I’m not laughing at you stupid,” he answered through his giggles. I looked at Cindy. “Did you do it?” “Shut up loser,” she said, “I can’t hear.” I frowned and turned back around. It took several minutes to brush it off but soon I was once again laughing with both of them at the completely unrealistic antics of the teenagers. Another twenty minutes and the tall nerdy boy with glasses tripped over the cute girl. He fell and the kids around him laughed, Hal and Cindy behind me laughed, and I laughed too. Then he looked directly at the camera and instead of the squeaky voice I was used to, I heard the dark sinister voice from earlier. “Susan, you are a very bad girl.” I screamed, sat up, and covered my eyes and mouth with my hands. The laughing behind me stopped and an angry voice filled the room. “SUSAN! SHUT UP!” yelled my sister. I turned and glared at her. She looked back at me and raised her eyebrows. “Well,” she said. “We can’t hear! Stop messing around.” “But doesn’t that freak you out?” I said. “Why did he say that?” “What?” she said and shook her head quickly to mock me. I stared at her for several seconds and spun back to the screen. The geeky boy was talking to the cute girl. I was afraid to ask my quehttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=202
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=199For those of you that noticed, eHenke.com now has RSS support. I’m guessing at least some of you don’t have any idea what that means. Think of RSS as an internet messenger service that runs in the background. With RSS, when you post a new article (journal, book review…whatever) a message gets sent to anyone who is monitoring your website with an RSS Reader. Let’s say you have ten friends on eHenke.com (or on any website). If you want to see if they have posted anything new, you could go to their website and look at it. This could take a while if you are trying to monitor more than just a handful of sites. That’s where RSS can help you. If you have an RSS reader (and I’ll give you some links) you can go to one place and see every update on ten, twenty, or a hundred different websites. It’s easy, fast, and really cool. And it doesn’t just work for personal websites like eHenke.com. I wanted to get a couple new monitors for my wife and kids and was monitoring Craigslist. Every time I found a good deal (a nearly new 19 inch CRT for less than $15), I’d call too late. It was already gone. I noticed Craigslist offers an RSS feed. It’s bright colored “RSS” text or an icon. I clicked on the link, copied the address, and added it to my RSS reader. The particular RSS service I use emails me every time something changes…or something new is added. Now every time a new entry was added to Craigslist, I got an email. This was more than I wanted, so I added a filter to my email that automatically deleted every entry from Craigslist unless it had “monitor” in the body of the email. By the end of the weekend, I had 2 19 inch viewsonic monitors that look almost brand new. And I only paid $25…total! So, if you want to monitor RSS via email, I’d suggest you head on over to www.squeet.com and set yourself up an account. Then under the reader section, add a feed url (copy the rss link from the websihttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=199
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=197Although the tape around his chest restricted a full breath of air, Charlie inhaled deeper than he had for years. It felt good; he felt good…finally. But last night hadn’t been good. Although it wasn’t one of his worst nights, it was miserable for him and frustrating for his wife, Judy. His struggle was a two edge sword. Not only did he suffer from his own affliction but he exposed her to the aura of despair created by his agony. That guilt doubled the suffering. Year after year, she stood by his side. She comforted during his low points. She encouraged during his despair. And, amazingly, she stayed with him. Much to his surprise, and sometimes to his disappointment, she tolerated his constant complaining. Maybe if she yelled at him for being such an idiot he wouldn’t have felt guilty. Maybe if she stormed out the door cussing and cursing the day she agreed to spend her life with an extreme pessimist he would actually feel better. But she never did. He continually complained about work and politics and she continually to console. “Your time will come. It will. You have worked hard for Marty and he likes you…I know it. Just don’t give up…don’t walk away from thirteen years.” He smiled. Last night when she’d spoke those words, he’d let them echo through the hollow tunnels of his head. Years ago, before discouragement first poisoned his soul, her words lifted his spirits. But each use slowly robbed the words of their magic. Each pick-me-up fell slightly shorter than the previous. In time, the words did nothing more than keep him from opening his own mouth and letting his darkness escape and poison her soul too. “You can’t give up on your dream. What would be left? What would you have if you let go now?” For years he felt he was actually doing her a favor by listening to the words of encouragement. So many times he wanted to tell her to stop…it was a burden to hear encouragement while in such deep despair. It was a consthttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=197
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=172Introduction Photography is an attempt to capture an image to make a point or remember/share a moment of time. This explains why a picture is worth a thousand words. A picture is more than a printed image. It can stir feeling and emotion. When you experience a moment of intense emotion and want to take a picture, what exactly are you trying to capture? Do you simply want to remember the sun went down on a particular day or do you want to remember a serene feeling of awe and beauty inspired by fiery red and orange sky? Is it the image or the feeling/emotion you are trying to capture? Even a simple snapshot of the kids for grandma is taken to share a personal connection. We want to remember or share feelings of love, hate, despise, sorrow, humor, awe, concern. If you mindlessly pull out a camera and press the button, you will grab the moment and you will most likely remember your emotion. But, if you want to maximize how well you can pass this on to others, you need to give some thought to the process. Call it Zen photography. This is accomplished by doing more than just pushing a button. It requires you to think about what you are feeling, identify what you want to capture, push the limits of your creativity, and understand the basic mechanics of photography. The same picture taken in different ways can convey many different emotions. In fact, pictures might be worth a thousand words, a million words, or perhaps only a few hundred…depending on how it is taken. If you have a complex emotion or feeling to convey, make your picture say it. If you have a statement to make, make the camera create the image that makes your point. Chances are slim you’ll accomplish this with a thoughtless point and click. At the same time, you also do not need to spend hours planning every photograph. A quick moment to identify what you feel, consider methods on how to capture it, and then plan and execute a successful picture can have a huge impact on your final print. One wehttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=story&pid=172
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Wed, 31 Dec 1969 17:00:00 -0700http://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=98I have to say, having kids is the most incredibly wonderful blessing in the world. I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said, "My Kid is a Terrific Kid," and I really liked that. It's not about being an honor student, not about being a cheerleader, not about anything they do...they are inherently terrific. I’ve read a fair amount about child development (Dinkmeyer, McKay, Gottman), attended parenting classes, and have three wonderful kids…I’m no expert, but I know I don't want to manipulate my kids. I try not to let my own desires and wishes get in the way of my feelings for them. I want them to know I’ll love them regardless…always. They don’t have to win my love, they don’t have to prove themselves, I admire and love them…period. I want to encourage them, no question about that, but I want a feeling of unconditional love to always be present. Sometimes I try and imagine horrible scenarios and think to myself….would I love this child of mine if they did this…or this…or wanted this (insert your own nightmare). And it’s hard…but yes I would love them, of course. Could I hide disappointment? I can imagine times it might not be easy. I want them to be successful and happy. I want them to live a good life. I have ideals I hope they will adopt, but what if they choose not to? I think of my own parents and the difficulty they faced when I left the church….something I know they always imagined and wanted for me. Something that is the most important part of their life...and I chose not to go that route. It’s not easy. Could I let my kids be themselves, make mistakes, and unconditionally give them my love and support. Can I let them develop and not impose my own desires and dreams upon them? You know, yes, I think I can. Although…I’m getting teenagers now, so check back in five years…hehe. Well, the whole point of this entry is because of the fair. I love photography and so my kids become involved from time to time. I have two cameras; one fohttp://www.ehenke.com/content.php?member=1&content=journal&pid=98