Category Archives: Commentary

Bait and click

If you’ve watched tv in the past year, you might have seen this outstandingly creative Canon commercial hyping its line of Rebel entry-level SLRs:

You may notice the commercial features only one small-print notice: “Weather proof covers used,” it tells us during the rainy scene.  This, of course, is helpful, as there are those who would use the Rebel without a cover in the rain and then complain that the camera got wet!  And stopped working!  This is an outrage!  But while the attention to litigious detail is important, the commercial is missing an important disclaimer: “Product not used to create commercial.”

Yes, that’s right: a camera commercial composed almost entirely of photographs features exactly zero photographs taken with the advertised camera.  Instead, the photographs were taken with one of Canon’s high-end professional cameras (which costs four times what the Rebel costs) and a raft of equally high-end lenses (all of which cost considerably more than the cheap lens shown with the Rebel).  So, while I suppose this comment from a Canon marketing director is technically accurate…

“The idea made perfect sense because Canon’s all about photography, and the best way of showing what our products can do is to shoot with them.”

…it’s also a little misleading.  It does show what Canon products can do…when they’re high-end Canon products in the hands of professionals shooting under controlled conditions.  It does show what Canon products can do…but it doesn’t show what most consumers will actually do with that particular Canon product.  And that’s why it’s the one commercial I both love and hate: it’s a wonderful (and, as I said, creative) concept that’s beautifully executed, but it’s not connected to the reality of that camera in the hands of the typical consumer.

Why does this matter?  Well, for most of you, it doesn’t really matter.  But for working photographers, this matters quite a bit.  The manufacturers are trying to sell more cameras, and they’re doing that by selling the idea — through not just the aforementioned Canon commercial, but also that series of obnoxious Nikon commercials featuring Ashton Kutcher — that you, too, can easily take all those AMAZING pictures if you buy their cameras.  This effort has two results:

  1. More cameras sold, and
  2. More consumers who, paradoxically, expect better photographs but settle for worse

The second result may sound confusing, but it’s dishearteningly simple.  Since cameras are so capable and, at the lower end, so affordable, expectations are higher now, especially for affordable digital SLRs that look like “real” cameras next to tiny point-and-shoot cameras (largely because they are real cameras).  But the problem is that these expectations stem from advertisements that sell the technical capabilities of the cameras without seriously acknowledging the necessary human component of genuinely worthwhile images.  Simply put, these advertisements sell the extraordinarily backwards idea that photography is more about the camera than it is about the person behind the camera.  It’s an absurd notion — is music more about the guitar? — but there’s enough gear reverence out there to make photographers laugh at this shirt:


(For more laughs, read What the Duck.)

This brings us back to the main question: why does the dishonesty of the Canon advertisement mattter?  Because as cameras become more capable and more automated, the manufacturers are selling photography not just as accessible, but also as easy.  And while the former is true — photography is among the most accessible of art forms — the latter does a disservice to professionals who have worked hard to develop their skills.  The act of taking a picture is simple and easy, but the art of photography is no easier than any other; no camera will itself make beautiful photographs, because beautiful photographs are created not simply by the right tools, but by talented people using the right tools.

—–

I’ve published this effort to assert the creative hierarchy because as a professional photographer, I’ve seen too many people forgo reasonably-priced photographers in favor of cheap or free family or friends who overestimate their abilities because they bought an SLR.  For those who offer this art as a professional service, it’s frustrating and infuriating to see it popularly devalued by weekenders and hobbyists who have no interest in charging sustainable prices and who produce images that aren’t worth sustainable prices.  If you’re looking for quality photographs, please: hire a professional.  It’s worth every penny.

And a right to the left

With the election approaching, the air is thick with political dogma from all manner of media outlets and individuals.  As I endure the increasingly unavoidable political advertisements and commentaries, I can’t help but think of two paragraphs from Walker Percy’s book The Moviegoer:

After the lunch conference I run into my cousin Nell Lovell on the steps of the library — where I go occasionally to read liberal and conservative periodicals.  Whenever I feel bad, I go to the library and read controversial periodicals.  Though I do not know whether I am a liberal or a conservative, I am nevertheless enlivened by the hatred which one bears the other.  In fact, this hatred strikes me as one of the few signs of life remaining in the world.  This is another thing about the world which is upsidedown: all the friendly and likable people seem dead to me; only the haters seem alive.

Down I plunk myself with a liberal weekly at one of the massive tables, read it from cover to cover, nodding to myself whenever the writer scores a point.  Damn right, old son, I say, jerking my chair in approval.  Then up and over to the rack for a conservative monthly and down in a fresh cool chair to join the counterattack.  Oh ho, say I, and hold fast to the chair arm: that one did it: eviscerated!  And then out and away into the sunlight, my neck prickling with satisfaction.

I do hold a variety of (mostly) firm opinions on a small variety of political issues — opinions which I choose most often not to air in this venue, as I don’t wish to join the internet’s chorus of painfully self-important rhetoricians — but I easily grow weary of the either/or, left/right, conservative/liberal climate of political expression.  So, while I do not necessarily share the character’s ambivalent enjoyment of political commentary, I do find a certain amusement in his use of that commentary: rather than being swayed by the vehement arguments of either side, he is buoyed by the vehemence itself; rather than caring wholly about the positions they are advancing, he cares more that they are advancing them with vitriolic passion.

Euphemisms engaged

As many of you may know, I walk with a fairly obvious limp; what you may not know is the reason I walk with that limp. I’ll save all the details for another time; right now, I’ll just give you a name: Cerebral Palsy.

Since I was born with a condition ambulance-chasing lawyers think is tragically awesome, I get to park in those spacious blue parking spaces that always seem to be openly mocking all you able-bodied people. (It’s not your imagination; they really are mocking you. And so am I.) But more importantly, I get to be part of an important hyphenated cultural group: Euphemism-Americans.

I’m bringing this up now for two reasons. The first is my longstanding irritation with today’s vogue term, “disabled.” Those who know me well likely have heard me make some comment about the replacement of “handicapped” by “disabled”; those who don’t know me … well, I’ll summarize for all of you.

Consider the word in other contexts. A disabled car doesn’t work at all; a disabled software option doesn’t work at all; a disabled alarm system doesn’t work at all. It’s not just some glitch that makes it work less efficiently than most cars or software options or alarm systems; it is a total failure of that particular car, option or system. In that light, it seems to me that a disabled person would be dead, because dead people just don’t work (although they have been known to vote in Chicago); in that sense, it seems to me that disabled is actually closer to crippled — a term long fallen out of favor — than it is to handicapped. But somehow, that sense fades to the background when disabled is applied to people.

This confuses me a bit because the previous term, handicapped, made so much more sense; it seemed to me that its uses in other contexts actually made it fairly accurate in this context. But true to the long-term pattern of moving away from simple accuracy and towards something else I really don’t understand, handicapped fell out of favor, and disabled grew in stature and in favor with men. And now it is the reigning reference for Euphemism-Americans.

Ah, but even though disabled is the current reference of choice, there seems to be no end to the creativity modern society can exhibit when it comes to new and exciting terms for us Euphemism-Americans. And that creativity is the second reason I brought up my CP.

Just the other day, Legal Counsel Justin sent me a link to a page on the Toys “R” Us website. The subject line of his email read, “is this better than disabled?”; based on that subject line, I knew it had to be good. And my goodness, it was better than good. When I clicked the link, I was whisked away to a page that actually made me laugh out loud.

Kudos to you, Toys “R” Us, for making this Euphemism-American laugh. “Differently-abled” truly is a euphemism god among men.

—–

I should probably clarify a couple things:

First, though I don’t have any love for the term “disabled,” I certainly don’t consider it an offensive term. My disdain is not that pointed. I will not become upset if you use the term around me or in reference to me; in fact, I might even laugh at you. And in any case, I won’t even be close to offended, so don’t get all paranoid about it. The world is already paranoid about too many things.

Second, I am aware that there are other more specific terms in use, like “person with a disability.” And while I suppose that is a bit more accurate, it’s also wordy. And given the common use of the shorter disabled, those more specific wordy terms are probably culturally supplemental; the shorter terms are much more headline-friendly.

[Expletive Deleted], vol. 2

A week ago, following Michigan’s unexpected loss at home to Appalachian State, I urged Michigan fans not to abandon the season:

So, with the ASU game in the past, I have a request to make of my temporarily irrational fellow Michigan fans: stop being a part of the hysteria problem. Drop the suicidal overreactions and the absurd calls for a mid-season coaching change; start getting ready for next Saturday, and the ten Saturdays after that. The mourning period is over, but the season isn’t.

Of course, the next Saturday saw Michigan lose badly to Oregon, and the fan base went from apoplectic to apathetic, from getting mad to giving up. Some who were in a rage after the ASU game became morose after the Oregon game, choosing simply to surrender the season in an effort to assuage any further pain they might feel as a result of further losses. As a result, the focus of some fans and blogs has started to turn to a new subject: the next coach. But while the change in focus is understandable in some ways, I think it is premature.

Believe me, I’m not going to try to sugarcoat the two previous losses, and I’m not going to try to force unrealistic optimism for the next ten games. The first two losses were bad, and right now, there is something broken inside this team; for Michigan football and its fans, this is not a pleasant happy time of smiles and kisses, and the potential basement for this season is not thrilling territory to explore. But bad or good, happy or unhappy, win or lose, it is still football season, and that still has meaning.

See, there’s something special about football Saturdays. In an email this week, Justin (Official Mindreader Legal Counsel) reminded me just how special these few Saturdays by describing his inability to read even in the quiet of the library on autumn Fridays because of the palpable excitement pervading the campus (which, I should probably note, isn’t Michigan’s campus):

On Friday afternoons, I cannot sit in the law school and read. … I remember one Friday, my first year, I was trying to read in the library, but I just couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t figure out what was going on – the library was quiet enough. So I decided to just take a quick walk. As soon as I opened the door, it was obvious that it was a home game weekend.

That undeniable atmosphere of excitement surrounding college football means that even though Michigan is 0-2, even though the offense is sluggish and the defense seems inept, even though there may be more losses this year, and even though the worst-case scenario hasn’t been this bad in years, I still care about this season, and I still look forward to football Saturdays. There are too few of them for me to spend them detached from my team and looking forward to the next coach; I want to spend them enjoying each victory and hating each loss, no matter which way the ratio swings. The offseason is long enough for everything else; the season is too short for anything but football.

Go ahead and talk about the next coach; it won’t kill me. But I’m a Michigan football fan, and there are ten more games. Ten more games for me to anticipate for a week, ten more games to win or lose, ten more games for me to care whether Michigan wins or loses, ten more games to complete the dose of college football that will help me endure the long cold offseason. There are just ten more games this year, and no matter what happens, I know they’ll be gone long before I’m ready for them to be gone. They always are. So after the season, I’ll be ready to talk about the program’s future, but for the next ten weeks, there is a present that demands my attention.

A recent comment on MGoBlog summed it up nicely:

All the recruiting details and stadium news and Big Ten Network mess is really only to tide us over until September. Now we all just forget about football because we lost two games? These Saturdays are the whole reason we care about any of the tangential pieces. I don’t care if we’re 0-11; all I’ll want is a break-down of the upcoming OSU game.

Go Blue; beat Notre Dame.

—–

Take note: The MZone reports that an email is circulating among former Michigan players, urging them to gather at the stadium tunnel to show their support for the current players as they exit the team bus. To strengthen that show of support, the MZone is urging fans to show up to let the players know that the fans are still behind them. I think this is an outstanding idea and a much-needed gesture right now.

[Expletive deleted]

On Saturday morning, I drove toward Ann Arbor with a sense of anticipation; the sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful blue, college football was beginning yet again, and I was going to Michigan’s opening game. It was a good day, and I, like most other Michigan fans, assumed it would end well, too.

On my walk to the stadium, I noticed that the general atmosphere seemed to be a bit subdued; it struck me as odd because even when the opening game isn’t a marquee matchup (which is, of course, nearly every year), the atmosphere is usually festive simply because football is back. But this time, gameday didn’t have that feel; compared to other opening games, the atmosphere felt almost bored. But it didn’t seem too relevant, and really, I was too excited to dwell on that thought.

As I stood outside the stadium gates engaging in some always-entertaining people-watching, I discovered that even Appalachian State fans seemed to assume the day would end well for Michigan. As he threw away the remains of his meal, one ASU fan jokingly told a few nearby Michigan fans that his NCAA-champion Mountaineers wouldn’t “run up the score too badly.” Everybody laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile as I headed toward the stadium.

Kickoff came and went, Michigan scored an early touchdown, and our assumption of casual victory began to look like it was coming true. But then ASU scored on a big play that made Michigan’s defense look like it had started the party a few hours too early, and the scoreboard didn’t look like we all thought it should. Michigan scored another touchdown, and we thought perhaps this was a sign of things to come; yet again, we were wrong. ASU marched down the field and tied the score again, and everyone who wasn’t euphorically black and gold was perplexed. Michigan wasn’t in control, and ASU wasn’t just collecting a six-figure payout and enjoying the scenery; Michigan was playing like their uniforms and meaningless #5 ranking guaranteed a win, and ASU was playing like they actually wanted to win. And two touchdowns later, they weren’t just playing like they wanted to win; they were playing like they would win.

Somewhere around halftime, my brother-in-law sent me a text message asking for the score. “28-17 ASU,” I responded. And since I thought he might not believe me, I continued: “I am not kidding.” His response echoed my own thoughts: “What the?!”

In the second half, Michigan finally seemed to be coming out of its coma; the defense did its job a few times, and the offense reciprocated, and suddenly ASU held a relatively paltry 31-26 lead. And then Mike Hart, playing with an intensity and desire that was clearly and beautifully evident even to those of us in the very last row, set the crowd on fire with a thrilling 54-yard touchdown that gave Michigan the lead for the first time since the first quarter. All of a sudden, despite the previously abundant misery, and despite the shockingly subpar play from the Wolverines, victory seemed more than possible; in the light of Hart’s obvious determination to win the game with or without his teammates, it seemed almost likely.

When the Michigan defense forced a late interception, victory seemed even closer. The offense managed to gain a first down or two, and we began to breathe a collective sigh of relief; the nightmare, it seemed, had been averted. The upset would have to wait. But we should have known better; we should have remembered the misery of the first half. The game was not over. Oh, the game was not over.

After those falsely-encouraging first downs, the offense started taking penalties. They were just irritating little minor penalties, like delay of game and false start, but they brought the offense to a halt; that brought the kicking unit onto the field to stretch the one-point lead to four. And that would have been wonderful, except the kicking unit managed to have the kick blocked, thereby causing thousands of Michigan fans to experience severe pain as they remembered the gaping void between Hayden Epstein’s departure and Garrett Rivas’ arrival. (Except the multi-headed kicking monster typically eschewed the excitement of blocked kicks, instead opting for the relative banality of wide left, wide right and way short.)

Prior to the kick of insufficient altitude, the defense had shown encouraging signs of understanding basic defensive concepts like “coverage” and “tackling”; this made the blocked kick seem less disastrous. But just as the offense had relapsed into its first-half self, so did the defense slip back into its nasty habit of attempting to trade land for peace, and it didn’t take long for ASU to make its way into position for a very, very short field goal. Naturally, because they were not having flashbacks to the Brabbs/Nienburg era, the field goal was good. But strangely, they had opted not to run down the clock before the kick, so there was a faint glimmer of hope.

That hope grew from a faint glimmer to what seemed to be a blinding searchlight when, on third and long, Chad Henne found Mario Manningham deep in ASU territory with six seconds left. We in the crowd had already traveled from despair to hope to joy and back to despair, and the unlikely completion that put Michigan in prime position to kick a game-winning field goal took us immediately from despair to elation. All that frustration could be offset by the victory that would be sealed by one kick.

Victory was indeed sealed by one kick, but it wasn’t Michigan’s kick; just like the previous attempt, that was blocked. Instead, the game-winning field goal belonged to ASU.

As I made my way back to my car, I found myself in the midst of not an angry crowd, but a purely stunned crowd. The moment the game was announced, nearly everyone marked it as a win; Oregon and Notre Dame were considered potentially dangerous non-conference games, but ASU was seen as the walkoverest of walkovers. So when Michigan ended up wearing the footprints, no one seemed to know how to react.

Of course, I knew the sports-watching public was already being inundated by the inevitable hysteria of ESPN and its ilk. No matter what else happened, ASU’s defeat of Michigan had to be the ad nauseam lead story everywhere; sports media adores events they can call historical, and without a doubt, they would adore the stuffing out of Michigan’s loss. Every halftime show, every Sportscenter, every local news sportscast would be talking about it.

But remarkably, when I got home, I found that the hysteria of the sports media was being overshadowed by a larger hysteria. The loss, along with the constant Biggest Upset Ever In The History Of Sports coverage, had driven many Michigan bloggers and commenters — particularly the latter — completely overboard. The shock of the loss had worn off, and the fan base was practically apoplectic. There was rage directed at every possible target of blame, starting with Lloyd Carr and ending anywhere and everywhere. Some fans swore off Michigan football, saying they would sell the rest of their tickets for this year; others even discussed burning the clothes they wore to the game. The Michigan fan base had taken the excessive Biggest Upset Ever concept to an entirely new level, where the loss to ASU suddenly became a horrifying tragedy that not only mangled the 2007 season beyond repair, but threatened to destroy over 100 years of Michigan football tradition.

As I watched the meltdown and the hyperbolic media coverage, I found the target of my irritation changing. At first, I was focused on the loss; however, the more hysterical the meltdown became and the more ESPN and its sheep branded it the biggest upset ever, the more I became irritated at the unnecessarily distraught fans and the media. What had started out as an upset had become a tragedy thanks to the unmitigated overreaction following the game.

The more I heard about the catastrophe of Michigan’s defeat, the more I became convinced that the upset was being significantly exaggerated; though ASU’s victory was an upset, there is a team on Michigan’s 2007 schedule that could pull a more significant upset: Eastern Michigan.

I know, I know; EMU is 1-A. But what does that prove? While EMU is a lowly 1-A team, ASU is the best team in Division 1-AA. That is not an insignificant accomplishment; it is not like saying they are the best Arena Football League team or the best minor league baseball team; it is not like saying they are the best JV football team. This is a highly-talented, well-coached team that is not just capable of playing very good football, but is fully capable of beating a number of 1-A football teams, including EMU. Contrary to the knee-jerk divisional arrogance now on display, football with an extra A isn’t automatically one step below 1-A football; in fact, the top end of 1-AA football would slot solidly in the middle of 1-A.

From that perspective, ASU’s victory is the Biggest Upset Ever not because the quality of football at the 1-AA level is uniformly inferior, but merely because of that extra A. Sports media gets to hype some sort of alleged biggest ever while fans get to express depression or jubilation because Michigan lost to a 1-AA team, but all the historical declaration and exaggerated emotions are based on an extra A and a lazy approach that treats all of 1-AA as a big JV division. Michigan lost to a 1-AA team, but that team is the equivalent of at least a decent MAC team, and the reaction to this loss has been far more hysterical than any reaction to a loss at the hands of one of those decent MAC teams.

This is in no way an effort to downplay ASU’s victory as an upset; it was an upset, and for Michigan, it was a bad loss that never should have happened. But it is not astoundingly historical in a truly meaningful sense, it is not disastrous or catastrophic, and it is not the end of Michigan’s season. Let me say it again: the loss is not the end of Michigan’s season. There are eleven more games to win, there is a conference title to win, and there will be a bowl game to win.

So, with the ASU game in the past, I have a request to make of my temporarily irrational fellow Michigan fans: stop being a part of the hysteria problem. Drop the suicidal overreactions and the absurd calls for a mid-season coaching change; start getting ready for next Saturday, and the ten Saturdays after that. The mourning period is over, but the season isn’t.

Go Blue.

No, you hang up first

I love Michigan.

I love the distinctive mitten-shaped peninsula that lets me carry a map of my state everywhere I go. And I love the variety that is available throughout that mitten, and throughout the Upper Peninsula: the dense population center of the southeast, the gentle rolling hills and abundant farmland of the rest of the mitten, the undeniably unique atmosphere of Mackinac Island, and the vast tree-covered landscape of the Upper Peninsula.

I love the seasonal beauty of Michigan. The bright sun and deep blue sky over the rich green vegetation of summer; the breathtaking colors and the welcome chill in the air of fall; the quiet snow-covered landscape of winter; the dramatic transformation from the dormancy of winter to the vibrance of spring. And though the seasons occur every year, they are anything but predictable.

I love the abundance of outdoor recreation in Michigan. When the weather is warm, there are numerous golf courses, endless beaches, miles of hiking and biking trails, winding rivers and scattered inland lakes open to numerous watercraft, and sprawling state and local parks to make it all more accessible; when winter comes, the snowmobile trails and ski hills spring to life as snow blankets much of the state. Whatever the season, there is something to do in the great outdoors.

I love the availability of and the passion for sports in Michigan. From the Red Wings, Pistons, Tigers and the Lions to the range of minor-league teams like the Lugnuts and the Griffins to the athletic departments at schools like the University of Michigan to the smaller scale of high school athletics, there is a wealth of sports teams to enjoy, and a wealth of sports fans with whom to enjoy them.

I love the many cities that are full of possibilities, like the college town of Ann Arbor; only fifteen minutes from my driveway, in many ways it is the world at my doorstep. There always seems to be another restaurant to try, another shop to browse, another concert to attend. And on a clear summer evening, cities like Ann Arbor aren’t just full of possibilities; they’re also full of people exploring those possibilities.

And perhaps most importantly, I love my town. Chelsea has grown over the years, but it is still a small town in the shadow of Ann Arbor. Mixed in with the more well-known features of Chelsea — like the Chelsea Milling Company — are local stalwarts I can’t imagine the town without, like Thompson’s Pizza; while they may not be widely known, such establishments are important pieces of the city’s character. That character has been a part of my life for the last twenty-six years, and it will be a part of my own character for as long as I live.

Of course, this missive is not blind praise, and my love is not a blind love; I know the mitten is not perfect. But its faults are not overwhelming, and its strengths are worth describing without the shadow of those faults. My love is not blind, but it needn’t be qualified.

Michigan, the pleasant peninsula, is my home, and I love it.

(Extra reading: my favorite Pure Michigan advertisement.)

We interrupt this sport to bring you more scoring

My anger burns with the fire of a thousand Bob Knights:

Even folks who do follow the NHL in the United States — and there aren’t many anymore — can’t be enjoying the post-season much because, let’s face it, there hasn’t been nearly enough scoring.

One goal in 60 minutes, as was the case when the Anaheim Ducks edged the Ottawa Senators Wednesday night in the second game of the Stanley Cup final, simply doesn’t cut it.

Um … no. More scoring does not automatically make a sport better. It may help TV ratings, but please please please, let’s not confuse improved TV ratings with an improved sport. They are not necessarily the same. Low-scoring games may be a bit less TV-friendly, but that does not make them dull or unwatchable — it only makes them less TV-friendly. And as a sports fan, I certainly hope being TV-friendly is not the highest goal of sports.

Say it with me: 1-0 hockey games aren’t bad. Low scoring is not inherently bad, high-scoring is not inherently good, and sports are not at their best when they exist for the enrichment of TV networks.

(Full article.)

How much aluminum could an aluminumchuck chuck?

A few weeks ago, the New York City Council chose to ban aluminum bats in high school baseball, saying a move back to wood bats would make the game safer; more recently, the Detroit Free Press decided to run a story with local opinion on the topic of aluminum bats. And for that story, they happened to contact a very familiar baseball coach:

Chelsea baseball coach Wayne Welton, who has been coaching for 30 years, wouldn’t mind switching to wooden bats.

Welton’s preference for wood bats wasn’t a surprise to me, but I was interested to note that he does not consider it a safety issue.

“I just think that so many kids get a false sense that they’re pretty good hitters using that big barrel of the metal bat,” Welton said.

[…]

“If we used wood bats, we would develop better hitters,” he said.

And he has one other problem with aluminum bats:

“That ‘ping’ sound makes me cringe today,” he said. “I’d much rather hear the crack of the wood, myself.”

Welton’s quotes also made an appearance at the end of a Freep article concerning the likelihood of a similar ban in Michigan.

(If the Freep links are cantankerous, try reading the stories here and here.)

All your deeply personal moments are belong to us

From a recent issue of WORLD Magazine:

Two days after the Virginia Tech shootings that claimed 33 lives, three grieving students sat in a tight circle on the campus drill field, holding hands and praying for their bereaved community. A crowd of photographers and cameramen slowly formed around the young women, capturing the painful moment.

At least 14 photographers trained wide-angled lenses inches from the three tear-stained faces. When the girls moved their heads close together for privacy, a television reporter maneuvered a boom microphone into the circle to record the sound.

Maybe some stories are best told from afar. Not with a wide-angle lens.

(Related reading: a print reporter’s perspective on telling a story without intruding.)