Cat Food

I grew up never having really any pets of note save for the occasional gold fish. When I began dating my wife years ago, that was when I was really introduced to the whole concept of having an animal living in your home with you. Fast forward 11 years and now we have 2 cats which I couldn't imagine living without.

The chores associated with pets though have been a challenge for me to embrace. I wont clip cat nails or brush them and I certainly wont change a litter box. Ick! I do however feed them and change their water, though it took me years to lend a hand here. Mostly because of the smell. I used to find it just wretched! The poor cats would pace in front of empty bowls looking up at me longingly to keep them from starving to death and I would just walk away leaving them to wait for my wife to notice.

Somewhere along the way as i began to really accept and become quite fond of our cats, I caught myself helping out with the little things, eventually working my way upto feeding. Maybe it was a sign or something, but one day as I went to open the cat food bag (a task that I would otherwise hold my breath for until complete)suddenly smelled like french fries. I love french fries. The cats need not fear that I might eat their food, but at least they dont have to worry about starving anymore.

Guest Lecturer

That sounds funny, "Guest Lecturer". I was invited to my alma mater to give a presentation to the second year design students in their professional development class, and I just did that presentation yesterday. Their professor called and asked me if I'd do this back in September, but naturally I waited until this past Monday to begin working on my powerpoint.

I didn't have a title and I didn't know what I was supposed to speak on really, so I basically figured, ok, I've got an audience of 60+ students to connect with, a third of whom may actually be interested and a quarter of whom I'll really affect. So really I was speaking to like 4 kids, but that's cool.

My main objective was to do marketing for my company. Seems that none of the students ever want to stay local at internship time, so this was my way to at least convince them how great we are and how valuable of a potential work experience we could be for them. First though, was my time to get 2 minutes of fame by a bunch of inexperienced 20 year olds. So like anyone, I talked about myself. All the wonderful stuff I've designed, all the great places I've worked and all the many magazines and 1 museum that have shown my work. Looking back, it probably seemed really dated, like if I showed like a portable cd player or a black and white crt tv. Oooohhhh, high tech....not!

Once that and my company pitch were done, I got into the good stuff which is my pontificating on what do design students really need to know while in school and especially when interviewing and ultimately in the workplace. Basically I tried to teach them in 40 minutes what they will never learn in 5 years at the University. I'm guessing if kids are anything like I would have been at 19 or 20, they probably saw me as some old, blowhard, with amazing fashion sense ('did you see how amazing his ass looked in those well tailored jeans?') that they were required to listed to in oreder to pass their class.

Techincal difficulties aside, I think overall it went really well. I had a few students come up to me afterwards and ask more questions and showed genuine interest in my firm. I really enjoyed doing it too and hope that when they get into that first job they have some a-ha moment (not like "take on me" a-ha) where one of my points hits them in the face and they think, 'huh, that guy wasn't totally full of shit'. Anyway, I tried to do my part for the students, the profession and for me (by ogling pretty college girls) and at the end of the day, all I can hope for is that I was at least better than listening to their professor or getting stoned to death in the quad.

Halloween

During my early childhood we were poor. Not like living in boxes and boiling shoes for dinner poor, but grad school, immigrant, resourceful poor. Having an older brother, hand-me down clothes were the norm for me too. Hell, I still have some of my brother's and my dad's shirts.

Being both frugal and creative, Halloween was usually one of my parent's times to shine. Costumes were a chance to showcase their artistry. That and birthday cakes, but that's another post. In Greece we didn't have Halloween, so that was sort of new, at least the tricks or treats part. Costumes however we were familiar with and back in the 70s it was still common place to - gasp!- make your own! This was before the ready made, pre-muscled, blood filled or severed silicone wonders you can get these days. Back then we had to actually think of something, plan and construct our own get-ups or else we'd end up wearing our gym clothes, pajamas or the dreaded sheet.

In our household, the heirloom costume was the executioner's outfit my mom made one year. We did the Greek tsolia once, but the ridicule my poor guinea pig brother dealt with that year was enough to denounce candy for good. So, my mom made him an executioner the next year. Let me paint a picture of what this looked like. Starting from the bottom, we had black pilgrim style shoes, naturally worn over a pair of my mom's black panty hose, which were strangely comfortable. Then, we had a pair of billowy, elastic waisted, purplish corduroy shorts. Then a black turtleneck with black gloves. Topping it off, our headgear was a black conical hood with eye holes, reminiscent only of the kind of hoods you might see in dixie (it was the 70s, so it wasn't weird at all). Finally we'd finish it off with a scythe we'd shape out of a cardboard box and color with crayons. At the time this seemed as authentic as an executioner's outfit could be. Looking back, I cant really picture a real executioner wearing the purple shorts. Anyway, it was truly a sight to behold.

My brother wore that costume for about 4 years, while I patiently waited for that wonderful torch to be passed on to me. I remember clear as day the Halloween that I finally got to wear the executioner suit. It was 1979. I was 7 and stoked! All day I waited eagerly to get home, get changed and get out to scare the bejeezus out of the neighborhood kids. That evening, after struggling to get into the panty hose, my mom making last minute mends to the hood and gloves and my dad fashioning my corrugated beheading instrument, I was finally ready to depart and collect my sugar-filled booty. I opened the door and to my horror, it was raining! My dad ended up driving me up and down the street, while my mom and I, with umbrella in hand, would go door to door, trying to find a house that was still open for business. There's no such thing as a rain day for Halloween folks! So much for my big chance.

The next year I got to wear the costume again finally in nice fall weather, like I had hoped. As the years went on though, the purple turned pink and looked a little less executioner and a little more Fredrick's of Hollywood. The gloves and hood frayed and finally I just outgrew it. We never threw it out though. It's still in an old suitcase in my mom's basement along with baby clothes, baptismal blankets and select articles from deceased grandparents. Secretly I'm waiting to have my own child so that I can resurrect it for one last go. Now if only it were adult sized!

I Need More Time

Why is it that the older we get, time seems to go faster? Well, I see time sort of like water. In a wide, deep river water moves lazily towrads wherever it's going. Now you throw some rocks in and maybe cut the depth and see how that water starts turning into rapids. Well my friends, that's the story of my life. I only have 24 hours a day to work, live and sleep. The more activities I throw in, the quicker time moves past me, to the point of not being able to do any of them. Before I know it, I have capsized in my class 5 life.

I work a lot. I am not a work-a-holic, but I really invest myself in my work, and I've sort of created a life of seemingly seamless work-life integration. This leaves little room for much else. On an average day I will wake up at 6:30am, shower, dress and go to work. I will stay at work until 5:30 or 6pm then go home. Once I get home my wife and I will stare blankly at the fridge trying to figure out what to eat for dinner. After we eat I have basically 2-3 hours to budget the balance of my personal time before bed. So, everynight I have to make really difficult choices. I want to paint, study French, read, watch some television, write on my blog, hang out with my wife, see a friend....and the list goes on and on.

I have come to a sad realization that anymore I have to pick and choose which 1 - 2 things I want to spend time bettering myself with everynight. I have also come to realize that working is the culprit in chewing up my valuable time. I mean, I could just sleep less and not eat, but sadly those are necessities. Therefore it seems that it is work that's where I am spending too much time. If I could do like at restaurants and say work half the time for 2/3 the pay, that would be perfect. Seems that half my day I'm just sort of waiting around for things to happen anyway. My good friend Matteo had the right idea. He quit his job, packed all his stuff into storage and moved to Paris. He's got all the free time in the world. We agree that we dont understand how so many people dont seem to know what to do with themselves without the structure of a job in their daily lives. Myself, I have never been bored in my life.

Jobs

You know, I've never been sold on the idea of working. Dont get me wrong, I'm a gainfully employed professional and I have had a lot of success in my career thus far, but could I give it up in a minute? Try me.

When I was young my parents weren't concerned with me working as they wanted me to focus on my studies. As the years and summers came and went my friends had been getting summer jobs and I did not. I didn't have many needs financially and not because we were rich - quite to the contrary - I just lived with less and efficiently managed my allowance. Well, one summer - I must have been about 16 or so - I was in my favorite store browising and got to talking to the owner. I shopped there frequently so she knew I had an affinity for her products. Anyway, one day as we got to talking, she ended up offering me a job, which I happily took.

Excitedly I went home and told my parents that I was finally going to be working. "Doing what?" they asked. "Well..", I started, "I will be working as a salesperson at my favorite store, the vintage clothes shop up the street. "Perfect!" they exulted. Finally, he'll be making some money and doing something he likes. "Well...", I started again "not exactly...". "What do you mean, not exactly?!?" they inquired. "Well...you see, I wont actually be getting paid. I mean I will, just not in actual money." They stared at me puzzled. I continued "no, it's really cool actually, I'll be getting paid in store credit! That way I can get all the cool free clothes I want!"

My parents weren't overjoyed, but I did work there that summer and ended up with quite an arsenal of shark-skin suits, fedoras and mohair cardigans (BTW, that was during my mod phase). Some days that still sounds like a pretty sweet gig.

Limnos

I've been going to Limnos since I was 11 months old. I learned to walk there. I learned to fish there. I had my first crush there. I've been to baptisms, weddings and funerals there. It is more home to me than any place on earth.

For those that dont know where it is, Limnos is a medium sized island in the northern Aegean sea, about 3 islands down from the mainland of Greece and deangerously close to the western shores of Turkey. When most folks think of Greek islands they think of Myknonos and Santorini. They dont know that's what they're thinking of, but the white and blue buildings of the cycladic and dodecanese islands are prettier on postcards than what is more common I guess.

Limnos does have a pretty storied history though. It was a key launching point for naval battles ranging from some small war against a little town called Troy to berthing large warships during WWI. There is also a large Genoan castle in the main town of Myrina which dates back to the 14th century. Granted you wont find the magestic ruins of Athens, Rhodes or Crete here, which makes me guess that Limnos must have been a rarely visited gem back during the Golden Age too.

By first impression Limnos would look non-descript, barren and boring by tourism standards. Limnos is not touristy, although it is becoming more and more visited or should I say, discovered. Limnos doesn't have villages of neatly stacked, pristine white buildings, massive cliffs, black sand beaches, miles of olive groves or world renown nightclubs or boutiques. Limnos is genuine. It is arid. It is rocky. It lacks much vegetation. You'll not find a drunken northern European roaming the streets at 3am. You wont be kept awake by the incessant 'bmp-pss, bmp-pss, bmp-pss' of discoteques.

Limnos does have gorgeous beaches like Keros Beach and Evgati. It has amazing restaurants like Mantella. It has great nightlife with clubs like Karagiozis. It has breathtaking sunsets over Mt. Athos (100 miles away) and sunrises over Turkey. Myrina, the capital and home to about 8000 people has more life than many cities of millions that I've been to. I've been going there for more years than I can remember and somehow on every trip I seem to see or experience something new. It's quaint, it's quiet, it's unspoiled and it's mine.

With that, I decided to sum up in images what Limnos is to me and what it has meant to me over 35 years. My Limnos.

Lost in Translation

My posts about our recent vacation will not necessarily go up in a linear fashion as far as date goes. Some things I'm just going to post as they come to me. Like this little goodie!

In most touristy places like Greece and Italy, restaurant menus are usually written in English, French, German as well as the native language. As a native Greek speaker I'm always interested to see how certain things get translated. I like to do this with subtitled tv shows too.

Anyway, my wife and my mother and I were dining at a quaint little seaside taverna in Mitilini (see picture above)- which is the main town on the isle of Lesvos, Greece. Yes, that Lesvos. Along the harbor there are several restaurants which serve fresh seafood, grilled stuff made to order (tis oras) as well as usually a rotating selection of more complex baked items (magirefta). That's the standard model for Greek restaurants. This menu was packed with items over like 8 pages, all with fairly small print and set up almost like an excel spreadsheet. Needless to say, I had to review the menu very closely. Now normally I would be looking only at the Greek menu but since my wife doesn't speak Greek, I tend to look at the English menu with her more often than not.

Well, as we were perusing the long list of delicacies my eye came across an unusual listing. I sat there looking at it, taking it all in and then asked my wife and mom if theirs said the same thing. Much to our shock, it was. Clearly written in all caps. It read "FAGGOTS IN RED SAUSE". (Here's a picture if you dont believe me!)



Never mind the shock of what it said, what could this possibly be a translation of?!? I'm feverishly flipping back and forth from the Greek to the English to make sure I had the right item, all the while my wife in tears laughing and my mother positively horrified and planning how to point out the inequity to the proprietor. I looked and looked and then there it was. A dish with Ottoman roots called Souzoukakia. Souzoukakia are sort of elongated meatballs cooked in the oven in a kind of cumin flavored red tomato sauce with potatoes. The "...IN RED SAUSE" part they got right spelling aside, but not quite sure how they came up with the other part.

By studying the menu it's quite obvious that there are several other errors and misspellings, but none quite so perplexing. When the server woman finally came back to take our order, my mom pointed it out whispering (in Greek) [excuse me, uh, there seems to be some sort of an error here. Somehow whoever translated your menus for you wrote "faggots in red sauce" for souzoukakia. Not only does that not make sense, but they said "faggots" not "homosexuals in red sauce", which is really rude. I think someone's played a prank on you!]

If anyone has any clue how this may have occurred, please let me and your local GBLT group know.

Powerful

I love cities. Big or small, London or Edinburgh, New York or Amsterdam, I love the people, the energy and the life. What I dont like ironically enough are crowds. Like at all! I was in Venice a couple of weeks ago and about went mad being surrounded and shoved by so many tourists. It was awful!

So, what do i do to combat that you ask? Ah, behold yet another hidden treasure of the ipod. Invisibility!

My favorite way to walk around any city, whether sight-seeing, shopping or just wandering aimlessly is to have my head phones in place and my music flowing through my ears. It makes me feel completely powerful. I slip out of the rat-race and into my own world fit with my own personal sountrack to accompany the mayhem going on around me. It's totally exhilarating. I'll walk and walk and the hours and kilometers just pass by as I weave effortlessly through a sea of people, cars and buildings. Focused, centered and free.

Day 1 - NYC

On the way to Greece we had a full day layover in New York City. Rather than sit around fabulous Newark airport all day, we ventured into the city to have lunch with some friends and give my wife the chance to get the all-important pedicure.

We took the train in during morning rush hour, arrived at Penn Station and walked down to Chelsea, which is one of our favorite areas and also the home of Bloomies nails, E's favorite mani-pedi shop. We ducked into The Garden of Eden, which is one of my favorite grocery shops ever! Grocery doesn't do it justice, it's really just a tiny Euro-style market. Anyway, we popped in to get something to eat on the run, and awaited Bloomies 10am opening.

This may sound shitty, but my favorite way to spend my time in New York is by myself, walking around all day listening to my ipod. Few things in my life beat that. There's a sort of magic to the feeling of being in this hugely dense metropolis, surrounded by millions of people, yet feeling like in a world of my own with my own personal soundtrack setting the mood. It's the best. Anyway, I knew the day would go fast, so I didn't get the chance to hit may favorite shops (Barney's, Bloomindale's and Prada) but I did get to get away for a bit and walk down to one of my favorite parks, Madison Square Park. It's beautifully situated at the intersection of 5 streets and anchored by the stately and timeless Flatiron Building. Here are some of my NYC pics.











The rest of the day entailed a bit more walking, a nice lunch with my wife and 2 close friends, then a mad rush back to the airport to make our 5:30pm flight to Athens.

Back from Greece

Well, we have been back from Greece since Wednesday and I am still in that hungover state where I'm constantly pondering what is it that I'm doing with my life. I've been back at work for a week already - which has felt awkward, like the first day of school and how it feels sort of uncomfortable seeing everyone.

I have also had to get our house back in order after 3 weeks of our 2 cats ruling the joint. It was a mess! Hair everywhere! Our poor house sitter made it a measley 2 days before she was defeated by her Kryptonite, which showed up in the form of cat dander.

Mostly though I've been just generally moping around wondering why I'm here. I know what you're thinking, nobody likes to come back from vacation and if the experience was great, you always think 'wow, why dont I live here, then I could be on vacation everyday!'. Well, I'm not delusional enough to think that. To me it's more of a lifestyle thing. The Greeks have a healthier work-life balance. I know what you're thinking now too 'work-life? The Greeks don't work?!?'. Well, I'm here to tell you that they do...just less than the rest of us.

While I was away, I had big plans to get back on the blog wagon and post daily with great stories accompanied by beautiful or funny pictures. Well, Greece may be great for lots of things, but internet access isn't one of them. I have much to tell, but now it must all be recounted from memory although this also allows for some creative embellsihments for anything that may have been mundane.

Anyway, I'm back, I'm unhappy and I'm ready to tell the world all about it!

Sea Bounty

Everytime I've been back to Greece over the last say 10 years, I have had a thought - really more of a regret - about a certain device that would make my Greece experience that much more "rewarding". The device that I am referring to is a metal detector.

I've spent a fair amount of time at American beaches over the years in Florida, South Carolina and Virginia. One thing that is a common sight in the morning hours at these beaches is a middle-aged to elderly male with a metal detector wearing a set of large headphones and slowly pacing up and down the coastline scanning the ground for the telltale beeps and whirrs of sea bounty. Really it's more like careless tourist bounty, with these guys seemingly always coming away with anything from pocket change to jewelry, safety pins to watches, you name it. This is finders-keepers-losers-weepers in action.

Back to Greece. In all of my 30+ years of going back to the homeland and in all the miles and miles of beaches that I've dug my feet into, I have never once seen anyone with a metal detector! The apparent lack of loot detecting equipment has naturally lead me to daydreaming my way to all the riches I could potentially fall upon if I were resourceful enough to someday bring one over with me. I envision piles and piles of gold crosses, gold kombolois (worry beads), gold watches, millions in Euros (and likely in worthless Drachmas). It's enough to make a man go mad!

Well, that time is here. For my birthday this past May, my lovely wife bought me a sweet-ass metal detector! After all the years of me painting magnificent visions of the fortune we could amass with the help of a booty buddy, she made my dreams come true! I have yet to use it as I have been waiting to let it fulfill its destiny and my dreams all at once. So, this past Monday, I packaged it all up, took it to the local post office and sent it on its merry way to my cousin's house in Greece to await my arrival in a few weeks.

The only thing worrying me now is putting all my hopes of financial indepence in the hands of the Greek postal service. I need my komboloi!

Nose Hair Trimmers

I've mentioned before that I am by education a designer of products. In my field, one of the things that we do quite frequently is what's called a "product landscape audit". This is sort of fancy industry jargon for going to stores and looking at stuff. I really enjoy product landscape audits.

I could actually write alot about this sort of activity, if only because it is one instance where I have found a common sweet spot that satisfies both my soul and my bank account. I will save that for another time and really just talk about one thing I find funny, nose hair trimmers.

First off I'm completely blown away at the number of makers and variations of these magical little grooming devices. Pretty impressive. Wow, this one does nose hair AND ear hair, awesome! They're truly technological wonders that our foerfathers would likely have fought wars over.

Why is it though that typically, when you look at the picture of the guy on the package, you dont see that glee conveyed? Is he not super stoked to finally not have a second mustache creeping out of his nostrils? Are these little mechanical friends not also the saviours of the tear inducing hair pluck? Take a look at these pictures and see for yourselves.



or




These guys seem more frightened than empowered. Maybe it's just extreme concentration. Who knows?

Here are a couple of my favorite versions though. The 1st one appears to have a glowing end that will light its way into your sinuses. The second one, well....look for yourself. Well summed up.

Connections

Our trip plans are now complete! This might not sound like much of an achievement, but what many may not realize is that when I say "yeah, we're going to Greece" getting there is only the beginning.

Greece may be on the Euro and Athens new airport may have been voted tops in all of Europe, but my homeland is not too many years removed from antiquity (more like antiquainted). That is most apparent on Greece's national airline, the majestic Olympic Airways. The clerks still smoke at their desks. The flight attendants still wear the same uniforms that they were issued in 1963. And most annoyingly, if you wish to fly to any island or city in Greece, you MUST fly through Athens! That means that although far more time efficient than taking the boat, you'd never be able to go from say Limnos to Chios (which are fairly close to eachother) without going via Athens. Crazy! What this also means is that you have to buy all these tickets pretty much a la carte which really adds up.

So, with family scattered all around Greece, getting to Athens is only the beginning. One of the funny things about that is that it can actually be cheaper in some cases to fly to another country altogether! And that's exactly what we're doing! Rather than go to Corfu to visit yet another cousin, my lovely bride and I are taking a 3 day side trip to Venice. We sort of figured that since Venice is slowly sinking into the Mediterranean, we only have a finite amount of time to actually see it. I hope the Italians there are friendlier than the lady who works at the pizza place at the Rome Airport that we always seem to run into. She's not so nice.

While I'm excited to see Venice, the canals, the architecture and the gondolas, I have to say, what I'm really excited about is getting to go to a Prada store and a Diesel store IN Italy! They MUST be better!

Summer

This has been a very busy summer, marked most notably by the recent departure of our dear friends who planned, saved, packed and moved to Paris. Seems like pretty much until they left this past wednesday, I've spent the summer thus far just working or spending time with them, not accepting that I'd soon have to find other things to do with my weekends. With my mind so occupied with work and their goings-on it sort of dawned on me that I have not only not blogged in over a month, but I have also not really paid much mind to my own upcoming holiday - back to Greece.

I got my first passport when I was 11 months old and was immediately whisked away to Greece to visit my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. For most of my childhood my parents, brother and I would return to Greece and spend the entire summer. I'd come home several shades darker and barely able to speak English. As I got busier with my schooling, the trips became fewer and further between with a couple of 5 year gaps when money was tight. Since I finished university I have been very diligent on returning to Greece every other summer for 2-3 weeks. It's an expensive trip and with only 3 weeks of paid holiday time per year, it's difficult to do much more than that. Last year was supposed to be a "Greece Year", having been last in '04 during the Olympics, however with a complete renovation of our kitchen which turned into an 8 month ordeal and major construction project, well broke we stayed put.

This year we were dead set on going and purchased tickets several months back for September. With as crazy as the summer has been and as far out as Semptember seems to feel in the Spring, I've just not had the time to think about our trip. Until now. My wife and I will be flying out on the 31st of August and will stay until the 18th of September, which although shorter than the 3 months I'd spend as a boy, will undoubtedly wash away the stresses of the last 3 months of my adulthood.

When we fly into Greece what I like best is that first burst of pure heat that hits your face when you exit the airport, not unlike opening your preheated oven. Then we board a tiny little plane and fly to Limnos where we arrive a mere 30 minutes later. As a child we did this trip via boat as it was much more economical but at this point in my life I'd rather pay 3 times as much and save myself the 8 miserable hours on the ferry.

Our days on Limnos usually consist of the same things that we've done for the last 30+ years. Wake up, drink a frappe, walk down Myrina's high street down to the harbor. Hit some shops, watch some kids fishing, watch a ferry boat come in or leave, then walk back. A wonderful and healthy mid-day meal is usually followed up by another quiet stroll which is different that the morning walk due to the fact that 90% of the residents are enjoying a nice siesta by that point. All the walking then just makes us want to go for a swim at one of the beautiful local beaches, or maybe we'll take drive to another part of the island to a more obscure beach. Perfect.

That's a snapshot of what's to come. I like that as the years pass, people move or die, stores and restaurants come and go, but Limnos never loses it's charm or compromises it's soul. That's what I love about it so much. As we fly over Paris in a few weeks I'll longingly peer down from above with a touch of sadness in missing our friends but knowing that it will all be washed away by the cool meditteranean in but a matter of hours! That and our December trip to Paris will be here in no time.

1000th visitor...Revealed!

Well, my 1000th visitor has clicked their way into Simon Chase history! And the winner in the select a blog post topic is........Misplaced in the Midwest! Ironically, Misplaced had already recently tagged me to post 10 things about myself, which as you can see, I've only written through #4 so far. If Misplaced would like, he can still select a topic for me, otherwise I'll just wrap up the last 6 things. Here's to 2000!

SC

10 Things About Me

I was officially "tagged" last week by my friend Misplaced. Aside from gaining loads of notoriety and a fat pay-day, being tagged also gives me the opportunity to share a bit about myself, rather than my usual whining, raving or judging of something, someplace or someone. Time to turn the Hubble around and focus it back on myself and the 10 interesting (and not so interesting) things about me.

Sadly, even in such a simple writing assignment as this, I have been racking my brain about how to arrange or arrive at these 10 things. After spending much time considering things about my past, my present and my future, many of my fondest memories and experiences seem to have often been set in New York City. With that then, I give you my 10 New York stories.


1. My first visit to NY I was about 3 years old. We were living in Ithaca, NY at the time where my dad was working on his PhD, and we had come down for a visit to the big city. As young as I was, I have no actual recollection of that particular trip, but what I do have are a handful of photographs from then which fortunately captured what my tiny little mind couldn't. One such picture was of my brother (who was about 9 then) down at Battery Park with the Statue of Liberty situated just behind him. Sure there is an iconic symbolism to the immigrant boy standing next to Lady Liberty but this provided a more interesting juxtaposition being a family of immigrant academics in the 1970s as opposed to a family of laborers in the 1870s. The thing that gets me about this picture though is that cradled in my brother's arms is a stuffed Hamburgler doll from McDonald's. There's all sorts of irony there, I mean he's standing in front of the global symbol of freedom holding a figure from the most globally recognized brand on the planet and it's sadly not even Ronald McDonald he's holding! It's the Hamburgler! The outcast! Actually, this picture ultimately makes me feel guilty to this day. My brother loved his Hamburgler doll and like all things that older siblings outgrow, Hamburgler eventually became mine. I too loved the Hamburgler doll....until I somehow lost him. My brother was far beyond doll age by that point, but I could tell he was sad when I told him. That made me even sadder.

Ok, I have to get to the point on these quicker or else I'll have to do my 10 things over 10 days!

2. I went on a school trip to NY with the art club when I was 14. That was my first time I had been back since I was 3 and yet even with no real recollection I felt such a connections that to this day I feel almost more at home in NY that I do in any other city in the world. Anyway, I spent the entirety of my teen years as a leather jacket and combat boot clad angst ridden punk rock art kid. My walkman constantly blaring Black Flag, The Exploited, The Misfits, GBH or the Sex Pistols. This trip felt like I had been brought to my punk mecca. More shops catering to my kind than I could ever dream! I was on this trip with like 15 other kids and 1 lazy chaperone who could give a shit what we did for the 4 days we were there. At 14 that is some sweet liberty indeed. The most memorable of the things that we did that trip involved a failed hair dying incident. My friends and I had purchased a fire engine red hair dye by Manic Panic and we were all prepared to set our locks ablaze. This worked for most of us, except I have black hair and it was very short at that point (as I was leaning a bit more mod then). Anyway, imagine a small hotel room with 6 kids all trying to use a very messy and vibrant red dye that wasn't quite working as planned. Needless to say we soiled many a hotel towel. What's one to do with such towels? They'll never get clean! Well, the answer was right in front of us providing a splendid view down Lexington Avenue. "Quick, throw them out the window! All of them!" We did, then waited until the cleaning ladies came around and we stole a batch of fresh ones from the cart when she wasn't looking, replenished the recently jettisoned sets and all was well. My dye job didn't go quite as smoothly, leaving me with red splotches on my scalp that looked like eczema for like 3 weeks or so. Lesson learned! Funnier even was when we left the hotel later that night and we ended up seeing all the towels strewn across the street, they almost looked like the aftermath of a horrific accident scene with the red dye bleeding into the wet, snowy pavement.

3. During that same trip a couple of my friends, Greg and Rich and I, decided to take a stroll down to Times Square to see if we couldn't catch a nudie film! Back in the mid-eighties you could still do that there. So we wandered down and around the area in what one could consider the "Off Broadway" of adult film and ended up at a theater called The Regent which was playing a film called The Casting Couch, starring the one and only Ron Jeremy. We walked up to the ticket booth where within the glass pod sat a disheveled looking older guy and in a very Simpson's-like moment, he asked if we were 18. To which we replied in unison a resounding YES. "That'll be 5 bucks" he said. We paid and made our way in. Walking into the lobby and then into the theater was not at all what I expected. I had imagined that this was going to be no different than if we had decided to see like Return of the Jedi or something. You know, there'd be pimply faced teens selling popcorn and M&Ms. I wouldn't expect families per se, but maybe several couples and groups of friends. Well, what we really saw was what looked more like the set of Escape From New York, which is another 80s classic. The place was a wreck, stuff turned over, garbage everywhere and that was just in the lobby. Oh yeah, and no popcorn. So we made our way into the theater and tried to find seats in the crowd. As our eyes adjusted, we realized that the seats weren't actually full of people, it was more occupied by row with hobo after hobo and several bags of their stuff. Puzzled, we walked down the central aisle to find a clear row, stepped around the projector (there was not a proper film projector, but rather a vcr connected to a projector and set on a stool in the aisle strategically aimed at the screen) and found some seats. As we went to sit we realized that none of the seats had cushions on them anymore so we had to just sit on the metal part that was remaining. Anyway, having settled into our metal seats, we began watching Ron Jeremy interview young starlets and giving them their "big shot" to be in his upcumming feature film. Likely story. We noticed that in the row in front of us there was a guy near the wall who kept lighting up every couple of minutes or so. After a bit, he leans back towards me being the closest and asks "hey dude, you wanna buy some crack?" I sort of freaked out so I leaned over to my friends and asked them "uh...guys, do you want to buy some crack?" They looked at me sort of stunned too so I just turned back to our hobo friend and kindly declined, "no thanks mister, we're good". I couldn't recall the protocol from my Emily Post etiquette book on what to do in a situation like that, so I just had to go with my gut.

At this point I will post these 3 and continue with 4, 5 & 6 in the next day or 2.

1000th visitor

As of tonight, I am 19 visitors away from 1000! With that milestone on my horizon, I'd like to dangle a carrot to the eventual lucky visitor with the chance at a fabulous doorprize. Drumroll please............The 1000th visitor will get to decide what my next blog topic should be!

Actually, I was tagged a few days ago and I'm still a bit behind on posting the 10 things about me post, so let's say it'll be the next one after that (assuming it doesn't take 2 weeks to get to 1000).

Secret

Naturally with a topic like this one I was tempted to reveal something really juicy about myself, but as I began writing all I could think about was deodorant!

Procter & Gamble has a line of women's deodorant called Secret which was first introduced in the mid-fifties, but didn't manifest itself in the form we know it today as until the the late 70s. For years Secret was considered a top-tier product as deodorants/antiperspirants go and always had the catchy tag-line of "strong enough for a man, but made for a woman". That added a touch of exclusivity to let women know that P&G formulated that product with them as the focus, basically saying 'we understand your body chemistry and have something just for you'.

That was back when men were gruff, burly oafs and women were dainty flowers who may sweat from time to time, but hey, we'll never tell! Well, in today's world where men have returned to dandiness and anything vaguely sexist is politically incorrect, P&G ditched the inimitable old marketing message and introduced the "what's your secret?" campaign. This campaign resulted in a series of commercials with mothers and daughters and girlfriends confessing things to one another on national television and in mass distributed print ads. In my opinion (and apparently on Wall Street) this was ridiculous! Why would anyone use their deodorant brand as their safety umbrella for spilling their guts about something?!? "Hey Jan, listen...ummm, well last weekend when you were in Brighton, your boyfriend Mark and I...well..uuuhh. You're not mad though right, I mean, we both use Secret, so it's cool?"

I'm glad that campaign was short lived and with that debacle P&G has tried to get nostalgic to the old 80s message but has updated it (politically corrected it) to "strong like a woman". I hope that works for them. In the meantime though, maybe with the continued emasculation of men in media, perhaps it's time for say Jaguar to pick up the secret torch? I can see it now, a father and son jump into the XKR and head out for a drive to the country manor. Son leans over and says, "hey dad, I have something I need to tell you.....long awkward pause....I'm gay".

Coming home

I'll briefly acknowledge the fact that I have been really slacking in blog posts for the last 2 weeks. Sorry to all my many fans. I'll be good.

My wife has been out of town for a few days and tonight I went to the airport to pick her up. I really love airports, so when I go, I usually try to get there early and just soak in the experience. I could actually write post after post about airports, and maybe that can be sort of a fall back for when I'm feeling tapped out of topics.

Anyway, one of my favorite things to do at airports, ours in particular, is to watch people exit the secured area and come up that long escalator to the baggage claim area. That's where you'll see the fat old men holding up signs with things like "Mr. Davison" or "RPI Printing". You'll see kids straining to see gramma and grampa or mum and dad. You'll see Joe husband returning from his business trip, sometimes with family there to greet him, sometimes not. These days you might have a family awaiting the return of one of their sons in uniform returning from military service in Iraq. Kids coming back from chaperoned school trips. And the common business guy flying from one strange town to another,never sure where he is or why he is.

What I like in all of those scenarios is the common element amongst really all of these folks. Everyone always looks happy. Except for the poor business bastard. Whether they're coming home from holiday, business or war, they always seem happy to arrive where they are. I'm guessing it's not so much for the place, but for the people waiting for them at the top of the escalator.

Buffets

Americans are obsessed with buffets. Immigrants living in America have too become infatuated with the "all you can eat" concept of the buffet. A ton of food at a reasonable price. What else can one ask for?

Buffets can be categorized by food type or meal spicificity like how you might find breakfast buffets, seafood buffets or pizza and pasta buffets. Then there are the ethnicity based buffets, like Indian, Thai, Italian or the kings of them all, the Chinese buffet. Buffets can also be just general full menu spreads, serving anything from soups and salads, to pot roast or fried chicken and naturally several types of desserts. There are of course wedding and Casino buffets too, but there's just only so much one can write about buffets.

Most buffet restaurants seem to cater to a slightly lower income crowd who might also not be as knowledgable on proper dietary guidelines as taught in primary school. They can be a fun place to go people watch although sort of mean-spirited.

One such chain of general purpose buffets is called The Golden Corral. It's a place I visit with some of my colleagues from work maybe 4 times a year. The three most common consumer archetypes at an establishment of this type would be:

1. The obese elderly or mentally challenged day care/nursing home tour group
2. The 30-50 something male laborer/painter/construction guy
3. The starry-eyed Latin American or Eastern European immigrant

Not as common would be the group I take, which consists of 3-6 well dressed and fairly fit designers, using napkins and forks AND knives. I had never been to such a place before 3 years ago, which was something that I was proud of. I was always sort of grossed out by buffets and particularly the fact that they all had that glass "sneeze guard" over all the food, which means that people must really sneeze and that guard couldn't possibly deflect all of the sneeze particles. Well, one regretful visit led to a return and then several more followed.

Since then it has become a sort of tradition that we take all the newbies to the "GC" as we call it, to sort of break them in and test their will and eating prowess. Today was one of those such days. Our newest designer is a fit young lad who suitably had never been to the GC. We built up the experience for him before hand, and as we arrived, paid, grabbed our stack of clean plates and sat at our table, he knew we had only told him the good parts. Ed our server came by just to ask us if we wanted a basket of rolls and to let us know that if we needed anything to ask him, "my name's Ed, just ask for anything".

My mates and I grabbed our "round 1" plates and headed for the buffet. Newbie was bringing up the rear and crossed paths with Ed again. He says to Ed, "yeah, I need to follow the veterans to see how this is done". To which Ed responds "If it ain't nailed down, you can eat it".

Well put Ed, well put indeed.

Town & Country

I live in an area of the city that would be considered an urban neighborhood. It's well within the peripheral expressway and only but 3 miles or so from the city center. At the turn of the last century (18s - 19s), this area was actually where the wealthy city folk would buy land and build their country manors in order to get back to the country and revive their souls from the madness of the city. In the century following, as the city grew and absorbed this area and growing well past, my neighborhood became more densely built, gained more infrastructure and many more residents. This probably conjures up images of row houses or brownstones, graffiti, stoop occupying drunks and traffic noise.

Actually, my neighborhood is one of 100+ year old houses with yards with huge trees, most lovingly restored or modernized. There are families and children, retirees, singles, you name it. Just a 5 minute walk up my street is our central business district which has a small movie theater, a number of restaurants, a grocery store, 2 coffee shops, banks, a barber shop, a small library and most importantly, my favorite ice cream shop. An evening stroll will undoubtedly have me cross paths with several acquaintances, neighbors and friends.

I go to my coffee shop and they know how I like my latte. I go to my barber and he knows that I like my hair cut short, like Steve McQueen's in Bullitt. My ice cream "barrista" Molly always serves me up a massive portion of mocha chip and carefully balances the precarious lot of lactic goodness onto a small cone below. What I consider this is a true community.

What I find sadly ironic is that most of my coworkers live out in the suburbs, well beyond the periphery, in a land of matching cookie-cutter houses built in mowed down forests and fields and surrounded by massive thoroughfares and shopping plazas. On the rare occasion that my wife and I are forced to venture out of "the shire" due to invitation or the need to visit some store that only exists out there, we'll have panic attacks at the sheer madness of congestion and creepily homogeneous appearance to everything. When I care enough to ask suburban residents why they choose to live all the way out there they'll typically say that they live there because they like their "communities" (usually walled in enclaves named things like Arbor Centre or Crowne Pointe) and they want to be far away from the city, it's noise, traffic and crime.

I'm not sure I know what they're talking about.

Mmmmm...GYROS!

We Greeks are generally a fairly proud people. Granted we've basically been resting on our laurels for the last couple thousand years, but even still, we must be given credit for a few more modern gifts to the world. I'm not talking about Korres beauty care products or even the lovely Maria Menounos. No, what I speak of is the magical Gyro. Yes, the staple food of Greeks all over the world. The tasty delight that can bring warring nations together. The gravity defying meat cone that serves as a beacon to the hungry. The Gyro. A symbol of freedom, carnivorous creativity....and delicious goodness.

Well, to honor our national treasure, Chicago - widely considered the unofficial gyro capitol of the world - has bestowed on our tantilizing treat the honor of a visual homage for all of the world to enjoy. A team of artists captured snapshots of all of Chicago's many gyro restaurant signs and created an historic montage to be treasured by Greeks all over the globe. "A photographic tour de force.." says Petros Papaiannis president of the Greek Barber's Guild. "2 thumbs WAY up!" say Nikos and Yiorgos of Nikos and Yiorgos - Let's Make Movietime! .

Please click here to share in this ethnic treasure. A heartfelt efharisto to the good people of Chicago.

The Closing of a Crap Month

When I started this blog a few months back I had aspirations of posting daily. This was to be my tidier and lazier way of maintaining some creative form of self expression when I didn't feel like painting. I began slower than expected, but that wasn't surprising as I was still wrapping up several paintings for my art opening. I reviewed the first month and while not writing daily, I was ok with posting every 2-3 days. It was a start right? I'd get in my groove.

I continued and had a decent March even with wrapping up for my opening. My April was to be the first month of regular blogging, much to share I imagined. It started out ok and I had some good stuff here and there, but it just didn't work as planned. I had some high hopes for May too but all of that went to hell fast. Not only did I have a drop in quantity, but I had some sub-par writing as well. My apologies to my faithful readers (all 2 of you).

Seems that there is a direct correlation between a good month at the office and a crap month for my personal life. I have noticed that every month I have had, dating back almost 3 years, has on average been the busiest month of my career. I work at work, then I work on work at home and when I'm not working I'm either thinking about all the things that I should be working on or now even worse, I sneak peeks and replies on my Blackberry.

After a wretched weekend that began with having to redo the work of one of my designers, then spending several hours writing a proposal which a client just had to have urgently, and wrapping up with my wine fridge plummeting to 16*F ruining several bottles in my collection. I decided when I got home tomorrow I would not turn on my laptop and would do no work. Well, that backfired by me not being able to sleep thinking of all the work that I wasn't getting done. It wasn't even stress or anxiety, it was purely not being able to stop working. Is it a groove at that point or a rut? I'm still not sure.

I wish I had a way of going back and comparing say March of '04 to now. I imagine it was nowhere near as busy as it seemed at the time. I don't like to complain though, it's counter-productive and OCDs dont do that! My mother taught me when I was a boy that when you complain you are taking away any of your own power to do anything about your problem. I live by that everyday. She may have had something to say about stopping to smell roses or something too, but I was likely to busy to hear it.

Becks

The footballer, not the lager.

David Beckham sold his soul to the Los Angeles Galaxy of the American MLS several months ago and with his stint at Real Madrid wrapping up so that he can cross the pond in search of greater stardom, he has now been recalled by the English national team for a couple of friendly (useless) matches! What's up with that?!? It's enough that he left the Premiere league to go to Real Madrid (a better move for him than for the game) and then he bails for the MLS?!? Are you kidding me?!? I realize the money is absolutely ridiculous and he's obviously moving to the States for the stardom not the footie, but christ, get the man on the pitch and see what he can do against sub-par talent! Oi!

Simple

It's ironic to me that as a designer and artist my taste in art, food, products, clothes, holidays, etc - as far as what's most appealing to me - are usually very simple and yet my life is quite complex. I love Brancusi. I love a nice plate of cheese with a crusty baguette. I love a young Oregon Pinot Noir. I love the flowing lines of a 1970 Volvo P1800. I love the look of a classic Saville Row suit. I love to fly to a new destination with no plans and just wander the streets taking it all in. I am happy to sit at a bench by the sea reading, writing or thinking.

Why is it that in today's world we feel the need to overprocess and overpackage everything to try to make it bigger, better or faster? Most parts of the world that are considered progressive or have strong economies, usually do so at the expense of their qualities of life and by trivializing simplcity and "express"-ing your joy. Conversely, countries that value life, family and a slower pace are often deemed lazy or unproductive. Try to explain the concept of a 10 minute power nap or a drive-thru Starbucks to a Greek and they might crack in pieces like a statue of Apollo.

I guess the most pervasive and influential countries and economies are what dominate cultures and dictate lifestyles. Certainly there are conveniences that come as a result of the making of a maniacal "work first, rest when you're dead" culture. I'm quick to order things online and love the feel of a new pair of shoes, but I often think of selling all my stuff and moving to a remote part of the world where life moves a bit slower but with more humility and grace.

B-Day +1

While I am older today than yesterday, I am not old enough to have been a part of anything significantly historical. I suppose that history or at least the context of how each of us thinks about it is very much dependent on if we were around to witness it or not. Many people remember where they were when President Kennedy was assasinated, where they were when man first walked on the moon or listening to the radio broadcast of the signing of the Magna Carta. I'm guessing that if we had roamed the earth 75 million years ago, then dinosaurs would have just seem like a normal thing we used to have around, like passenger pigeons and dodo birds.

I'm 35 as of yesterday and I have been on this planet during events like the fall of the Berlin wall, the fall of the Khmer Rouge, the Challenger disaster, Watergate, September 11 and more. While all pretty remarkable and oftentimes infamous pieces of history, they seem like normal parts of my life, a part of me sort of like a relative you acknowledge but dont like.

I oftentimes wish I had been around during say 1930 to 1969. I would have lived through a couple of wars, amazing technological advancements and some fantastic periods of art. I sometimes like to think that when I was born in 1972, that WW2 ended just 27 years prior, which in that context doesn't seem too long before.

Relatedly, yet not, I've always kind of liked how after D-Day they called the days D-Day +1, D-Day +2, etc. Not sure when they decided that they should stop that. Today then is B-Day +1 for me. Today I see the world through the eyes of an older, wiser man. If only I had today's wisdom yesterday when I was gorging myself on all of the sweet delicios treats made for me by my many friends and family. Today I not only feel a bit older and wiser, but I also have a stomach ache, I'm lethargic, I'm slightly hungover and I cant seem to stand up straight. Could it be my new age or is it merely the result of too much chocolate coursing through my body? I suppose we'll find out on B-Day +2.

Birthday Blog

I'm not one to self promote, but it is in fact my birthday today. I feel older for sure, a bit wiser maybe and sadly I think I'll have to finally accept that I've probably stopped growing.

I suppose with every passing year you care less and less about birthdays, parties and gifts. Really all I ever want anymore is for mine or anyone elses birthdays to be a convenient reason to call or see someone that you haven't seen in a long time. Like maybe for a year. Or more in some cases. That to me is the best.

Thanks to my close friends for your birthday wishes, calls and emails. My hair is growing greyer but my heart is growing fuller.

iReturn

This almost feels like an entry into the diary of a man who's been stranded on an island for several months. Like Tom Hanks kind of in CastAway (actually, I've always loved that subtle play on words in the way they wrote the title). I have been on an island I guess, Long Island (which if you read more below you'll see just how fond of it I am). I have been stranded too amidst loads of meetings, proposals and genuinely time consuming nonsense (but not the good kind).

I was flying back from Boston the other night and in my delirium of changing flights, delays due to weather and lack of sleep, I was both antsy and bored. I must say, I do love my ipod to get me through pretty much any mind-numbing occasion, and this being one of them, I thought I'd spend some time going through all the layers of the menu. I dont think I'd ever done that before.

Well, one of the options happens to be language choice. Hmmm, I thought to myself. I wonder if they have Greek? I scrolled down and there it was, ellivika (I dont have greek on this keyboard). Curiosity got the better of me and I selected Greek as my new default interface language. Magically all the menus, options and details are translated and written in Greek. How cool! Greek is my first language, so naturally I am comfortable looking at things this way. But after a while of reading the annoying translations (you've got to realize that Greek being thousands of years old, doesn't have actual Greek words for like "playlist")I wanted to go back to good ole English....

I cant seem to be able to figure out how to do that.

Ocean

I recently returned from a brief trip to our office in New York. It's actually on Long Island, which albeit close in proximity to New York, couldn't be more different than the real New York nor a real island.

I'll spare you the boring details about Long Island. It's long, it's an island, and it is bisected by a long expressway called interestingly enough, the Long Island Expressway. On the west end of the island you have Brooklyn on the south of the expressway and Queens on the north. As you break from the tractor beam of culture and prosperity, you are then subjected to mile after mile of suburban housing developments, shopping centers and office parks. Our office is situated in one of these, about 50 miles east of Manhattan in a small suite within a small office park not far from the freeway and the municipal airport.

50 miles may sound a bit far to some, and near to others. In a normal part of this country, 50 miles may take 40 minutes or so by car. Here it takes about one and a half hours of frenetic stop and go traffic that leaves one stressed for the next several hours once you've arrived. I couldn't imagine doing this commute daily. I've been coming to this office every few months for about 3 years and every time I wish I had just one more day so that I could make it into the City. The distance of 50 miles is just off-putting enough that I never bother to go in.

When I think of an island, I think of an untethered, serene land mass surrounded by millions of gallons of blue ocean. I think of fires on the beach, the warm Mediterranean sun and a slower pace. I imagine that save for Cuba, most island nation peoples are pretty happy folk too. There is a calming quality to living by the sea. My guess is that the fact that islanders are separated from mainlanders by ocean, there is a certain freedom in that autonomy and isolation. After spending time on Long Island, I find it sadly ironic that although technically an island, it's neither serene, nor isolated.

NYC

I was flying back from NY last week and while I was at the airport, I picked up a copy of my favorite men's fashion magazine, GQ Style. Now, this isn't the usual GQ, it's a British quarterly version that is heavily fashion focused, and not just pretty pictures, but tons of great reading. The one they put out last fall was all about the concept of luxury and it was extremely well written. These issues tend to have not only great contributing writing, but also some poignant historical quotes that seem contemporary and applicable today.

The issue I just picked up is entitled The London Look. Not very clever title, but again, very well done, great writing, interviews and pictorials. Not the best fashion spreads either, but you cant have everything I guess. One of the things I really like is how cleverly the editors seamlessly marry current interviews and stories with quotes, exerpts and commentaries that are 100+ years old. I've often thought I would like to be one of these guest design editors or something. Maybe not as cool as it sounds.

Anyway, the articles within this 300 page tome were all preaching the virtues ole London-town. Well, morelike current London. In the last few years London has experienced a boom that has increased the population to over 15 million people. There has been a rebirth of the design, arts and overall cultural scene. The pound and the overall economy is strong as ever. Moreover, with the resurgence of the British fashion scene, London is poised to take over the world as THE city. The capitol of the world. Well, as much as I love London (actually, it's more of a love/hate relationship), I have a hard time handing the reins over that easily.

Paris is the fashion capitol of the world (and my favorite city), with Milan a close second. London's got some great restaurants, endless shopping and obviously they've got the financial thing pretty well covered. But, if I had to pick one place to crown king of the world, it would undoubtedly be New York City. Many more posts to come about New York and all my reasons why.

The Landau

Not sure how this one popped up in conversation today, but when Tanner and I digress, you never know what sewer you'll end up in. At least this is postable.

I got to thinking about cars and specifically cars from the early 80s, even more specifically American makes. Cars that even though shitty, were bejeweled or embellished with details considered luxurious. It's the manifestations of this type of luxury that I find hilarious.

The concept of luxury as applied to cars began years before with all the chrome found on Deusenbergs, Packards and Cadillacs, then migrated through the 50s with Buicks, Mercurys and Fords. The 60s and 70s led to less chrome and more minimalistic design. Ok, sure, there were some pretty iconic Muscle cars during those years, but most cars were pretty basic. Politics seemed to play more of a role in automotive design back then and it's pretty apparent. The 60s and 70s saw the US battling a failing war, economy and fuel crisis, and gave way to the Reagan years of prosperity and the wildly popular theory of trickle down economics. That and the whole preppy, country club, frat boy, Thurston Howell display of wealth. Let's not forget, the 80s were when Trump began to make his real mark and he's still an icon of classless wealth.

This cultural mindset is what paved the way for such design triumphs like "boot buckles" and the famed Landau top. A prime example was a Cadillac Seville from 1983 that had a hideous sloping trunk and was often adorned with a pseudo spare tire, and if you could swing it, gold belts that were made to invoke a nostalgic homage to the autos of yesteryear, or the desire to be Captain Hook. See exhibit A.



Next was the Landau top. Now, most people are familiar with the cabriolet concept, and like it or not, it is at least fucntional. During the 80s it became en vogue to upholster the rooves of cars to give the impression that they too were cabriolets, but were in reality not. Just hard top cars with canvas rooves. 'What do you mean Simon? Are you telling me that that 1982 Lincoln Town Car isn't a convertible?!?' Puzzling, I know. The one that really gets me though was the Landau. What the hell is that? It's bascically a portion of a vinyl top that covers only the rear portion of the roof. Why? Well, a little research tells us this...

"Usually found on luxury cars, a landau roof enhances the outside appearance by adding an element of formality to a car's roofline. Instead of a full covering of the roof area, a landau roof usually covers the rear section."

Exhibit B



So, it seems the term Landau was actually a historical reference back to coach-building and referred to an open carriage coach, which had a retractble roof, the distinguishing characteristic being the the elegant S shape made by the bars locking in place when closed. Personally, I think it would take a hell of alot more than a Landau to make an '81 Buick Regal look classy, but who am I to judge.

In conclusion, just because there might be history or meaning behind something, that doesn't necessarily make it good. And these cars are oftentimes so hideous, I just cant look away. Plus I love how you can see where this image of regality has worked it's way into current popular culture and the mouths of rappers.

Math

If math is considered the universal language, then I would have to say that I am illiterate. I spent 6 hours yesterday at an adult remedial mathematics class in preparation for taking the graduate entrance exam for entering an MBA program. I'm not used to not being good at things. Even just comprehending concepts at times seems like a victory when it comes to science (I am a designer afterall). This class though, while starting out decent, covering the fundamental refreshers of algebra and geometry, but naturally as the class progressed, it became far more complex. By the end of the class we were working on some sort of deductive mathematics that apparently I just couldn't compute. Sadly I didn't even need to, all I had to do was decide if there was enough information provided for it to be theoretically solved. I missed 13 out of 13.

I realize that this was the first time I've had to use that part of my brain in 20+ years, but I cant help but feel discouraged. What on earth have I gotten my self into!

Wings

I got my first passport when I was a baby. Must have been just barely over a year old. Actually now that makes me wonder, at that age, how long is a passport good for? Anyway, I would guess that I've flown someplace every year of my life and it's only increased in amount over the years due to my insatiable wanderlust. I'm sort of an addict if you will. I'm hooked on cultures and constantly jonesing for a fix.

When I was a child, I'd fly with my parents and brother, which if you've read any of my other posts you can imagine the luxurious travels of 2 grad students and their kids. Needless to say we sat in the back of low budget airlines, keeping watch over the goats and chickens. I still get a kick at how normal it was to allow smoking on a plane, and how by the end of an 8 hour flight you'd hardly be able to see the exits or the lavatories. Comforts aside, my favorite part of the flying experience was chatting up the cute stewardesses (that's what they were called back then) with my boyish charm and getting not only to vist the pilots in the cockpit, but would undoubtedly return to my seat with those fabulous wings pins.

I realize that many people consider travel a luxury and when I'd say 'yeah, I'll be in Greece all summer', that would earn the 'oooooohhhh, that sounds amazing!' response. In my eyes it was just normal. I was going back to Greece to spend the summer with my family. Ironically, I was jealous of the kids that got to go spend a week at some crappy summer camp, rowing around a muddy pond and fishing or whatever. I guess I took the trips for granted. What I also took for granted was the exposure to different cultures, art, languages, food and lifestyles, that remain foreign to many. Being raised by grad student parents, we always had people of all ethnicities coming through our student housing, so again, this all seemed normal to me.

Now that I am older and I hear people say things like 'passport, what do I need that for?' or 'oh, we're waiting to travel once the kids are grown up', I just cringe. The impressions that this type of immersive exposure can create or do to shape not only you but your child and their impression of you, is just priceless. I emplore everyone I know to get a passport, get on a plane and just go. The eye-opening that happens is unquantifiable and the transormation that occurs to your psyche is irreplacable.

I still have that collection of wings that I amassed as a kid and I was truly heartbroken when the airlines got so tight that they stopped handing them out anymore. I thought about starting a collection of barf bags at that point, but it just didn't have the same feel.

At 35, I've hit 4 of the 7 continents, so in my opinion, I've still not seen much. With that said, just getting out of your "world" and seeing just one place that makes you feel like you're the stranger, is like no high you'll ever have. At that point, leaving the place you are becomes irrelevant. You've given your soul wings.