Latest news with #Kodak
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Automotive
- Yahoo
Winning NASCAR team owner Larry McClure passes away
Any long-time NASCAR fans know the name Larry McClure, as he was the co-owner at Morgan-McClure Motorsports alongside Tim Morgan and brother Jerry McClure, which operated a NASCAR team from 1983 through 2012. Larry's family confirmed that he passed away on Wednesday at Johnston Memorial Hospital in Abingdon, Virginia. McClure's race team won 14 Cup races including three Daytona 500s. They earned their first 500 win with Ernie Irvan in 1991, and then two more with Sterling Marlin in 1994 and 1995. They are one of just ten teams to ever won three or more Daytona 500s. They utilized the No. 4 car, which became iconic with its Kodak paint scheme. Advertisement While most of their race wins came at the superspeedway tracks, they also earned wins at Bristol, Watkins Glen, Sonoma, Darlington, and Martinsville. Bobby Hamilton earned their final win in 1998, winning from pole at Martinsville and leading 378 of 500 laps -- their most dominant victory. They also finished as high as third in the championship standings, courtesy of Marlin in 1995. The team's first driver in 1983 was NASCAR Hall of Famer Mark Martin, but it wasn't until Irvan's arrival in 1990 when they finally reached Victory Lane. Larry's nephew Eric McClure competed as a driver for many years, running almost 300 NASCAR Xfinity Series races, and he tragically passed away a few years ago at the age of 42. Read Also: JR Motorsports unveils special Red Bull schemes for SVG and Connor Zilisch Concerned teams argue in court over NASCAR subpoena for financial data Here's how to watch NASCAR on TNT, Max, and truTV this summer To read more articles visit our website.
India.com
3 days ago
- Business
- India.com
Emergency forced exit of Coca-Cola, IBM, Kodak and Mobil, but gave birth to…
(File/Representational) In 1977, after the Emergency and the rise of nationalist economic agenda led to the exit of Coca-Cola, IBM, Kodak and Mobil, were forced to leave from India. Their forced departures were not only business decisions but also linked to ideological battle. Absence of these global giants led to a shift in consumer tastes and gave birth to local competitors. 1973 Regulation After the Foreign Exchange Regulation Act (FERA) of 1973 which mandated that foreign companies dilute their equity to 40% and, in certain sectors, reveal proprietary technologies and trade secrets, it changed parameters for many foreign companies. Coca-Cola, IBM, Kodak, Mobil Exit: It was asked to share its secret formula so they decided to exit. IBM was not able to give control of its technology so they left India. Kodak and Mobil found the regulatory and ownership challenges they did the same thing. By 1978, over 50 multinationals announced to leave the Indian market. Birth Of Thums Up After Coca-Cola's exit there was no specific cold drink in the Indian market. Parle Products found the opportunity over here. Thums Up was their soft drink which started taking this space. It was an Indian flavour profile. Even the Campa Cola came with a tagline 'The Great Indian Taste'. Even the government tried to introduce their own soft drink named as 'Double Seven', The name was derived from the Janata Party's year of electoral victory. When Coca-Cola returned in 1993, the market was changed. What they did first was to acquire Thums Up and Limca for $60 million.
The Hindu
6 days ago
- General
- The Hindu
No photos, only fun
In the early 2000s, before smartphones became appendages and every child had a 'digital footprint' before it could walk, my brother and I spent our weekends climbing trees in our grandmother's village. Our faces were tanned, knees bruised, clothes stained with tamarind pulp and ink. There are no photos of those days. Only stories. Our grandparents had a rusted Kodak camera, carefully locked in a glass cabinet. It was used sparingly — once a year, maybe twice — on birthdays or weddings, when someone important visited. A single photograph meant standing still for what felt like forever, chin tilted unnaturally, everyone instructed not to blink. The idea of capturing candid moments was absurd. We were not meant to be the centre of attention all the time. And yet, we remembered more. It wasn't that our childhoods were extraordinary. On the contrary, they were made up of small, forgettable things: the smell of rain on hot stone, the sound of chalk squeaking on a blackboard, the feeling of falling asleep during a long car ride with your head against a parent's shoulder. But because there were no phones constantly aimed at us, we looked outward. We noticed more. We remembered. Now, I see children pausing mid-play to pose. They turn instinctively when a phone is pointed at them. Some even ask to see themselves immediately, fingers already swiping through images. The moment hasn't even ended, but it's already being curated. Edited. Posted. The game becomes a performance. Childhood, a timeline. There's nothing inherently wrong with photographs. They are, after all, vessels of memory. But something has shifted in the balance between living and documenting. When everything becomes content, when every gesture is potentially shareable, what remains just for the self? What goes undocumented — not because it's unworthy, but because it's sacred? My mother often tells the story of how she once got lost in a mela when she was seven. There are no photographs of that day — just her trembling voice when she recounts it, the smell of sugarcane and marigold she says she still remembers. No one tried to record her fear. They simply found her, hugged her, and brought her home. Some memories need no retelling beyond the heart. I wonder if children today will remember their own lives the same way — through feeling, not files. I wonder if they will know the joy of rediscovering an old school badge in a forgotten drawer, rather than swiping through albums organised by date. There is a kind of slow memory we are losing — one that forms not through pixels but through time, distance, longing. Of course, there is privilege in this reflection. Not every child had a camera in the past, nor do all have one now. But the question remains: when did we stop allowing ourselves to live unobserved? There is power in not being seen. In simply being. I think of my friend Chakuli, whose only childhood photo is a faded picture of her holding a steel tumbler, staring seriously into the camera, her thick braid swinging behind her. She once told me that she remembered that moment not because of the photo, but because it was the only time she wore her cousin's blue frock and felt 'like a queen'. The dress, the warmth, the sunlight in the backyard — that's what stayed. The photo, she said, was just a bonus. I write this not as an elegy to the past, but as a gentle reminder. That perhaps not every joy needs to be captured. That it's okay if some days go undocumented. That some of the richest memories grow in the quiet corners where no camera ever looked. Our lives once happened off-stage. In kitchens, in gullies, in school corridors where we had no audience. We lived not for the lens, but for ourselves — and perhaps, in doing so, we became fuller stories. There is still time. To put the phone away. To look up. To notice. To remember not because a device told you to, but because something in your heart insists on returning. And in that return, there is something more enduring than any post. There is memory.
The Herald Scotland
6 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
When vice was policed by church & fornication was everyone's business
Several people claimed to have witnessed the scene, which seems unlikely unless the masonry was as holey as Swiss cheese. But it certainly reveals the climate of state-sanctioned snooping that prevailed during an era when 'privacy', if mentioned at all, was considered a sinister cover for wickedness. In her fascinating new social history, Dr Tiffany Jenkins peers through the keyhole of the past to examine the Western world's changing attitudes towards public and private life. By the early 18th century, we learn, a clear distinction between the social and personal had evolved with the (male-dominated) business of politics, commerce, and ideas conducted in Parliament, marketplaces and coffee houses. Read more Meanwhile, for the wealthy at least, the domestic realm became more clearly delineated with curtains, partitioned rooms and distinct bedchambers. Grand houses even had separate service corridors to spare the gentry from encountering last night's reeking chamber pots as they were whisked away by servants (whose own sole source of privacy would have been a lockable wooden box). As the centuries progressed, the sanctity of the private sphere became a battleground and Jenkins offers an entertaining account of controversies that have raged over people's right to defend their homes, their mail or their conversations against prying eyes and ears. During the 1840s, the interception of private letters sent to Italian political exile Giuseppe Mazzini provoked outrage, with Scottish thinker Thomas Carlyle likening the practice to 'picking men's pockets'. Half-a-century later, the newly minted snapshot camera was marketed as offering the 'thrill' of taking someone's picture 'without their knowledge' and women who'd unwittingly been photographed in the street by so-called Kodak fiends were aghast to find their faces appearing in adverts for soap or tobacco. When Broadway star Marion Manola was surreptitiously snapped onstage with her legs clad in nothing but tights, she went to court to prevent the images being ogled by 'every fellow who could afford' them prompting accusations that, having happily displayed her pins on a public stage, she hadn't a be-stockinged leg to stand on. The hypocrisy charge remains a popular paparazzi defence against high-profile complainants. Take Prince Harry, who won substantial damages for press intrusion only to be dubbed 'the biggest invader of privacy in royal history' over the explosive revelations in his memoir, Spare. Another tabloid trope is that 'the public interest' trumps privacy and a notorious 1960s scandal offers a case in point. When news broke that the British Secretary of State for War, John Profumo, was having an affair with model Christine Keeler, acres of prurient coverage were justified on the grounds that her involvement with a Soviet naval attache threatened national security. Not everyone agreed and the event helped trigger the tabling of a parliamentary privacy bill calling for 'the right to be left alone'. Monica Lewinsky was accorded no such privilege over her affair with Bill Clinton. Her humiliating interrogation before the Starr committee, with the world's press salivating over every salacious detail, was legitimised as exposing the deceitfulness of a man unfit for presidential office but for the young White House intern, it felt like a violation. Today, as people splurge ever more intimate details of their lives over reality TV and 'lifestream' blogs, the plea to be left alone may seem anachronistic. ('If Prince Harry really wants his privacy, he must shut up!' suggested TalkTV's royal correspondent Rupert Bell.) But Jenkins warns this ignores the complexities involved, arguing that the hard-won distinction between our public and private lives needs to be defended as - for all the righteous talk about transparency - the ability to live at least part of our lives free from observation is precious. The private sphere, she writes, is where we 'take off our public masks' and 'can make mistakes with those we trust' - though this sanctuary is under threat at a time when people's unguarded remarks are triumphantly laid bare. Indeed, Jenkins raises the spectre of a quasi-Stalinist ethos in which 'divulging private conversations is incentivised, rather than stigmatised as reprehensible snitching', especially north of the Border where, she writes, the Hate Crime and Public Order (Scotland) Act makes ours 'the only country in the Western world where the state has the power to police speech in the privacy of the home'. Read more You might argue that racist, sexist or homophobic remarks are an obvious evil deserving of exposure but Jenkins asks us to think carefully about the implications of a regime in which private speech (including WhatsApp messaging) is controlled, pointing out that 'a society in which we must filter everything we say through a kind of internalised show trial … inevitably encourages conformity and uniformity'. There are conflicting concerns, not least over freedom of information and Jenkins doesn't pretend an unregulated private realm is an unmitigated good, noting that in the 1970s, some radical feminists opposed privacy rights on the grounds they served male supremacy. They had a point, too: bringing rape and domestic abuse out of the shadows and into the courts was among the triumphs of the women's movement. But she lists their well-intentioned insistence that 'the personal is political' among the factors that eroded societal respect for people's privacy, leading to a burgeoning surveillance culture that reached new heights during the pandemic lockdowns. Agree or not, this is a debate we urgently need to be having. Hugely ambitious in its scope, Strangers and Intimates offers an accessible history of philosophical, ecclesiastical and judicial thought across more than four centuries. It also ventures into highly sensitive contemporary territory and raises questions that may challenge those who think outlawing free speech is progressive. They should definitely read this book.
Yahoo
18-06-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
New: MONOPAN 50 - The New Black-and-White 35mm Film From Leica
To honor a century of 35mm photography, Leica Camera AG is introducing a high-resolution black-and-white film with enhanced spectral sensitivity. TEANECK, N.J., June 18, 2025 /PRNewswire/ -- The Leica I transformed photography when it made its debut back in 1925, establishing the 35mm format as the new industry standard. The compact format swiftly gained traction with retailers and photographers commonly referring to it simply as "Leica film," even though the 35mm film packs used with the Leica I originated from manufacturers like Kodak, Agfa, or Perutz. To celebrate the Leica I's centenary and pay homage to 35 mm photography, Leica Camera AG is unveiling its first true Leica 35mm film: MONOPAN 50 black-and-white film, offering 36 exposures. Honoring the origins of 35mm photography and its distinctive aesthetic, Leica is introducing its high-resolution MONOPAN 50 film, featuring an extended spectral range. The name MONOPAN 50 is derived from its components: "mono," "pan," and the number "50." "Mono" refers to Leica's renowned Monochrom series, a line of digital black-and-white cameras first introduced in 2012. "Pan" denotes the film's outstanding panchromatic properties, while the number "50" represents its ISO rating. Leica MONOPAN 50 features an ultra-fine grain, delivering an impressive resolution of up to 280 line pairs per millimeter. With super-panchromatic sensitivity of up to 780nm, it ensures remarkable sharpness and an exceptional tonal range. The film encapsulates Oskar Barnack's vision of "small negative – big picture," the very principle that gave rise to the original Leica. With its refined specifications, the black-and-white film is perfectly suited to Leica lenses, showcasing their remarkable optical performance, particularly in high-end large-format prints and detailed scans. Back in Barnack's day, most films had low sensitivity. Leica has embraced this historical context in its choice of ISO 50/18°. With high-performance Leica lenses like the Noctilux-M, Summilux-M and Summicron-M, the film's low sensitivity enables wide-aperture shooting, rendering the distinctive Leica bokeh – even in bright lighting conditions. Thanks to its enhanced spectral sensitivity, the new Leica black-and-white film is also ideal for infrared photography, demonstrating exceptional responsiveness to filtration. As such, MONOPAN 50 pairs seamlessly with Leica color filters. This enhances photographs with striking contrast and dramatic aesthetics, granting photographers greater creative freedom in their compositions. Produced in Germany, MONOPAN 50 is particularly perfect for landscape, architectural, cityscape, and travel photography. The film is compatible with all black-and-white developers. It guarantees complete control over black-and-white photography, ensuring the highest degree of detail. Its vintage-style packaging evokes the pioneering era of 35mm photography, while its outstanding specifications encourage photographers to carry forward this legacy by creating impressive images. Leica MONOPAN 50 will be available worldwide in Leica Stores and through authorized dealers starting August 21st, 2025. The price for the Leica MONOPAN 50 is $10.00. About Leica CameraLeica Camera AG is an international, premium manufacturer of cameras, lenses, and sports optics products with a company history stretching back over 150 years. As part of its growth strategy, the company has expanded its portfolio to include mobile imaging (smartphones) and the manufacture of high-quality lenses for glasses and watches, and is also represented in the home theater segment with its own Leica brand stands for excellence in quality, German craftsmanship, and industrial design, combined with innovative technologies. An integral aspect of the brand culture is the promotion of the culture of photography, with around 30 Leica Galleries worldwide. For further information, please visit:Nike Communications 396822@ (201) 995-0051Internet: View original content to download multimedia: SOURCE Leica Camera USA Error in retrieving data Sign in to access your portfolio Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data
