Category: mungenet

Adobe Photoshop 7.0.1 G5 Processor Plug-in update for Mac OS X (1.4Mb)

Adobe Photoshop 7.0.x AltiVecCore Update plug-in
Adobe Systems
2003-01-28

AppleScript: FileMaker Pro to Photoshop 7.0
Nick Hodge
An AppleScript that takes data from FileMaker Pro and inserts it into Photoshop 7.0

Color Remedies on Color Management
Color Remedies

Moonshine: Distilling PDF into JPEG using Scripting
Nick Hodge
Photoshop 7.0 adds scripting. Here we use the scripting as a way of converting PDFs into JPEGs.

Moonshine: Distilling PDF into JPEG using Scripting NOW in VB for Windows!
Nick Hodge
Photoshop 7.0 adds scripting. Here we use the scripting as a way of converting PDFs into JPEGs. Now available in VB for Windows!

Photoshop 7 File Browser Automatic Numbering Technique
Nick Hodge
How to use the File Browser to renumber files starting from non-zero

Photoshop 7.0 Scripting Plugin 1.0.2a (Mac)

Photoshop 7.0 Scripting Plugin, Samples and Documentation for Macintosh (v1.0.2)

Photoshop 7.0 Scripting Plugin 1.0.2a (Win)
Adobe Systems
Photoshop 7.0 Scripting Plugin, Samples and Documentation for Windows (v1.0.2)

Photoshop 7.0.1 Update (Mac, 15.2Mb)

Photoshop 7.0.1 Update (Win, 12.8Mb)

Photoshop 7.x – Amending File Browser width for palette well
Cari Jansen
Do you find that when the File Browser is docked to the palette well you can’t make the browser window wider only deeper?

Photoshop 7.x – Cache & the File Browser
Cari Jansen
When you view the image contents of a new folder using the File Browser, you must have experienced a delay in the viewing process at times.

Russell Brown
Russell Brown
Russell Preston Brown’s whole host of Photoshop (and more!) related tips

Piha, June 2003

Piha, June 2003

Piha, June 2003

Piha, June 2003

Piha, June 2003

Piha, June 2003

InDesign CS2 Snippets

InDesign CS2: Print and Prepress Features
Nick Hodge
What is new in InDesign CS2 from a print and pre-press perspective? More than meets the eye!

Through the open gate into NZs Defense area looking for secrets at the RNZAF Museum, Christchurch

A4 Skyhawk: NZs last line of defense, now mothballed. RNZAF Museum, Christchurch

Roll of Honor for 4149 NZ airforce during WW2. Always a sad sight. RNZAF Museum, Christchurch

Spitfire. RNZAF Museum, Christchurch

Douglas Dakota, decked our for Her Royal Highness in 1953. RNZAF Museum, Christchurch

Oak tree by the Avon. Christchurch, April 2005

Suit of armour in weird castle. Christchurch, April 2005

Christchurch, April 2005

Sign of the Kiwi. Christchurch, April 2005

Nick over Christchurch. Christchurch, April 2005

Sheep on the Summit. Christchurch, April 2005

TV Tower on the Summit. Christchurch, April 2005

Strange Alien Landing vessel, Mount Victoria. Wellington April 2005

Victorian era gun, Mount Victoria. Wellington April 2005

Wellington Airport: my nemesis. Wellington April 2005

Nick over Wellington. Wellington April 2005

Wellingtonian Skyline, Wellington April 2005

NZ Flax, Wellington April 2005

Rorohiko in Wellington have released a new plugin for InDesign: a must have for publishers. Lightning Brain Sudoku for InDesign CS/CS2. Like crosswords, I don’t really “get it” – but this, the Da Vinci Code and Suri are all the rage at the moment.

Creating Animations
Nick Hodge

Export Settings

Animation

Adding Behaviours

Wiring Rollovers

Looking South @ Piha, May 2002.

Piha. May 2002

Nick Hodge at Piha. Photo by Russell Brown. May 2002

Nick Hodge at Piha. Photo by Russell Brown. May 2002

Piha. May 2002

Russell Brown at Piha. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Piha. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Piha. May 2002

Piha. May 2002

Russell Brown at Piha. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Huia. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Karekare. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Piha. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Piha. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Russell Brown at Huia. Photo by Nick Hodge. May 2002

Acrobat 6.0.1 Professional Updater (MacOS X)
Adobe Systems, 10.6Mb

Acrobat 6.0.1 Professional Updater (Win)
Adobe Systems, 15.2Mb

Faster search and retrieval in Adobe Acrobat 6
Cari Jansen
Imagine browsing a 1,000 page book and being in search of the term

No Name tags required

Driving familiar streets of Adelaide on Saturday; the names and the faces on buildings have changed – yet the roads still head in the same directions. Names are tags, that sometimes attempt to label, but are generally used to represent “things”, but they are not who we are nor indicate directions we choose in life.

At my first school reunion, name tags were mandatory even as we recognised faces, physical expressions and postures, voices and groupings. Old school nick names that once sounded edgy were now embarrasing and difficult to explain to non-old scholar partners – and the girls who chose to change their maiden names to unknown surnames have only changed in name; not dramatically in personality.

A reunion of this nature is unique life experience. Not one to be missed. It is surprising that it is rarely explored by art; and where nostalgia is thematic, it seems comical rather than cathartic.

It was difficult to tell: was Kevin Richardson, the current Headmaster of Immanuel College, joking when he said he “had checked around” on the class of 1985? I am sure the uncovered opinions of our group would have been mixed. The pride of this school, and any private school, is it facilities. These are paramount in attracting a steady stream of revenue – and they express the educational will of the teaching community. Kevin, coming from a technology background in teaching; seems to have swung Immanuel down the road of modern teaching techniques – a lesson my son’s techno-phobic school could learn.

In the tour of the school grounds, ably spruiked by Kevin with doors unlocked by the famous non-mirrored sunglassed Mr Dawes; one of the few members of administration staff we recognised with some mixed fondness; we all realised that the scale of the operation has changed. As has the method of delivery of classes from our day. Old school: Whiteboards were the mod-device in 1985. New school: 1024×768 LCD projectors. Chalk dust is as ancient as slate boards and wooden hinged desks. The number of vocational classes, and seemingly focus, out weighs the pure academic classes.

Our class of 1985 was sandwiched between the swot-heavy classes of 1983/4 and the active and engaged class of 1986. Our year was the class that experimented with the application of the Pareto principle as it came to high school education. For 80% of the class, 20% of the effort was applied to schoolwork. The other 80% of the time was spent in other activities which ultimately had a greater positive outcome on who they became.

The attendence rate directly reflected the class Pareto principle. Roughly 80% of the class turned up. For a minority, it was the first time they were drinking alcohol on school grounds in the shadow of the former boarding houses. Those who were not there were remembered in words and stories. Classic events, bustups, inadvertent animal sacrifice and pairings reanimated personalities. Many stories, left unsaid and untouched, remain in the collective experiences.

“So what have you been up to?”, when first asked, is a frightening question. Stupidly and strangely, I had not prepared a PR talk track and 15 second elevator pitch to intelligently answer this question; to achieve any formal goals of comparison. Mumbling some words; attempting not to be a bloke and focus only on the work and provide an element of family colour; yet knowing that this aspect provides the shapes that explains who you have evolved into.

Twenty years is a perfect interval to reconnect with old school acquaintances. There has been more “after school life” that outweighs the ackwardness of of the teenager that lives inside us all. Family, experiences, relationships, travel and raw maturity provides an ability to shroud the embarrassment with intruiging small talk to fill 6-7 hours.

Yes, Immanuel is the school that Lleyton Hewitt attended; the sheer number of tennis courts is probably the core reason he chose the school. Yes, this class sprouted a Miss Australia. restauranteurs, respected tradesmen, vegetable based protein manufacturers, standard grey-haired business-types, two PhDs and a bevy of dedicated mothers of largish broods. Success, if gauged only by an ability for self-support and an ability to not be a burden on others – has been kind to this class.

According to Dawkin’s, “The Selfish Gene”, the meaning of life is to re-spawn more life and perpetuate DNA. Therefore, the topic parenthood was usually an immediate question to assist in generating conversation. Many had braved three children; others speak of staying at home with their children, and working “0.8” weeks. Adelaide, in comparison to Sydney, is the perfect location for detuning from a pure career ladder of a economically fulfilling yet soul draining lifestyle.

Putting it scientifically, the desire to reproduce, partner and perpetuate DNA is a driver close to the surface of all teenagers. Another unspoken activity at reunions is the evalutation of our teenage crushes/hormones/pairings to determine if our mental wiring had chosen an appropriate potential mate. A few had made very appropriate choices of partners early. A surprising few were single.

Many of the class have started to spawn their own future students. There is a surprisingly large number of the group who have chosen to live in the Immanuel side of town, and send their children to the school. There is some business planner at the Immanuel that must model these figures with an eye to future revenue from old scholar parents. As a parent, it’s difficult enough to converse with your child’s teachers, let alone in send your children to a school you attended in your distant youth.

Another measurement of success is living up to the spark of potential first shown at school. I have always wondered if teachers can foretell the potential of the students in their class; and live in wonder of their results. Not enough teachers from our time arrived to ask this question and test the hypothesis.

Mr Volk, or should I say “Noel”, popped over to say hello. His first question is a question that will echo for some time: so are you a journalist or in IT? There was an air of inferiority on “IT”, or at least I wasn’t living up to a previously unforseen potential. Personally, I never viewed doing the school’s magazine as a journalistic job; nor as it as a path to future career success. English wasn’t a subject I felt passionately about to complete in Year 12/Matric, but it was a small moment of pride seeing people reading a 1985 Echo that contains your fingerprints. I sort of fell into the magazine job in an vain-glorious effort towards self-promotion. Everyone else on the team did the hard yards. That is why IT is the perfect home for me; standing on the shoulders of giants.

The age from 12 to 17 is difficult for all. Apart from the obvious physical changes, our worldview emerges yet it seems the fundamental nature of people is there to see. Look at a 16/17 year old, and you will see 80% of their future self. Yes, there are many experiences and more education to come – but the adult they are to become is just there. There are more than just shadows and echoes of their school self in the adults I met.

This class reunion, for me, was more than a mechanism for measuring our personal life choices against our peers – it was a good cathartic mechanism for extinguishing regret. Rather than dwelling on the past, it permits us to refind old friends and let the intervening years of disconnect fall away. These are classic pure friends that are untainted by the mud of a working relationship and the shared age group of our collective children.

If anything was to be learnt from this weekend’s experience, is that I will become a better parent of a teenager – and see the future potential in the sparks of the next few years; the mirror of others and the memories of life blurred by time has been cleared a little – and I am able to lay a collection of personal mnenomic demons to rest.

Friday, 22nd April, 2005

Christchurch Crowne Plaza Hotel. Their system says I have stayed here before. For the life of me, I just cannot remember every being in this hotel. Airtravel and Hotels are an occupational hazard. Someone has to invent a word for the feeling of not knowning where you are upon waking up in a hotel in a strange city.

Nick’s rules for staying in Hotels:

1. Write the room number you are staying in on your hand
2. Steal the spare soap to take home
3. If there is chocolate on the pillow, store it for family gifts when you get home

The first meeting in the morning passes, with a recommendation to visit Victoria Lookout. Obviously, all these places were named in the Queen Victoria era where people fawned over royalty.

My life and Allan’s are in his hands as we wind our way up to above 332 meters above Christchurch and look down on the city-on-the-Cantebury plain.

Allan, the Christchurch’s number 78 taxi driver, is an interesting codger. Secondly, he’s 78 years old. He’d rather be out driving a taxi than sitting at home. He’s been a car mechanic and insurance assessor; and one gets the opinion he’s had some sad turns of events in his life.

After the last meeting of the week, Allan and I head out to the Royal New Zealand Air Force Museum. Allan, in his younger days wanted to be a pilot. These earlier days coincided with World War 2; and his mum didn’t want to sign the papers permitting him to join.

Probably that’s why Allan is with us today. At the museum, it commemorates the 4149 New Zealand air force crew who lost their life in World War 2. Like the museum in Duxford, the names overwealm you – like Canada and to a lesser extent Australia – aircrews were trained overseas and faught for the Home Country and sadly died in their droves.

A Douglas Dakota, in RNZAF livery for the 1953 Queen Elizabeth Tour of New Zealand, is in the middle of the hanger surrounded by a Spitfire, donated RAAF Canberra, Avro Anson and other older and later model aircraft.

We wander down through the “Danger: Military Area” gate (chain-link fence gate, not locked!) to the other hangers to see aircraft restoration: an aluminium P40 and wooden Airspeed Oxford — the latter representing one of 299 of these used by the NZ air force and eventually sold to farmers as chicken sheds in the 1950s for 10 pounds.

In the main museum there is a Spitfire (Mark V?) from late in the war – in fact too late to see action – apart from staring in Reach For the Sky. Originally, this expensive and rare Spitfire was mounted in the open on just near the Christchurch airport entrance until the mid 1980s. The mounted Spitfire is now a cheaper fibreglass replica.

Time to leave Allan, and Christchurch. A special afternoon for us both. I wonder if Allan did take the rest of the day off. I hope he did.

Thursday, 21st April, 2005

I think I hear rain outside the window of my hotel room. Rain in Wellington defies all Newtonian physics by raining sidewides.

As the umbrella decides to have structural failure on the way to the first meeting, I an soaked when I arrive.

This job has its distinct downsides. A major downside is missing birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. This trip is Avril’s Birthday I miss. Thankfully, the present arrives on time, underbudget at home this morning.

The afternoon clears, and I have finished my last meeting early. There is no early flight to Christchurch via Qantas – so I decide to go to Mount Victoria and take some photos.

Sam, the taxi driver, shares stories from the Wellington side from my last attempt at visiting this city. In February, I and some of my fellow Adobe team members flew to within 50m of Wellington, turned around, and landed back in Auckland. In Wellington, the city was full of people not going anywhere. Sam also says that on the full-tide, with no wind, the harbour becomes becalmed – and the sea is enchanting. I’d love to see that.

From Mount Victoria lookout, there is a chinook (helicopter) lifting building supplies to a hillside behind the city; and planes fly underneath where we are standing to land at the ultra-exposed airport. Its such a bright, cloudless day that belies the true windy and changeable weather of this city.

To the airport; sleep on the short flight to Christchurch, leave my book on the plane as I am absolutely knackered after a very full week.