The Tak Team Blog

Disposable cameras are cheap and easy to use. If you just want to take some snapshots and have fun then this is the camera for you. You can buy them in bulk for weddings and other special occasions. You can even take some of them underwater. Whether you take them snorkeling or to a messy kid’s birthday party, you won’t have to worry about ruining your expensive equipment.

Disposable cameras are also called “single-use” or “one-time” cameras. You can get both digital and film disposable cameras. They’re available almost everywhere, from your local camera store to the grocery store. These cameras take all the work, worry and fuss out of picture taking and leave pure enjoyment. The photo quality is often quite good, and the point-and-shoot nature of almost all disposable cameras mean that you can capture those moments that are missed as you fiddle with all the buttons and wires and the 100+ pages of detailed instructions in your expensive camera’s owner’s manual. Additionally, when you point a little plastic camera at someone, the reaction you get will likely be very different; people are disarmed, more casual and open.

There are a wide variety of Disposable Cameras on the market — and many uses for them, too. Most models come with a rear monitor to view images. They are fully automatic, including the flash (if they have one), usually have a self-timer, and occasionally have an image-delete function. Prices for a camera with the capability for 25 or 27 pictures range from $9 to $19. These prices may or may not include processing, which adds around $10. You can get cheaper prices if you buy in wholesale in quantity or buy without a flash. They can be as inexpensive as $2.00 each!

Most models will yield an image of sufficient quality that it can be blown up to an 8 X 10 inch print, but not all. Some models that are under $10 create overexposed flash images when used with the camera’s short flash range (only 4 feet to 8 feet). Another drawback with some of the cheaper models especially is that the viewfinder can be difficult to see through. Typically, even the more expensive versions make you wait between flashes, limiting how many pictures you can take in a given period of time.

Many disposable cameras have a rear monitor that lets you delete the image you just took. However, on most of these, you cannot scroll through the photos you have taken, or use the screen to frame a photo. On some of the less expensive models, the delete function is useless because there is no rear monitor to see what you are deleting.

Both the film disposable camera and the digital disposable camera are convenient and fun, but if you are looking for professional results or a variety of options, stick with the higher end film or digital cameras. And if you shoot photos on a regular basis, it’s cheaper in the long run to purchase a regular, non-disposable camera even if you pay to process the prints.

However, having the option to take a disposable camera with you on a family vacation, work party or wedding can be great. Sometimes you don’t want to take an expensive camera on a trip for fear it will be stolen, you’ll leave it behind, or it might get broken — an alternative solution comes in the form of the less expensive but perfectly serviceable disposable camera. You get the photos you want without the worry you don’t need.

Disposable Cameras Info provides detailed information about digital, wedding, and underwater disposable cameras, as well as cheap and wholesale disposable cameras. Disposable Cameras Info is the sister site of Underwater Cameras Web.

Photographing a portrait is both very easy and very difficult. Anybody can shoot a portrait. The photographs we take of our children, friends, parents, teachers are all portraits. But, we are also aware that some are better than the others. Let us analyze the factors that make a portrait better than the others.

A successful portrait has always the quality of making an impression on the viewer. The impression left may be because of some physical aspect of the photograph’s subject, or it may be of some subtle characteristic getting underscored. The portrait makes a dramatic statement about the subject. It is very individual. A simple photograph of a person that does not leave any imprint on our mind cannot be called a portrait. The portrait always reveals something about the person. It may be some mood, some attitude or some mannerism which constitutes the personality of the person.

A photographer who is able to bring out these features in his portraits is a successful photographer. Now, how does one do that? It depends mostly on the personality of the photographer, but it can also be learned.

The photographer should always be in command of the situation. He is the ‘boss’ of the moment. He should be able to strike a rapport with his subjects. This can be achieved by starting a small conversation with the person. It can be small talk about the currently popular topics, or the photographer can try and find a subject which strikes a chord in the person being photographed. This will put the subject at ease; make him animated and more alive, bringing out some interesting aspects of the personality of the person.

But this is not a rule. Many great photographers used to remain very serious and focused on their work, but still took great portraits. It is all in the personality of the photographer. Something in the photographer must evoke respect in the subject, so that he or she cooperates and does what the photographer wants. A good portrait photographer should have a real interest in people. He should be a keen observer of the human nature. He should be quickly able to make out the outstanding traits or habits of the person and make them appear in the portraits.

The photographer can take his photograph in the natural surroundings of the subject. This definitely is advantageous, since it puts the other person at ease. However, this is not always possible, in which case the photographer can make use of his studio. Both have their own advantages and disadvantages. In natural surroundings of the subject the lighting may not be proper and even, or surroundings not so appealing for a good photograph. In studio, everything can be controlled, while the natural ease of the other setting will be missing.

The natural light is always better but in many cases this light is uneven and is not good for photography. In that case, one has to think of taking pictures indoors. The surroundings can be used to emphasize certain aspects of the personality of the subject. The background can be made to reflect or enhance certain attitude or mannerism of the person. For this, certain props can be used. It can be a hat, a cigar, a fan or a toy in the case of toddlers. Sometimes, photographer also uses a completely black or white background. In these cases, the focus is entirely on the subject of the photograph. Some very beautiful portraits can be seen with such stark backgrounds.

In the end, it is mainly the personality and maturity of the photographer that plays a major role in bringing out a good portrait. No rules can be defined for taking a great shot. One has to experiment and use one’s own imagination and sensitivity to find one’s unique individual style.

Michael Russell Your Independent guide to Photography

Elephants in the Sky

[1980s, Lee Evens in Mali, Timbuktu/Africa]

Advance: Lee was discharged from the Army in 1980, whereupon, he traveled the world, one of those locations was in Mali, by the legendary city of Timbuktu; whereupon he found himself in the middle of a plague, a plague of locust.

[Diary-review]

There were swarms of locust over the top of my car, in front of me, in front of the carswarms I say swarms: a dark shadow covering the sky, descending, descending onto the roadin front of me, behind me, it was locusts, locusts, locustslocusts everywhere, everyplace: so thick, thick with layers that made my car slip, slipping and sliding as if on ice. They seemed like they walked, walked, walked among the sky, cluttered together like big oaks; akin to a druid dark sky, coeval with the leering sky. They looked like pools of ghouls embracing, embracing the hooded faded sky that looked like dusk, but wasn’t. Good God, good God, good God, I cried!

My radiator was being blocked, plugged by these finger-sized carcasses. I had to pull over to the side of the road. It was but a moment thereafter when I saw some adolescents down the road a bit, not too far, just a little ways, three of them trying to beat them off, beat the locusts with their belts, pants belts. Then one resorted to a stick, a stick I say, would you use a stick? To be honest, I’d run I think, run like hell; anyhow, he took a stick to beating them off, while the other used their hats, hands; they were dropping down like hail onto them from all sides; ragged looking shadows of them, full-fledged shadows, throbbing against their bodies were these locusts: down and sideways: bombarding them like creatures from outer space, like in the bible, where it mentions such things happening back in those far off days, the days Moses: the plagues God bequeath upon the pharaoh.

I think these kids would have loved to have found a window anyplace to climb through, and nail shut about now, as I kept looking out of my car window, and these creatures stained my window dirty with their restless scribbled bodies.

This was bad, very bad; the large insects were in their hair, noses, ears, climbing up their pants legs, flying straight for their mouths. They tried to spit them out, but more would jump from ear to nose to mouth.

The whole area was becoming infested with them [them: being, those locust critters; huge grasshoppers]. They were becoming as thick as the walls of Troytwenty feet thick. I turned the engine of my rented car off; it spit and sputtered a bit, then came to a dead stop, a burping stop. I could not see the boys anymore, only a cocoon of these creatures several inches thick around themlike mummies; they now rolled about on the ground like dying lions, screaming: it simply shivered me; it was as if hate and love coiled within my stomach.

For a hundred miles around I had heard they were eating up the crops before anyone had time to harvest them; catastrophic damage to all the crops, as the new generation of larvae appearedthus, widening the dimensions of the one-hundred mile radius to possibly two-hundred miles (sooner than later). But now they were on top of my car: yes, yes, yes, on top of my car; under it, all over it, and in the fields beside me, on the road. I was but twenty-five miles outside of Timbuktu. Ah! What would you do?

As far as I knew, there was no means of spraying available to kill these creepy-crawlers, nor any other treatment, why that occurred to me, is beyond me, I mean who gives a shit, I’m in the middle of it; yes, yes, no equipment as supplies were of a minimum and vehicles were scarceI was lucky to have secured a deal with this jeep. I was witnessing farmers beating the locust into trenches; what more could they do? Swatting them, whacking them, from all sides, and running: I mean running! Like the boys should have done, didn’t do, but should have done, could not do anymore.

(This was the moment I’d put forward to later, when I telling others they looked like elephants in the sky. But that was to be a little bit in the future yet; now they just kept coming and coming and coming, these locust-insects.)

Now I’m breathing in the hot air in the jeep, it seems to me I’m recycling my own air. In the five-mile area they covered most everything; there were at least, must have been at least, couldn’t be less than 250-million locust I figured (insects); hoppers, yellow winged hopperscrazy and manic hoppers, as if they were on a sugar high. That would be a weight volume of 5000-elephents dropping from the sky. I had a lot of time to figure that out, for the most part, let’s say hours watching these hoppers fly and jump, and descend, trying to eat my tirestrying to get into the jeep and eat me.

‘Try, try, try,’ I said, ‘…fuck you all I said.’

[Entry] “I was in Timbuktu a few days ago, on my way back to Timbuktu now, I had been in the countrysidewhere theses critters were breeding, I am not sure where it was in particular, but it was in Mali where they had breed I do believefirst, someplace in Mali. I was doing what I love to do, checking out some old writings that were found in one of the old mud houses in Timbuktu; realizing at one time Timbuktu was a Mecca for learning for the Muslims, or better put, Islamic cultured; on the old Silk Road you could say. I was eager, the phenomenon would move east, away from me, to Sudan or Chad, or all the way to Egypt; move away to anyplace, but out of Mali and for sure, away from Timbuktu in particular. I was surprised there was not a humanitarian crisis alert, or if there was it didn’t look like it where I was; yes, were the United Nation’s vehicles? A good question I figured, and never to be answered.

The trick is to kill them before new generations developed, thus stopping them in their tracks from breaking into other placescountries, and a new cycle starting. The crops I knew would be gone soon in the south and now in this area as well, if they were not yet, and should they go eastwell, let them worry about that.”

They leaped like little elephants on the hood now, hood of, of my car; they looked, looked into my windows, deep into my windows, nose against the glass (smutches all over the glass like a disease; voracious little dispositions all over their faces, like fairies stuck together) as if I was eatable, somehow I got the sense (they had the scent, my scent I expect) they knew I was trapped in the car, and I was for sure. But I remember what Solomon told me in Egypt, Cairo a few months back, should something like this occurso it was somewhat forecasted almostand it was now developing: anyhow he said,

“(’…should this occur…’) Try to make it till morning, when everything cools down.”

I figured the wingless ‘hoppers’ the new breed, were developing now in the fields around me as the adult yellow ones could be seen flying about eating, and killed by whomever (the farmers and gosh, that was about it for now).

[The Big Hopper: diary entry] One big hopper gazed through my window, must be the size of a sparrow(I’m writing this down as he’s looking at me). At its sight I saw its milky eyes, they followed me, then I realized it was somewhat blind, I mean, its eyes gave out a yellowness to it, as if it had cataracts, its lips trembled from old age, it mumbled something, as if talking to itself, then it stood aside to let the younger ones peer in on me.

“Come…sh!” (Note: the author translates for the bug) the big one said (smiling an amiable grin). Thus, with apprehensiveness my eyebrows were quivering with my nervous system was wacky. Panting like a dog, I was. I was so bewildered…! I ended up looking out the window for the longest time…blankly; then turning my head demurely to see if any of those hoppers where in back of mesneaking up on me; were getting inside the jeep. My eyes could not relax from this insidious invading force, if anything was quite disarming…this was, but then what would you expect, harmony in the middle of an earthquake? What would you expect? I found myself drifting at times, but I knew I couldn’t go to sleep. I mean who could?

There I sat behind the wheel, crouched forward to peer through the blinding storm of locust; these hoppers were like rain sheets hitting the windshield quicker than the wipers could fan it clean. My palm and forehead had a glossy mist to it.

It was now mid-afternoon, and they were hot, it was hot, I was hot, everything, even the car was hot, and thus, morning would be my best time to make my move, when they’d be cooled down, down in the crops around mequiet. Hence, I had turned my car off and I’d leave my car off, the suspense would come in the morning when I’d have to try and start it again.

[2:00 AM] I must had fallen to sleep, and an automatic clock in my head woke me up, it was inky dark out there, outside my windows, hence, I started my car up, it choked a bit, but it started, and I noticed my water gage going up, as if a water hose was plugged or ripped. I turned the car off. I didn’t want to make too much noise, just get out of here and get back to Timbuktu: I figured they’d follow the crops, and bypass the city; oh possibly a few million might divert themselves to the city, but that is not bad; I mean, what is a million when you got 249-million more. I knew they were all on the cool ground and in a few hours they’d be in the air againover me again; and should they decide to stick around I’d die of a heat stroke I figured, sooner than later that is, sooner than they’d get a chance to eat me. I opened my car door slowly, pacifying the moment; shinned a flashlight on the road beside me, there were many aboutsleeping, quiet, almost stone-stillcould I have hummed them to oblivion, I would have; but I could walk around them for the most part I figured, and I did, did just that, then I opened the hood of the car, slowly, quietly, with more gentleness then I ever knew I had, as if it was a woman, looked at the hose, and several hoppers flew in my face, I had glasses on, they poked at my eyes nonetheless, I said nothing, nothing at all, just swatted them away with the rag I had in my handand I didn’t use much force in doing that. One hose had a small crack in it. I knew I’d lose water, all the water I had in the car in about five miles should I not prepare it, with twenty miles left to go should I not fix itI’d be worse off than now, I’d be stranded right in their pathway. The engine was covered with the winged hoppers, I wanted to say to these hoppers a few gruesome swear words, but I can’t, I’d wake them creatures up surely; I had waked them upa few of them up already, and they started to fly out and about clearing a passage to my hose.

They were not jumping on me, just a few, trying to crawl up my pants legstickling me here and there: still attacking my glasses; I think they liked glassbut just a few attacked me half in a fog out of some instinct and automatic reflex: nothing to get alarmed about I told myself. I tried not to open my mouth, a few seemed to spot it when I took in a deep breathe of airas if they had radar, consequently, they zoomed right at it, I had to spit them out as when they hit my face their legs seemed to have found their way into the crevice of my mouth. Then I got an idea, I opened my trunk up, took out a five gallon can of gasoline, in this country you always carry extra gas, water and food, alwayslest you find yourself in some deserted location, as I have at this very moment; I poured it on the side of the road, up about two-hundred-feet leading into the fields, then on my way back I took my First Aid kit, put the white tapenormally used for bandaging woundsput it around the hole in the hose (not making a sound), and started my car up, at the same time I lit the gasoline by throwing a match out of the window onto the road, and I hit the accelerator to fifty-miles an hour (it’s as fast as my jeep would go ((it was an old US Army jeep they must had purchased it from some Army surplus garage)) and I watched the road and fields explode with lightening-like fire behind me.

Yes, yes, yes, behind me was a windless fire breeding into the fields, eating hoppers while sleeping, roasted grasshoppers: yes, yes, yes they woke up, this horde of hoppers woke up in a French-fired position I’m sure; to them I expect it was their ‘Pompeii,’ and shall talk about it for a thousand years to come in this region of the world; to me it was salvation; oh yes, it is what legends are made out of in the hopper-world, I’m sureI got a mouth full of toxic fumes which was the only curse of the predicament for me, and a bonfire galore as I raced to Timbuktu.

When I got to the city, it was locked up tight, everyone afraid to come out of their mud huts. I knew I couldn’t tell them I had lit the firefor my sake; they’d make me pay for the corps I suppose (after the crisis was over I’m sure; for humanity has a short memory when it comes to thank-you’s and money). But I think they were happy to see it was all over, and a few heard my jeep motor, for slowly one by one, a few came out of their shops until the whole main street was out looking about with their doors open, ready to run back in a moments notice. I had expected them to invade the city somewhatsomewhat expected this to happen, as did the residents, but none did; and they did head east. Hence, had I told them about me lighting the fire, they’d have roasted me in it, so my silence, or intuition was right on.

Four Poems by D.L. Siluk

Just a quick word on the poetry you are about to read: sounds and images appeal to the mind, they have overtones. As every poem I do believe is a short story, and every short story is a novel, and every novel has a song to it, these you are no different here. The other good thing about poetry, I do believe is, is that it is personal, so you get to know the author a little. Extract the poetry you extort the heart, mind and soul of the author. Each idea within the poem, is in essence, an experience.

Sinking to the Ground

I became like a bird
crouched in the grass

I became part of the loneliness
of the trees
and thick bushes
growing out of the ground

I became part of the sky;
part of the wind passing by

When it rained, I became
the rain

When it thundered, I became
a trembling light

That is the path one takes
when your lover
no longer loves…

Slowly one sinks into
the ground…

As you wait, and wait
and you wait, and waitfoolishly
wait, and foolishly wait!…

#595 [3/25/05]

Topsy-turvy
[The drunk]

Drinking is the subject.
While drinking is my subject
Drinking is not her subject.
I drank two pitchers and a cup.
That is during one sitting.
She didn’t drink at all.
I mean, she didn’t drink alcohol
I mean she drink coke.
That was on another evening.
The first evening she didn’t drink at all.
I drank every day back then.
I drank quite a lot.
She drank coke.
I drank it cold
She drank it hot!
Let me recite that over…

#594

Raped Moan

When the mind has no discipline
No discipline at all, the mind…has
Freedom to be naked at will
No limits at all for the mind…
It will rape and moan, all day long
As if it is starving for more…
[So Plato referred to once
in his …Republic]
With no limits, no discipline at all
The Mind will moan for more:
Even rape your neighbor next door.
[So Plato referred to once
in his…Republic]

Satan understands this poem
Quite well, real well, so well he
Will take good children to hell.
The Mind will moan for more
As if it is starving for limits…
Only to fine, discipline was not given.

He cries for rage to be free
For frustration to be bled into
Passivity…like Ginsberg’s sense;
He will claim, this is true
Democracy…”Hymmnn…”

#593 [3/25/04]

Burnt-Out

Cars rust, building decay, roads break,
The city fades;
The land remains.

People starve the world round
Die in their beds and in war
In the cities intensifying lust…

That’s just the way it is for us.

Look how the birds, deer live
The stillness of the forest, ’s the secret
Keeping balance with the sky.

#592 [3/26/05]

This story and these poems will be featured in future books of the author; this is the first time seeing them in print. Dennis Siluk lives with his wife Rosa in Minnesota, and Peru. His website is: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com His books can be seen on amazon.com, bn.com abe.com Alibris.com etc.