The Brown Knowser

Every year, I feel that I grow as a photographer. Be it from acquiring new equipment, from learning a new photographic technique, from shooting a new subject, or from learning new post-production editing features, I like to think my photography is getting better. It's when I review the photos that I shot over the year that my growth as an amateur shows. I can look at a photograph that I took months ago, having forgotten all about it, and say, "Wow." Sometimes, it's hard to whittle down a year's worth of photograph to a mere dozen or so images. For example, when my family and I travelled to France, in August, I took photos every day. It was really hard to pick a single favourite from that trip, and because I didn't want to repeat a lot of the photos I've already shown, I did my best to keep it to four. Or five. (If you want to see more of the photos from my France vacation, check them out in my Flickr album .) I spent a lot more time outdoors this y...

I got my first camera for Christmas, in 1975. I was 11, and point-and-shoot pocket cameras were the rage. It was a Kodak Trimline Instamatic 18: a 110-format camera with clip-in, desposable flash—eight shots and it was done. My camera came with stickers, which fit into a textured recess on the top, just above the viewfinder. I chose a stylized Canadian flag—a red maple leaf on a white background and a touch of red at one edge. It was my first foray into photography. With my Instamatic, I shot family events, like birthdays and holidays. I shot friends at school. In grade 6, I took my camera with me, when I participated in a bilingual exchange in Québec City. I shot up Chateau Frontenac, the Citadel, and Montmorency Falls. The photos weren't great: the colours were muted, the images weren't sharp, and you could never enlarge a shot to anything bigger than a 4 x 6, lest the grain show. But it was easy to use: insert the cartridge, crank, shoot, crank, shoot... when you w...

In February of this year, Midge Ure performed one of Ultravox's classic songs, "Vienna," on Ireland's RTÉ Late Late Show . It was just him and an acoustic guitar, and it was powerful. On Tuesday, March 3, Midge will be performing at the Black Sheep Inn , in Wakefield, and I expect this acoustic show to be no less impressive. I plan to be sitting up front and centre, and I want all of you to join me. Buy yourself a ticket and help me celebrate my 50th birthday in the best way I can imagine. Here is Midge, performing "Vienna" on The Late Late Show . If you want to join me, here are more details about my birthday celebration .  Happy Monday!

I've never cared for Secret Santas in the office, or anywhere, for that matter. I don't feel the need to pick a random name from a hat and then try to figure out something about him or her (you just know you're going to pick the name of someone you don't know well), and then spend money and time choosing a gift that will not enrich the life of that individual. That won't give them anything that they truly want. I used to participate in Secret Santa at work, feeling compelled by peer pressure. These days, I have become immune to peer pressure: I only participate in any office social activities if I truly want to. And I usually don't. I'm not a Grinch, nor am I a Scrooge, but especially, I'm not a Secret Santa. Two days ago, on Christmas Eve, as with every year, I did the bulk of my Christmas shopping at the last minute. I usually have an idea of what I need to buy—Lori does most of the shopping for the kids and extended family members, while I get...

I first posted this story in 2011 and have now made it my holiday tradition. If you haven't read it before, I hope you enjoy it. If you have read it before, I'm hoping that you make it your holiday tradition in reading it again. Merry Christmas, and all the best over the holiday season! At first, we did it out of excitement, unable to wait. Later, it became a game about how far we could go, how much risk we were willing to take. In time, it became a ritual. The first time we crept downstairs, anxious to see what Santa left us, my younger sister, Jen, and I faced an obstacle: each other. "Go to bed," I whispered, not wanting her to make any noise, thereby arousing the attention of our parents, who had only a half hour or less gone to bed after placing our wrapped gifts under the tree. Our older sister, Holly, was sound asleep, able to contain her excitement and curiosity. The first time that Jen and I met on the stairs, we got our parents' a...

This blog post is a repeat but is  timeless for the holidays. If you haven't read this post before, enjoy. If you have, suck it up I hope you enjoy reading it again. I'll have another traditional holiday post on tomorrow. When they were little, my kids called me a "Christmas-hater" and the name stung. But only a little. * On some level, I'm not a fan of Christmas. Not of the decorating, nor of the card giving (actually, the Brownfoots have pretty much given up on that front), nor, especially, of the shopping. I hate going near the malls and department stores at this time of year: fighting crowds, standing in lines, searching for that ever-elusive parking space. Not being religious, the spiritual side of Christmas is lost on a cynic like me. My participation in the festivities this year included some shopping, getting our tree, standing it in the house, and helping my wife with the lights and flashy gold garland. I actually left the room and let t...

Yes, earlier this month, I crapped all over Christmas, including its music. I still maintain that The Pogues have the best Christmas song of all time. It's a love song, actually, set over the holidays. This song needs no further introduction, other than to say I can no longer listen to this tune without lamenting Kristy McColl, who died in an accident while vacationing in Cozumel, Mexico, on December 18, 2000. Happy Monday.

I used to hate taking pictures with the camera on my cell phone. The first flip-phone I had came with a measly 1-megapixel camera. I barely used the feature: back then, I only wanted a device so that if I needed to contact my wife for an emergency or call for help, I wouldn't be stuck. I didn't want to record video, or access the Internet, or play games. I wasn't on Facebook and Twitter was years away: my blog was the only form of social media, and even to this day I have to be pretty desperate to want to write a post on a smartphone. When my flip-phone died, I upgraded to a phone with an actual QWERTY keyboard that slid out from the back of the device. I had graduated to using a phone to send text messages, and a dial pad wasn't cutting it for me. As a writer, I don't like to abbreviate words if I don't have to. I like full, grammatically correct sentence structure. On my flip-phone, that took forever. The camera on this newer phone was much better tha...

It's been years since I've been to an office party. Though I like to think of myself as a sociable individual, I can be antisocial in certain groups. I will sit back, the quiet one, speaking only when spoken to, not initiating conversations. In large rooms with few seats, I will wander the room, alone, looking for a few small clusters of people I know. I'll approach the group but not fully join it, unless I'm addressed, invited in. I offer little input, unless called upon to do so. I last attended an office Christmas party (a  Holiday  party, it was called, but the artificial Christmas trees and the gift wrap with Santa was a dead giveaway) five years ago. Having arrived a bit late, my wife and I were assigned a seat at a table, and so we sat with people I barely knew and people, who, if given the choice, I would not have sat with. But we were coming from another Christmas party (and that's exactly what it was called), with good friends, and we were loathe...