Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Compositing Assignments
The two big compositing assignments I had back in school. Oh the memories...
Me in Top Gun.. can you guess who?
Originally, I had filmed myself doing reps with just the bar, and was gonna comp the weights in 3d (ya know.. i.. i.. could've lifted all those weights myself... yeah.. but it is a compositing assignment). So when the match on the bar failed, I went to my back up plan and just animated a 3d guy lifting the weights. Once I restarted the project, from camera match to final render, I finished it in a day. Probably my greatest feat as a 3d artist thus far.
Me in Top Gun.. can you guess who?
Originally, I had filmed myself doing reps with just the bar, and was gonna comp the weights in 3d (ya know.. i.. i.. could've lifted all those weights myself... yeah.. but it is a compositing assignment). So when the match on the bar failed, I went to my back up plan and just animated a 3d guy lifting the weights. Once I restarted the project, from camera match to final render, I finished it in a day. Probably my greatest feat as a 3d artist thus far.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Les
Just recently, my Uncle Leslie passed away at the age of 58 from a heart failure/attack. The news about his death was as equally shocking as it was sudden. And though I didn't get to share words about him at his funeral, this blog will serve as my personal eulogy in his memory:
The question I most often get when friends and associates hear about the unfortunate passing of my Uncle, is "Were you close to him?" And though I don't know much about my Uncle, I reply "Yeah, I was." What I knew about my Uncle was just superficial information: he was one of 2 of my Dad's younger brothers, he was a lawyer, father to my cousin's and a husband to my aunt, lived in Alameda, etc. It wasn't until the funeral did I find out so much about him, that he ran the Oakland Marathon in the year I was born and ran well enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon, that he recently got scuba certified, climbed a 14,000 ft mountain and that he met my Aunt on a bike ride from Concord to Tahoe. He volunteered for the Eagle Scouts, through out and well after my cousin earned his badges, and he was actively involved in my cousin's sports including soccer, ultimate frisbee and cross country, often times timing Kaila's laps and giving what he thought (and what was I'm sure) helpful advice on how to improve her times. He was a world traveler who trekked on lands I still wish to visit and though he was a hard working a successful attorney, he took off more and more time off to be involved in his childrens life. This is just a short list of his accomplishments and loves, and all of this was new to me until right before I bowed 3 times to give my final respects before the casket was closed.
But I still considered him close to me, because I loved him and I knew he loved me the same. Maybe it was because of a connection due to our similarities: we're both the middle child of 3 brothers (though I have an older sister as well), we were both shy, quiet and reserved, and we both have a mysterious collection of freckles on our faces. Maybe it was just the typical Uncle/Nephew relationship. But I knew that every time I would see him during the occasional family function, I'd be happy to see him. He always made me laugh though I'm sure I made him laugh more by some of the ridiculous things I would be into during the different phases of my life. He would question why I would need a pager at the age of 15. My smart ass reply, I needed to be on call for my clients.
I always looked up to the great man that is my Uncle, and even though he isn't with us anymore, he will always inspire me to be the best person I can be... hopefully, someone with the same integrity as him.
PS: My Uncle wasn't the only person I learned more about that day. I learned how great of a writer my Dad is, from his beautiful eulogy. I learned more about the living conditions my Dad and my Uncles had to live with. Them 3, along with 6 of their cousin's, all grew up together and became best of friends. They call themselves, the "9 cousins". Them and their families all lived in one place, several of them sharing the same room. They couldn't afford toys, so they were each other's toys, playing games with each other and forging what would be life long friendships. They could barely afford the food that fueled their energy. Which puts into perspective where they are now: a lawyer, a VP for a commercial insurance company, and a scientist at Genentec to name a few. They came from having nothing to the luxuries of families, houses, and traveling. It makes you appreciate what you have, and that to be successful, you have to make smart choices, work hard and make sacrifices. The lifestyle that my parents and friends enjoy now, was not given to them by any means. They made sure to drill that into my head and taught me that my luxuries, even at an early age, had to be earned.
The question I most often get when friends and associates hear about the unfortunate passing of my Uncle, is "Were you close to him?" And though I don't know much about my Uncle, I reply "Yeah, I was." What I knew about my Uncle was just superficial information: he was one of 2 of my Dad's younger brothers, he was a lawyer, father to my cousin's and a husband to my aunt, lived in Alameda, etc. It wasn't until the funeral did I find out so much about him, that he ran the Oakland Marathon in the year I was born and ran well enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon, that he recently got scuba certified, climbed a 14,000 ft mountain and that he met my Aunt on a bike ride from Concord to Tahoe. He volunteered for the Eagle Scouts, through out and well after my cousin earned his badges, and he was actively involved in my cousin's sports including soccer, ultimate frisbee and cross country, often times timing Kaila's laps and giving what he thought (and what was I'm sure) helpful advice on how to improve her times. He was a world traveler who trekked on lands I still wish to visit and though he was a hard working a successful attorney, he took off more and more time off to be involved in his childrens life. This is just a short list of his accomplishments and loves, and all of this was new to me until right before I bowed 3 times to give my final respects before the casket was closed.
But I still considered him close to me, because I loved him and I knew he loved me the same. Maybe it was because of a connection due to our similarities: we're both the middle child of 3 brothers (though I have an older sister as well), we were both shy, quiet and reserved, and we both have a mysterious collection of freckles on our faces. Maybe it was just the typical Uncle/Nephew relationship. But I knew that every time I would see him during the occasional family function, I'd be happy to see him. He always made me laugh though I'm sure I made him laugh more by some of the ridiculous things I would be into during the different phases of my life. He would question why I would need a pager at the age of 15. My smart ass reply, I needed to be on call for my clients.
I always looked up to the great man that is my Uncle, and even though he isn't with us anymore, he will always inspire me to be the best person I can be... hopefully, someone with the same integrity as him.
PS: My Uncle wasn't the only person I learned more about that day. I learned how great of a writer my Dad is, from his beautiful eulogy. I learned more about the living conditions my Dad and my Uncles had to live with. Them 3, along with 6 of their cousin's, all grew up together and became best of friends. They call themselves, the "9 cousins". Them and their families all lived in one place, several of them sharing the same room. They couldn't afford toys, so they were each other's toys, playing games with each other and forging what would be life long friendships. They could barely afford the food that fueled their energy. Which puts into perspective where they are now: a lawyer, a VP for a commercial insurance company, and a scientist at Genentec to name a few. They came from having nothing to the luxuries of families, houses, and traveling. It makes you appreciate what you have, and that to be successful, you have to make smart choices, work hard and make sacrifices. The lifestyle that my parents and friends enjoy now, was not given to them by any means. They made sure to drill that into my head and taught me that my luxuries, even at an early age, had to be earned.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
If you haven't noticed, this is my first post in over a year. I'm long over due and for that, I apologize to all my faithful fans of my blog who check religiously everyday to see if I've posted something new (sense the sarcasm?) I've been meaning to post for a while but other distractions have unfortunately taken priority over a public display of my thoughts.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Weeds
This morning while i was checking myself out in the mirror as the shower was warming up (hey, don't pretend like you don't do it too), I noticed something about my appearance. It wasn't an empiphany or anything like that, cause I (like many others i'm sure) am very familiar with my imperfections. It was more like a reminder than anything else. They were always there, but i guess it became more apparent since my haircut: gray hairs. Too many to be cute; too little to be distinguished. All I could think of was, "Damn weeds, ruining the lush Eden that is my hair." I started conceiving excuses of the how the salt got mixed with the pepper: my parents, my school, no sleep, the drugs, the alcohol, the nature of my life. And so, naturally, i started plucking.
This reminded me of my dad. I picture him when i was younger, hoeing away at the weeds in our backyard, tirelessly fighting a losing battle and working on making his farmer's tan even more embarrassing. I would occasionally help by not really helping at all, swinging at 'em with a stick pretending i was a ninja or baseball player. "Stop fooling around and go for the root," my dad would tell me. This would ensure that they wouldn't grow back as fast. But needless to say, this didn't work too well. Their numbers would seem to almost double. I could almost hear them chanting, "If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine" or "Resistance is futile." (to all the geeks out there.)
But that's the way it is. Our life is littered with "weeds" that we have to maintain to keep our gardens beautiful... or at least enjoyable enough to look at. And not just the weeds we have to pull in order to keep up our appearance: the plucking, shaving, cleaning, geling, brushing, moisturizing, accessorizing, etc etc. But all the little things that's a part of our everyday life that keep us alive and healthy and a so-called normal being of society, like paying the bills, feeding ourselves, feeding our children (luckily not there yet), going to work, doing homework, or even coping with a lost loved one or a love that was lost. All these little things combine to make a pretty powerful force that we hopelessly fight enough to keep us alive another day. We don't really see it, though we feel it from time to time - or maybe all the time. But it's that picture of integrity that my dad painted for me, ingrained in my head, that helps me to keep fighting as long as I have ammo. And not to forget those friends that playfully hack away at those plants, like i did with my father as he adviced me to "go for the root."
P.S. - Happy Valentines Day to everyone.
This reminded me of my dad. I picture him when i was younger, hoeing away at the weeds in our backyard, tirelessly fighting a losing battle and working on making his farmer's tan even more embarrassing. I would occasionally help by not really helping at all, swinging at 'em with a stick pretending i was a ninja or baseball player. "Stop fooling around and go for the root," my dad would tell me. This would ensure that they wouldn't grow back as fast. But needless to say, this didn't work too well. Their numbers would seem to almost double. I could almost hear them chanting, "If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine" or "Resistance is futile." (to all the geeks out there.)
But that's the way it is. Our life is littered with "weeds" that we have to maintain to keep our gardens beautiful... or at least enjoyable enough to look at. And not just the weeds we have to pull in order to keep up our appearance: the plucking, shaving, cleaning, geling, brushing, moisturizing, accessorizing, etc etc. But all the little things that's a part of our everyday life that keep us alive and healthy and a so-called normal being of society, like paying the bills, feeding ourselves, feeding our children (luckily not there yet), going to work, doing homework, or even coping with a lost loved one or a love that was lost. All these little things combine to make a pretty powerful force that we hopelessly fight enough to keep us alive another day. We don't really see it, though we feel it from time to time - or maybe all the time. But it's that picture of integrity that my dad painted for me, ingrained in my head, that helps me to keep fighting as long as I have ammo. And not to forget those friends that playfully hack away at those plants, like i did with my father as he adviced me to "go for the root."
P.S. - Happy Valentines Day to everyone.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Dry
.. is the name of the book I'm currently reading, written by Augusten Burroughs, author of "Running with Scissors." It is a humorous yet powerfully real memoir of the author's life, but more specifically, his path to sobriety from alcoholism. I received this book as a Secret Santa gift from my co-worker and was paired with, ironically, a bottle of Pinot Noir (the symbolism of the gift is surprisingly accurate considering how little she knows me).
It's a great book, but seriously don't take my word for it. I can tell a good book from another as well as i can taste the difference between a $50 bottle of Cabernet and 2-buck chuck when I'm intoxicated. But considering that, this book strangely enough hits home to me. Throughout the course of the book (or what I've read so far), Augusten slowly realizes the source of his uncontrollable drinking habit: his inability to cope with his feelings. Whenever he is forced to confront them, he throws up both fists... but clenched in each hand are bottles of Dewar's, followed by many more bottles. But this got me thinking about my own sobriety.
When I was about 19, my already semi-self-destructive behavior hit a new low (or "high" depending on how you look at it). I started smoking meth. God knows how much i smoked; I couldn't begin to estimate, not even with a tally of financial consequence because it was, for the most part, free. This continued on for years (about 3-4), until one day, after getting about 10 hours of sleep for the whole week, i frightened myself by what i saw in the mirror. The bags under my eyes looked heavier than ever, and as pale as my skin already was, my complexion had turned a nice, healthy hue of macabre. I decided at that moment that it had to stop. And stop i did.
But reading this book had got me thinking about that dark but un-regrettable part of my life, mainly why and how my excessive behavior started. And the answer seemed easy to find, cause it was right there written on the pages in my hand. It was the same reason why Augusten found solace bathing in a pool of whiskey. I found it hard to cope with the myriad feelings i was confronted with at the time. I didn't want to confront them at all. In fact, I don't like confrontation. I thought I could confuse my feelings by blowing a dense milky cloud in it's face. And it worked (for the time being). The speed kept me focused, but on things other than my feelings; It felt great (that irresponsibility to my feelings, not that cracked out feeling from getting no sleep for days on end).
I don't really know what I'm getting at, but i guess this is a small way of confronting those feelings now. To be honest, i still struggle with those feelings today. It gets really tough sometimes, but at least i'm doing it un-destructively. And what i guess i really want to say is how grateful i am to having at least enough willpower to stop that behavior and keep it under control... grateful for still being alive and strong... and thank you to all my friends who have been there for me unconditionally. Thanks for believing in me.
P.S. - I hate when you think about something earlier.. and you have a lot of great thoughts and insights at that time... but when it comes time to express them, it feels like not all of your points are surfacing?.. I'm king at that. And it's happening right now about this subject.. *shrugs*.. oh well.
It's a great book, but seriously don't take my word for it. I can tell a good book from another as well as i can taste the difference between a $50 bottle of Cabernet and 2-buck chuck when I'm intoxicated. But considering that, this book strangely enough hits home to me. Throughout the course of the book (or what I've read so far), Augusten slowly realizes the source of his uncontrollable drinking habit: his inability to cope with his feelings. Whenever he is forced to confront them, he throws up both fists... but clenched in each hand are bottles of Dewar's, followed by many more bottles. But this got me thinking about my own sobriety.
When I was about 19, my already semi-self-destructive behavior hit a new low (or "high" depending on how you look at it). I started smoking meth. God knows how much i smoked; I couldn't begin to estimate, not even with a tally of financial consequence because it was, for the most part, free. This continued on for years (about 3-4), until one day, after getting about 10 hours of sleep for the whole week, i frightened myself by what i saw in the mirror. The bags under my eyes looked heavier than ever, and as pale as my skin already was, my complexion had turned a nice, healthy hue of macabre. I decided at that moment that it had to stop. And stop i did.
But reading this book had got me thinking about that dark but un-regrettable part of my life, mainly why and how my excessive behavior started. And the answer seemed easy to find, cause it was right there written on the pages in my hand. It was the same reason why Augusten found solace bathing in a pool of whiskey. I found it hard to cope with the myriad feelings i was confronted with at the time. I didn't want to confront them at all. In fact, I don't like confrontation. I thought I could confuse my feelings by blowing a dense milky cloud in it's face. And it worked (for the time being). The speed kept me focused, but on things other than my feelings; It felt great (that irresponsibility to my feelings, not that cracked out feeling from getting no sleep for days on end).
I don't really know what I'm getting at, but i guess this is a small way of confronting those feelings now. To be honest, i still struggle with those feelings today. It gets really tough sometimes, but at least i'm doing it un-destructively. And what i guess i really want to say is how grateful i am to having at least enough willpower to stop that behavior and keep it under control... grateful for still being alive and strong... and thank you to all my friends who have been there for me unconditionally. Thanks for believing in me.
P.S. - I hate when you think about something earlier.. and you have a lot of great thoughts and insights at that time... but when it comes time to express them, it feels like not all of your points are surfacing?.. I'm king at that. And it's happening right now about this subject.. *shrugs*.. oh well.
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