PAGE 4 I THE MEREDITH HERALD | SEPTEMBER 24, 2008
ECHNOLOGY
A DIGITAL CAMERA DREAM:
THE KODAK EASYSHARE C613
By Julia Houtchings
Science and Technology Editor
I have had my digital camera for
over a year, and I hate it. Even
though I paid over $200 for the
camera and a memory card, I still
find myself looking at other camer
as and wanting to replace my Sony
Cybershot. But, alas, I am like you,
a college student. I absolutely can
not afford to drop another $200 on
another digital camera. So 1 made it
my mission this week to find an eco
nomical, yet comparable (as fer as
function, anyway), replacement.
I discovered the Kodak EasyShare
C613, which boasts 6.2 megapixels.
a 2.4 inch indoor/outdoor color dis
play, and comes in the colors Pearl
White or Pink. The C613 features 16
scene modes, including a quite nifty
text/document setting and even one
for fireworks. Say goodbye to those
blurry July 4th pictures! This cam
era also has a video recording setting
that is continuous up to 80 minutes,
based on memory card capacity, and
records in MPEG4, a format com
mon for most digital cameras.
The zoom capabilities for the
C613 are very good: 3X optical
zoom and 5X continuous digital
zoom on preview for a combined
zoom of 15X—impressive for the
price of the camera. Most digital
cameras entering the market feature
a digital image stabilizer, and the
C613 succeeds in this department as
well. This camera also anticipates
low light and action shots with a
maximum ISO of 1250. My 7.2MP
Cybershot only reaches 1000.
The Kodak EasyShare software
scores points, too, because of its
easy upload implementation for
email or print. With such a low
price, just about anyone can afford
this beauty...! know I will probably
invest in one soon. For more infor
mation, visit the Kodak website at
www.kodak.com, which lists the
C613 for a mere $79.95. ■
Bioto Couilesy Kodak
CAR TALK
Anna Beavon Gravely
Contributing Writer
“Well, you’ve done it again. You
have squandered another perfectly
good hour listening to Car Talk,”
an obnoxious voice bellowed out. I
certainly felt that way.
“Dad, can 1 listen to actual
music?”
“Don’t you want to learn any
thing, Anna Beavon? You have al
ready heard all those songs before
and know all the lyrics. Why don’t
you listen to something you haven’t
heard before?
I never know how to respond.
Do I just admit that I have no inten
tion of learning anything new at this
juncture, or do I suck it up?
Time passes slowly when all you
are allowed to do is laugh—more so
if you don’t what you are laughing
about. The only noise—^yes, 1 said
noise—that filled the car was the
nasally, northern voices of Click
and Clack, the Tapei Brothers, and
the clueless callers who don’t seem
to understand that a “small fender-
bender” can, in fact, affect the way
the car sounds.
I sat, silently in the passenger
seat of my father’s car. For the first
“wasted hour” 1 tried to play a game
with my father. Me, of course, had no
idea that we were playing a game.
I guess it was just for me to play.
I would attempt to understand the
humor of the radio show while my
dad would intently listen. Since the
jokes mainly referred to cars and car
puns, I did not catch on very well. But
occasionally when I understood the
joke, I laughed at the right time. It
didn’t happen very often, but every
time it did, all my shortcomings in
car knowledge were worth it.
Whenever I tried to speak or ask
a question—on the rare chance that
1 was interested in what the Tapet
Brothers were saying—I received
only this comment: “SHHH . . .
Don’t talk. Pay attention, and learn
something.” My father had a point,
a very valid point. 1 could learn, but
how could I learn if I didn’t under
stand what was being said?
During the second “wasted hour,”
I stopped. I slopped trying to under
stand, and 1 stopped caring. I stared
at the trees and overgrown grass on
the side of the road. I mentally cut
the grass because its imperfection
bothered me. 1 don’t quite know why,
but I always seem to make over
grown grass ail the same, perfectly
Pholo courtesy mvwmolofaulhorily.com
manicured length in my head. The
only thing that was able to divert
my attention away from “cutting
the grass” was words that sounded
amusing. I remember hearing the
phrase catalytic converter. I have no
idea what a catalytic converter Is. I
repeated the words in my head over
and over again slowly to ensure
that each consonant was enunciated
carefully—c-a-t-a-l-y-t-i-c c-o-n-v-
e-r-t-e-r. I knew that I could not ask
any questions about the meaning of
the word, so the sound became my
obsession.
I looked over at my father. His
short, bring-home-to-mom hair cut
was combed back flawlessly. He was
wearing my mom’s favorite light
blue button-down with darker blue
stripes and khakis—his uniform, for
a lack of a better word. The relaxed
grip he had on the steering wheel
mimicked his body language. The
car drove with the same kind of ease
and complacency that my father
seemed to feel. The car “cuts” the
slower vehicles—drawing upon my
elementary school years of walking
in straight lines and tattling when an
other student cuts in fi-ont of me—in
order to not break the cruise control.
As we pass the car in the right-hand
lane, my heart pounds. I get so ex
cited when our car goes faster than
the other car. It never fails; I always
turn to look at the car we are pass
ing and shout, “Nah-nah-nah-nah,
I’m beating you!” in my head. I feel
like I am twelve again.
I looked back over to my father
and observed his right hand rub the
side of his face, up from his jaw
line—against the grain of his facial
hair—and down from, his cheek. He
performed the action methodically,
almost as if rubbing his face is calm
ing. My father’s facial expression
showed intensity, not angry intensity
but focused intensity, like he is deep
in thought. I guess he could feel me
looking at him, because he looked
back at me. He looked at me just
as he began to laugh, and the smile
on his face was one of appre
hension. He wanted to see if I
was laughing too. So, of course,
1 laughed, yet again, a couple of
seconds after the pre-recorded pro
grammed voices. ■