Simon Chase

Friendly Reminder

2008-04-17T12:51:00.003Z

Just in case any of you forgot, let me remind everyone. Unless you are either a clown or a bear, no self respecting adult should ever, and I repeat, EVER ride a unicycle....ever.

-the management

April Fool's Day

2008-04-01T23:40:00.001Z

I've been hidden aboard a Tajik frigate for the last 5 months and only recently escaped by way of sheer trickery and merciless cunning. I'm slick like that.

With April Fool's Day still here for another hour or so, I just couldn't help myself, I had to post something.

I'm in Detroit today. Dearborn actually, but whatever. This place sucks.

I'd guess that most coastal people probably would think that all rust-belt cities must be the same. Well, just like every short guy can quickly point to a guy shorter than him, I know a bottom of the barrel rust-belt town when I see one. Being in a huge, spread out, depressed, crappy city with the worst roads I have ever seen this side of DaNang (circa '67) makes me long for my provincial, allergy-riddled, economically splintered, racially divided, Ikea-bearing, mid-western town.

See, that's the joke. It's on me! When you're in a place that sucks you dont dream of paradise, you just long for the place that's one notch lessy shitty than where you are. Sucka! (proclaimed while looking at myself in low-budget hotel mirror).

Seacrest, out.

Cat Food

2007-11-24T14:11:00.000Z

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

2007-11-09T21:19:00.000Z

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

2007-11-01T02:22:00.000Z

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

2007-10-23T20:00:00.000Z

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

2007-10-12T17:03:00.000Z

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

2007-10-03T17:37:00.000Z

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

2007-09-30T21:29:00.000Z

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

2007-09-28T16:53:00.000Z

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

2007-09-26T17:44:00.001Z

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

2007-09-24T00:17:00.000Z

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

2007-08-15T14:17:00.000Z

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

2007-08-14T17:03:00.001Z

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

2007-08-14T00:14:00.000Z

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

2007-08-11T21:26:00.000Z

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!

2007-06-29T02:56:00.000Z

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

2007-06-27T01:13:00.000Z

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

2007-06-26T03:25:00.000Z

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

2007-06-22T14:38:00.000Z

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

2007-06-21T02:51:00.000Z

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

2007-06-05T17:05:00.000Z

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

2007-06-02T13:32:00.000Z

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!

2007-06-01T01:43:00.000Z

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

2007-05-31T02:15:00.000Z

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

2007-05-27T04:58:00.000Z

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

2007-05-24T20:05:00.000Z

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

2007-05-22T12:55:00.000Z

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

2007-05-21T20:21:00.000Z

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

2007-05-18T02:41:00.000Z

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

2007-05-05T21:27:00.000Z

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

2007-05-02T22:18:00.000Z

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

2007-05-01T19:01:00.000Z

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

2007-04-29T13:47:00.000Z

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

2007-04-26T21:53:00.000Z

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.

Serendipity

2007-04-25T23:02:00.000Z

I don't usually write about the happenings of my day, but I must admit, this afternoon was just what I needed.

I am a big fan of futbol - Liverpool in particular. I was turned onto Liverpool by one of my best mates, Mark, back in 1994 and have been hooked ever since. They have an extremely loyal fanbase and very cool kits. Anyway, in this part of the world, Futbol is not the most popular sport, so the opportunity to indulge in a match comes highly infrequently, save for the World Cup every 4 years. I also dont have many people that I can watch matches with, since again, no one here cares.

Today Liverpool was playing Chelsea in the UEFA and I desperately wanted to see it. This match started at 2:30 in the afternoon, which happens to be in the heart of my afternoon work schedule, however I was driven to find a way to get away from the office to watch. Running my department, I certainly don't need much of an excuse or permission, but an accomplice just makes it more fun. I have a friend who is also a client and a friend, and he too is a fan of the footie, so I thought perhaps he'd play hooky and accompany me. I emailed him and patiently awaited his reply.... "Brilliant idea", he said, "let's do it!" We chose a pub and a time and met up. By the time he arrived the first half was done, Chelsea was up 1 - nil and I was half way through my second pint. I could give a shit really. It was 3:30 pm on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon and I was out having pints of Guinness with a friend and watching a Liverpool match. Life is good! We spent most of the time just talking about traveling, past experiences, his new baby, etc. Liverpool actually ended up losing and I didn't really care. I try to delicately balance the client-friend relationship, so venues like this, make for a more low key occasion to socialize. I was actually pondering if in fact I had to choose whether I'd rather him as a friend or client, what would I prefer? Tough to say, but that should be another post.

Anyway, 3 pints and an hour post match later, we parted ways and I made my way home. En route, I decided to call my best mate Cricket to see if he'd like to meet for a coffee. I figured my wife wont be home until 7, so why go home now? I gave him a ring on his mobile, and coincidentally, he was already at our favorite coffee shop. I asked him to give me 5 minutes and I'd be there. I made it in 4.5 flat, ordered my massive latte, and made my way back to where he was waiting. We spent the better part of an hour and a half just talking about the usual guy stuff, wives, chicks, jobs, money, booze, etc and then decided to call it a day.

The afternoon cost me something like 15 quid, filled my body with a couple of gallons of liquid and pretty much spoiled my appetite, but I couldn't have asked for a more fulfilling way to spend a Wednesday afternoon. Serendipity at its finest!

Don

2007-04-23T21:23:00.000Z

After incessant prodding, the time has come to reveal the tales of Don.

A number of years ago my brother was in need of getting some siding work done on his house. After consulting with a close friend who is a carpenter, he was pointed in the direction of a guy named Don. Don was, as our carpenter friend put it, "kind of weird, but he's like Michelangelo with vinyl siding...and he's cheap". We were sold at "cheap". My brother called Don several times before getting a return call, but finally set up a time to meet. Apparently Don doesn't pay his phone bills often and has his line shut down frequently.

A few days later, a large white van pulled up in front of my brother's house. At first glance the van looks like any other work van. White, with a few strategically earned dents and rust holes, a faded out logo on the side the only remnant of the company that owned the van prior and on the roof several ladders and pipes. Something wasn't quite right though about van and it finally dawned on us. Protruding from the side and precariuosly cantilevered was an air conditioner unit. The kind that one would have in a window of their house. This should be the start of an interesting experience if nothing else.

Don is by definition a "good ole boy". He's in his late 40s, about 5'10" or so and has that common build of the burly laborer, massive pecs and arms paired with a well cultivated belly. He wears only soiled white t-shirts, has a couple of bad tattoos and has a wife named Donna and a son named Donny Jr. He has a daughter too, but we're unsure of her name.

Don has not been the savviest of businessmen during his career. He's been bankrupt, evicted, fired and sued. He occasionally has hair-brained ideas that end up costing him more money he doesn't have (see: "cat-houses" - like dog houses, but for cats). He does however tend to have creative and relatively sound solutions to common house problems and he is truly an artist with siding and plaster.

Besides getting domestic chores done at reasonable prices, Don also gives you hours of priceless "wisdom" and shares all of his personal stories. I often need help around my house and being the sucker for trainwrecks that I am, needless to say, Don and I have too crossed paths. Many of his tales (see: actual life experiences) are permenantly burned into my soul. I will share a few.

First off, and this could be fuled by his drinking or pot smoking, but he has no discretion filter. Nothing to make him stop and say "yeah, nope, probably shouldn't say that!" He's an open book, that Don. Take for example when you ask him how is his daughter. He responds "well, she's fucking n----rs again". Uh, ok.....uhhhh.

Don's not the most computer literate guy, but still wants to be connected to the magical place they call the interweb. I recall a time that he was complaining that he had tried to set up an online profile on a singles sight and that he was having problems drawing visits. When I asked, "but Don, aren't you married?". He replied "well, yeah, but when I set it up as being married, all I got was faggots checking me out. Figure if I checked single maybe it wouldn't do that."

I could write Don stories all day, but will save more for another day. Before I do that though, I'll close with one of my favorites.

Don once came to help with my gutters. Tempting fate I asked "how's things?" "Well" he started, "Donna's got 2 broken legs so she cant do shit to help". Oh my god, I thought and asked what happened. "Well, we've been married for a long time and things aint great and stuff. We was out driving to a job a few weeks back and she just sort of freaked out. We was driving along and she just looked at me, yelled 'FUCK YOU' and jumped out of the van. I guess she was tryin' to kill herself or somethin', but it didn't work, so now she's layin' at home with 2 broken legs and she's meaner'na beat up dog!"

I couldn't really think of what to say to that. I think I went with "that sucks". I figured that would be a Don appropriate comment. Really though, all I could picture is the look on Donna's face wrinkled up with a carefully balanced Marlboro in her grimacing lips, yelling "Fuck You" to Don, naturally with both hands confirming the message, as she jettisoned herself from the van with the determination of a WW2 paratrooper. Good thing she didn't hit her head on the a/c unit too!

Rites of Spring

2007-04-23T01:08:00.000Z

Today was our first perfect spring day of the year. I woke up late to a bright sun, opened the windows for some fresh air, did some exercises and set out to begin the first of many groomings of my yard.

I spent most of Saturday emptying my garage just to gain access to my lawnmower which this morning, after months of hibernation, started on the first pull with the glee of a child on the first day of school. I pushed play on my ipod and spent the better part of the next 3 hours cutting grass, edging, raking, sweeping and fertilizing. I also managed to get my first bit of color from the daytime sun. A nice feeling after months of goosepimples and chattering teeth.

This evening, my wife and I and our dear friends, took a stroll up the street to have ice cream. In the warm months, this is an almost nightly ritual. The strolls tend to be similar. We'll talk about the happenings of the day, we'll likely run into one or more other neighbors on similar quests for dairy delights. We'll usually order the same flavors, from preferably our favorite "barrista" Molly, and sit for a while enjoying or treats, before the walk back. This year, with our friends moving to Paris, I imagine I will savor the walks even more than the ice cream.

Along with taking in the sights and the fresh spring air, we also get quite a bit of joy from people watching. Especially crazy people. Our neighborhood has its share of outcasts which are such a part of the area they may as well be trees or lampposts. One of these such characters is known as Dog-Man. He's a slightly disheveled man in his fifties I'm guessing, he always wears some sort of suit and tie and seems like he has somewhere to be, but I don't think he actually does. Sometimes you'll see him at the market or maybe at the library or he may just be looking at the kiosk outside of the ice cream shop. Usually though he's just walking around. He used to have a small dog as his angry little companion, but he doesn't seem to anymore. Maybe we should rename him Dogless-Man.

There was a new crazy guy on the walk home tonight. He was sitting on the sidewalk by the bus stop wearing a hat and a smile and a had a bag with his belongings next to him. He mumbled something, which I thought was something about needing a light. None of us smoke, so we couldn't help. The further from him we got, the louder he seemed to be getting. After a good 100 meters from him we looked back to find that he had actually started following us, but on the opposite of the street. He was still yelling, but incoherently. We wondered if maybe he was not in fact crazy, but was on a wireless headset and speaking on his mobile. When my wife then eloquently said "yeah, the cel phone in his head!". At that we agreed that yeah, he was probably just crazy. We finally arrived at our street and our home and the crazy man had continued on down the street yelling at whomever was within hearing distance. Godspeed!

Some might be frightened by such an occurrence, but I was sort of excited to have a new crazy guy in the neighborhood. I suppose I shouldn't get to carried away, but I figure if I see him let's say 2 more times, then I'll get to name him too.

Rooted

2007-04-20T14:56:00.000Z

My family left( or uprooted ) from Greece in 1970 and moved thousands of miles away to begin a new chapter in their lives, the pursuit of higher education and a hopefully the brighter future that would come as a result. At the time, my family wasn't mine yet, having consisted of just my parents and my brother who is 7 years older. He was 5 then.

So, they began their masters degrees and started a new life in an odd new country that was foreign to their culture and continents away from their nearest relative.I was born a year and a half later putting the final bow on our atomic little family. The familial bond that occurs within an environment like this is deep and lasting and in fact often the basis for what we deem as quaint areas of our cities. Little Italies, Chinatowns, Greektowns, etc began primarily as clusters of ethnic outcasts that found some solidarity and comfort in being together in a strange place. Usually these streets didn't look as gold as they did in the brochure.

For those not familiar with the life of the globe-trotting grad student, one might think of a cross between the idyllic life of country-roaming hippies packed in a van juxtapozed with some sort of highly regimented military family, living in safe, microcosmic compounds within alien environments.

It's not really like those.

My parents came over with the 2 allowed suitcases (they somehow convinced TWA that my 5 year old brother also needed 2 suitcases of his own that weighed 8 times what he did), a couple boxes of books, a stuffed donkey (being Greek, I guess a stuffed bear must seem weird) and a drive and work ethic that is inherent in the immigrant experience.

6 months after I was born, we moved again to yet another strange part of this new world. 3 years after that we moved again. 6 months later we moved again. PhD in hand and family in tow, my father finally began his new career...at 34 years old. 9 years later we moved again. I got tired of moving 5 times in the first 12 years of my life, so I haven't strayed far in the 20 odd years since.

My parents eventually divorced. I suppose that if absence makes the heart grow fonder, then being joned at the hip and traversing the globe must make it calcify. My brother and I are grown now too, have our own wives, homes and lives, yet as different and independent as we are, we all remain near one another. Even though we have a large age difference (which is less apparent now in our 30s and 40s), we were always that one constant friend that you'd know you didn't have to say goodbye to.

As I fast forward to the present, my friends from the University all spread around the country and globe, while I remain close to my family, I dont have any regrets. I have always enjoyed travelling and there's obviously a romance to the nomadic lifestyle (the adjective of the action being that which ultimately decided my parents' fate). I travel extensively, both for work and for fun, but enjoy having a homebase to return to.

In my opinion, part of being rooted in one place is by choice, then eventually it becomes fueled by obligation. Why else do so many childern who move away from home, return when their parents have gotten old? My brother and I often speak of moving again as we've sort of grown bored with our locale and have seemingly reached the "Peripherique" of our career opportunities. Now that our parents are older, we'll be driving the moving van to the next stop. We figure we'll all just move together. I suppose our roots are mobile.

Secret Identity

2007-04-13T21:47:00.000Z

Some time ago, a friend of mine and I began having what we have dubbed, "man-bag club" meetings. We're both 30/40 something males. We're neat, stylish, educated, well traveled and have well paying jobs. We also like carrying a man-bag, you know for your ipod, books, moleskin journal, sunglasses, etc. We also happen to be married (no, not to eachother) but rather than play golf or go fishing to get out of the house and talk (read-compare notes), we go to a coffee shop near by, have a latte, share an oatmeal cookie and hang for an hour or so.

These conversations usually seem to revolve around 3 main topics: 1. what are we doing with our lives, 2. guy stuff (use your imagination) 3. our wives. By the time an hour has gone by, as if by clockwork, one of the wives calls and asks us to bring them home a latte on our way back home. We read that as 'hurry up and quit bitching about us and come home!'.

Another topic that seems to be an underlying theme is the idea of a "plan B". Maybe we've watched the Bourne Identity movies too many times, but the idea of having some back-up plan, some extra cash, a different passport and keys to a flat in Paris all stashed in some Swiss account (the #s of which are mysteriously tattooed on your wrist), when the proverbial "shit goes down", sounds like something that would just be good to have. You know, just in case.

Naturally, we dont plan on leaving our wives and starting over again (although that sounds appealing too from time to time when the shit goes down at home). What we've done though is sort of get at the heart of what "plan B" really means. That we've determined, is personal empowerment and control of your destiny. We've turned "plan B" into a lifestyle or at least a solid mindset.

Now, the reasoning is this. By convincing yourself that at any given moment, if "the shit goes down", whether during a crap period at work, during a fight at home or whenever something gets you down, you could comfortably say "fuck this!", split and start over. Just having that ace in your back pocket can really change how you think about things. You can be more of a risk taker, you can say or ask that one thing you may have been afraid to. You have empowered yourself to be right or wrong, or just be. Be yourself and let yourself out. It's kind of like in that movie Office Space when the main character stopped caring about consequences at work and just did his thing, he was immediately crowned the guy that was "a real straight shooter with upper-management written all over him!". It works.

Actually, what makes you think that this in fact isn't my secret identity?

Bill

2007-04-13T14:48:00.000Z

I dont know how or why I was compelled to share this amusing little story today, but I figured I'd just go with it.

I had a friend and former co-worker named Mike, who used to live in what's called a "transitional" neighborhood. This means that poor angry people live there and now are being displaced by rich people who are replacing crack houses with coffeeshops.

Mike was a free spirit who did things at times that most people would only ever have a passing thought about, if that. Take for example Mike putting woodgrained contact paper on the lower half of his brand new Audi TT (because he thought the woody look would be hilarious), hanging out with a charming young girl that happened to have a cleft palette (because he thought it was amusing to hear her speak) or emptying the entirety of the refrigerator at his rented flat and puncturing a hole into its side to pass a hose through in order to dispense beer from the keg that took up the entire volume of the interior. He also seemed to happen upon funny, random occurences that he'd share.

One in particular that still makes me laugh went like this...

Mike was leaving his flat to walk to work one autumn morning, closed the gate behind him and began his short jaunt to our office. He wasn't but say 300 meters from home, when he noticed two kids across the street walking their dog (a largish pitbull that was more walking the kids then the contrary). The dog was getting the better of the brother and sister and was obviously hungry too which didn't help matters. The dog pulled and pulled and finally slipped from the grasp of the kids, got away and ran around the corner into a schoolyard, at which point the kids began chasing him. The young boy caught up to the hungry dog moments later and almost in horror yells to his sister "eeeeewwwww, Bill be eatin' leafiz!!!"

I'm laughing even now 6 years later just writing this! Where do I begin as to why?

One, I love the Snoop Doggism of pluralizing "leaves" to "leafiz". I also love that they're dismayed at the fact that the dog is eating the leafiz, as opposed to a dead cat or a stray chicken bone. But I think my favorite thing is that they named their dog Bill. Not Rover, or Buster or Buddy. But, Bill. Probably the most common man's name...for a dog.

Art...the aftermath

2007-04-12T20:46:00.000Z

I recently had an art opening for an exhibit of my paintings. I arranged the show last September, and at the time, a late March opening seemed so far into the future. That was good though, it left enough time for me to amass the 16 or so pieces I'd need to fill the space, but was a reasonable amount of time that wouldn't have me slaving away at something that is supposed to be fun. And it was.

Starting in September of '06, I began sketching and writing, which is typically how I start my artwork. By December, my studio ready to go, several rough ideas for paintings, I had at it, holing myself away for a couple of hours here and there, blissfully painting away. Some days were more productive than others, which is to be expected. Some paintings were better than others too, but again, to be expected.

I kept painting and somewhere around early March I realized that I had to stop , sort through my work to select the pieces I wanted to show, and begin framing. So I did that, and framed and framed and cut myself, then framed some more. Typical really. Then as the opening neared, I took half a day off to set up, sent out postcards and emails to invite guests and helped prep for my "final friday". Then it was here, opening night, the usual wine and cheese and music and lots of friends, some family and some strangers. The place was quite full, I sold a few pieces and then just like that, it was over.

I've been reflecting on things since the opening a week and a half ago and I think I see a pattern. My normal job has several similarities to the artistic creative process, except for 2 things. 1, we're paid far more and 2, we have far less say in the desired outcome(the key reason for my love of painting is that no one tells me what to do nor how to do it). We speak to clients about projects, write proposals, strategize the path, design, review, test, design some more, and after weeks or months we deliver. Project complete.

What happens then is that you're sort of left there in a daze, wondering what's next? I've just spent the last several weeks of my lfe fully immersed into a project, everyday knowing what needed to be done next, then just like that it's finished. What do I do now?

I seem to experience that at work and at home and it makes me think how accurate a certain saying is, the one that goes...'it's not the destination, it's the journey'. Whoever wrote that was one insightful individual. The journey is always the best part. Even if it sucks, it's the best because it's usually the most memorable.

Take going on holiday as an example. You and your mates pile into a van for some crazy road trip with absolutely no plans of where you're going or staying. Not a worry to be had. Ultimately you'll end up somewhere that's ok, you'll drink, eat, sleep, maybe meet some girls, and then you'll pack the van back up and be on your way home. Years later you'll reminisce about how during that trip Jason had the worst gas and stank up the whole van, or when Tony got really slap-happy and was screaming the lyrics to Mr. Roboto, while also doing the robot. Even flat tires or accidentally running off the road and crashing the car can be nostalgic. It's because the journey is really the best part.

In contrast, Tuesday I was driving through northern Indiana to and from Chicago. If anyone has ever been to this god-forsaken region of the world, you know that it is quite possibly the worst 2.5 hours of your life you'll ever pass. It's long, flat and has no interesting scenery. To top it off you not only have redneck Indianans in their massive pick-up trucks and SUVs barelling up your boot, and the random stench of shit from the occasional pig farm, but there is also a stretch of something like 30 miles, where the trees in the median between the north and south highway lanes get really odd and creepy looking. Like something horrible happened here and the trees were the only witnesses, but cant have catharsis because they cant speak. They're kind of like what I imagine the trees in Chernobyl might look like. Just sort of off, you know?

In hindsight, the whole "enjoy the journey" bit doesn't really seem to apply to northern Indiana, but it does to most everything else you'd ever do. Especially any creative effort. The emotional experience of creating is unmatched and as I went down to my studio the other night to grab a bottle of wine I looked around at my own "aftermath" and it just looks so sad. I think I need to start a new journey.

Sick Day

2007-04-11T19:26:00.000Z

I have been a bit sick with a head cold for a few days, which sucks. I am not a good sick person, as I dont have the patience to be incapacited by anything, save for loads of money, women or kittens. Anyway, I was laid up sick all weekend, my wife too, which is odd because we never seem to be sick at the same time. Convenient I guess. We basically laid on the couch and watched 16 episodes of Lost, season 1. It's good.

Feeling a bit better now, but I couldn't write for a few days. Even if I could have, I kept hearing my mate Cricket whispering..."friends dont let friends blog drunk". I wasn't drunk, but my deliria was similar.

In the News...

2007-04-06T18:38:00.000Z

Every morming when I get to work I spend the first half hour or so eating my breakfast and reading through a few of my regular blogs, sites, etc. There have been some pretty odd and seemingly harmless things lately that have made the local news here, like cows running loose in parks, or off-duty firemen found drunk in parks wearing blonde wigs and bikinis. Weird yes, but newsworthy? I guess?!?

Anyway, this morning, after getting the latest on our bikini-clad fireman, who is apparently ashamed and is a actually a very normal family guy (you dont say?), I stumbled upon (or maybe "ran aground" is a better way to put it) a story on Greece. I'm Greek, so naturally we like to read about our people when they make the news. We haven't had much good press since the days of stone tablets. The headline read something like "Greek Cruise Ship Sinks". Hard to make anything positive out of that.

I'm sure everyone's seen it by now, this Greek (actually Cypriot) cruise ship ran into some volcanic reef and over the course of the next 15 hours, sank into the bay off the coast of Santorini. I'm surprised the Americans haven't tried to blame Al-Qaeda for that yet. Fortunately no one was killed, although a French father and daughter are still missing. I'm hoping they're just shopping or something.

Most of the time when there is news about Greece it's either something like, 'oh they broke ground on a new McDonald's and had to stop all construction due to the inadvertent discovery of an ancient reliquary or something'. FYI, good luck digging anyplace in Greece and not finding something a thousand years old! Other times it'll just be something vaguely Greek, like Pete Sampras winning Wimbledon, or George Michael jerking off in a bathroom, or something worse, like a review of a new Yanni album.

The Olympics made for good news, 3 years ago granted, but since Greece has sort of been resting on their laurels for the last couple Millenia, it was nice to get the eyes of the world focused there (for something positive) other than fabulous beaches, amazing olive oil and lecherous men. For 2 whole weeks! That was totally worth the billions of Euros.

Anyway, I was saddened to see that a ship sank in Greece. I mean, this was no Titanic. The ship looked old and like it could have gone down with the next smash of a champagne bottle to the bow! The media'll spin it as some shoddy workmanship, or some lazy Greek crewman was drinking ouzo and cajoling with his mates breaking plates, when...'gamoto! xtipisame petra! grigora, fige!' (fuck! we hit a rock! Let's get out of here!). But I think I know what really happened.

Not that I'm some sort of conspiracy theorist or nutjob skeptic, but I do love my TV shows about UFOs, supernatural phenomena and lost civilizations. See where I'm going with this? Atlantis anyone? Come on, it could totally be that they hit some unknown entrance to Atlantis! Little known fact, but some scientists believe that Atlantis was not actually a continent in the Atlantic ocean, but an island between Santorini and Delos that sank during an earthquake and volcanic eruption.

So, in conclusion, I would guess that the ship ran aground on some poor bastard's submarine palace and that the Greeks will soon be hearing from some pissed off Atalantisan lawyers, suing for vandalism, littering and invasion of privacy. There goes the 2 weeks worth of profits from the Olympics! Take that Minister of Tourism!

Adam

2007-04-05T13:45:00.000Z

Several months ago, after incessant prodding from my subordinates, I joined the virtual friendship database of Myspace. I'd like to think that my team wants to know the inner me like the private and tortured Tom Hanks' character in Saving Private Ryan, and the deep curiousity of his troops as to what made him tick. Maybe not.

Anyway, I joined and at first it seemed sort of cool to have my own poor man's website, where I'd post all my movie reviews, rants about all the many things in the world I find so wrong and maybe I'd even be contacted by some long lost friend. It went kind of like that I suppose, but it was a bit more like a fishing trip. You know, you have all these grandiose ideas of what it will be like, what you'll catch how great the weather will be. You get your gear together, you make some sandwiches, pack the car you get some bait on the way and head to the lake.

Once there you find the perfect spot, settle in, bait your line or lines and wait. And wait some more. All the while your beers getting warm and flat in the afternoon sun and your sandwich looking more appetizing to the flies circling overhead than to you. You get uncomfortable and begin to get sunburned. Then you get a call on your mobile from your wife nagging you about how you've been gone all day and when are you coming home. Not too unwelcome actually, and you turn to your mate and say "hey, yeah, the bird, she, um ,needs me to get back and uh, well you know....what a nag!'

But I digress. Anyway, after going searching for everyone in my outlook contacts, friends, family, old girlfriends naturally, I made my way through any old classmates going as far back as my memory would allow, which was basically through University. One old friend found me, but he is now a drugged out junkie and doesn't look so good. Sucks for him.

I did finally find someone, an old classmate from design school named Adam. He and I began University together and the way it worked was that for the first year the entire class is megred as one. Then during the second year, it's split in half and then you alternate work and school until the last year. Adam and I met that first year and became friends, mainly through our common interest of cycling. We got on well that first year and kept in touch during our off quarters. The last year of design school, the groups are combined as one, though much smaller now having weeded out half the class over the course of time. We graduated, got jobs in seperate parts of the country and kept in touch via email from time to time, then eventually lost track of one another. Until I found him on Myspace.

At first I didn't think anything of it. I dont actually read people's pages, I could give a shit what sign people are or what they and Jenny did last weekend or whatever. It was obviously Adam from his picture. He was standing by a pool shirtless and smiling. Odd choice, but maybe he was single. Anyway. I hit request friend and contacted him. I noticed he logged on that day, so I figured him a regular visitor.

A day went by, then 2 then a week and no response from Adam. No acceptance. What's with that i thought? I went back to his page and to my disappointment, he had still been logging on regularly, so why had he not okayed my request? I thought we were mates! I sent another request.

I began checking daily to see if he'd logged in, which he did...regularly! As I was finiding myself visiting his page often, I decided to finally read some. The first thing I noticed was all the friends that left comments were men. That's cool I figured, he's still playing the field with his mates. The comments were like, "hey Adam, I had a great time last weekend. let's do it again!" or "wow, you're an amazing dancer" or "I love how you look in that swimsuit". Now, I've been known to throw less than manly compliments to my mates, but these, well, didn't sit right. There was something off about this.

His profile read about him being single and looking for that right person. Normal stuff. Until I got to the end of the "about me" section. It said something like..."I want to be a part of YOUR team." What team is that?

Again, another week went by and I had been again denied. I just couldn't understand. Accept me, dammit! I only have my wife, my mate Chris and Tom as friends for fuck's sake. Pick me! I went back and sent another request.

I read more and more. I looked at all the pictures. I read all the comments. I clicked to the pages of his mates. And like that scene at the end of The Sixth Sense, I suddenly saw the truth. Adam was gay! I was Bruce Willis, my head spinning, searching for fleeting moments in my head and in my past that could connect the dots back to this new revelation. Adam was gay and we never knew it. What were the clues? He never had a girlfriend. He was neat. He was friendly. The signs were there I suppose, he just didn't seem gay really.

I deduced that that was the reason then why he hadn't approved me as a friend. I had blown his cover, and could potentially out him to all of his former classmates, or at least to the handful I've actually kept in touch with in the last 15 years. I decided that I would go back to his page and tell him something like..."Hey Adam, it's me Simon. How are you? You look great! Hey, by the way, I see you're gay now, and hey mate, that's totally cool. I love gays! You're 'the only gay in the village ' right? Like Daffyd?!? Right?...cool". That's sort of what I would have said.

I gathered the courage and went back to his page. It was no longer! I searched again. Maybe I spelled it wrong. Where is he? I fear I may have spooked him away.

Haley Joel Osment, where are you!

Fashion

2007-04-04T00:07:00.000Z

My parents emmigrated from Greece in 1970 to pursue higher education and the chance to broaden their professional horizons. What this meant though was leaving their families and careers, moving several thousands of miles away and basically starting from scratch. That was just prior to the start of University that autumn, where my father was to attend and earn a Masters Degree in Urban Planning. With nothing to their name but a few suitcases and a 5 year old (my brother), they set upon their way and never looked back.

I recall a story my mum had told me of those early days were they had been invited to a Christmas party. The hostess, trying to be welcoming, told my parents that they should feel comfortable to come to the party dressed in their native clothes, as they would back home. My parents looked at eachother sort of puzzled, but accepted the invite and planned on attending. Weeks later on the eve of the party, my parents got ready, got a baby sitter for my brother, and left the house. To this day my mom recalls the disappointment in the hostess's eyes as she opened the door to greet my parents. There they stood, my dad in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt and my mother in a skirt cut at the knee and a light sweater. Apparently the hostess must have been expecting them to show up in some elaborate robes and/or headdresses. We're Greek, not Incas for christ sake! The fathers of democracy, not some backwoods savages! Perhaps if my dad had worn the skirt and sweater instead, that may have done satisfied the poor woman.

Anyway, about a year and a half later I came along. For the first few years of my life my parents were still working towards advanced degrees and we lived the somewhat impoverished life of the grad student. That meant that for several years I wore either hand me down clothes from my brother or worse yet my mom would make us clothes, which for me at 3 years old, not so bad, but for my 10 year old brother, he may as well have worn that skirt.

Eventually my parents finished with their degrees and got teaching postitions at a good University and began their careers again after a 5 year hiatus. This didn't however mean that we began dressing any better. Now there were mortgage mayments and student loans, trips back to Greece for the summers and 2 growing boys. No money for such extravagances. I was destined to wear my brother's clothes until I was 40, or maybe I figured until I could buy my own things.

For some reason, going back as far as I can remember, I have been particularly fond of clothes. From about 4 or 5 when I HAD to wear my brown leisure suit for my passport photo, through the early eighties when I saved my own money to buy Lacoste shirts and Sperry topsiders. The mid and late eighties saw my transition to a punk, mod and skinhead style. I went from black leather jackets, Doc Martens and torn jeans to tight slacks and trench coats and ultimately to Fred Perrys, bomber jackets and braces. Always somehow adding my own twist, whether in the details of changing out buttons and laces or my color, pattern and fabric combos. Gay sounding, I know.

Over the course of the next several years during my time at Design school I found my opportunityto experiment a bit. For many this means messing with drugs or sleeping with members of the same sex. To me it meant trying out various style experiments (and several fashion design girlfriends). The magic of vintage clothing stores and thrift shops landed me some impressive bowling shirts and sharkskin suits, while also puttng me in overalls and fedoras. What can I say, I was just experimenting!

Being a designer I think it is really important to look your best as your appearance communicates that you know what good style is. Clients notice. I notice too that the last few years as I've worked my way into my thirties and into a salary level that affords me some indulgences, I have begun to narrow down my tastes to certain materials, brands and overall looks that work for me.

My wardrobe has gotten pretty focused on some key brands the last couple of years, as I think a few houses do certain things better than anyone. I'll start with Diesel jeans. The last few years have shown us a proliferation of the 100 quid+ jeans with True Religion, 7 For All Mankind, Citizens of Humanity, et al. Most of these are flash in the pan companies that have jumped on the jean bandwagon to make a quick buck, but will likely not be around for many years. There is no well defined equity to their brands, nor is there any real brand loyalty or heritage. They're just brands of the moment, not brands with momentum. Diesel has been around since 1978 and in my opinion are the best jeans made in fit, style, quality and value. If I'm going to spend that kind of money on jeans, they better be good, they better look great and they better be Diesels.

I'm also a big fan of Hugo Boss, for both their more formal clothes (Boss Black) and also their sportswear (Boss Orange). They not only make excellent fitting dress clothes (their dress shirts are second to none), but also have extended their brand into the Orange line, which really capitalizes on a little served market, 30-40 year old guys that have some money, but want to look cool and expect quality. Great stuff.

Miuccia Prada gets some odd looks from time to time with her daring runway shows and bizarre juxtapositions of materials, but you've got to hand it to the famed Italian fashion house, they make some amazing classic pieces that should be part of every wardrobe. Both the Prada and MiuMiu labels have brought high fashion to the pret-a-porter world with fantastic pieces that while expensive, can stay timeless. I particularly like the Linea Rossa details and the fabric choices, both in materials and patterns.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention a few other favorites and UK stalwarts, Ted Baker, Ben Sherman and Burberry. Ted Baker is well known for his exquisite pairing of bold linings and traditional fabrics in his suits. Nice detail. He also has amazing ties and some gorgeous sweaters. My favorite sweater I have is a Ted Baker zip-up wool hoody which is great on it's own or layered.

Ben Sherman is a classic brand that seems to be able to strattle the line of high fashion and affordability and they also seem to have a fun twist. They make great fitting dress shirts that are perfect examples of the Carnaby style. Nice shoes too, but I would guess that like Diesel, they probably license out the name and dont make them themselves.

Burberry has a history as long as fashion itself, dating back to 1856! Known best for their distinctive "Burberry Check" tartan pattern, they have a few areas where they're unbeatable. Having invented the gabardine something like 120 years ago, it is safe to say they make the best raincoat. What I actually like even better than my vintage trench are my Burberry undershirts! They not only fit exceptionally well, but they use a tight cotton knit that doesn't pill and they add some really nice details (a subtle tartan swatch) both inside the neck and on the left side of the lower hem and seam. The last few years the creative directors at Burberry have done a great job reinvigorating the brand and the extension of the Prorsum line has added a freshness to the brand that will continue to carry them well into the 21st century.

I almost forgot John Varvatos, who I think has also done a nice job targeting the Boss Orange market, again looking to attract the 30-40 year old male that wants to look great and doesn't mind spending money to do it. Cashing in on the nostalgia with their collection of shoes for Converse was a smart move too and has been done far more successfully than other similar attempts by other fashion houses.

These aren't the end all be all of design, as there are several other designers/brands, mass brands and select pieces that you cant go wrong. Versace ties are great(their clothes are horrible) or Dior's newer work (Hedi Slimanne is really solid). I like Alexander McQueen's stuff and Philip Lim's 3.1. Stores like Banana Republic, Mexx, Urban Behaviour, Zara and H&M give us affordable everyday stuff that you can mix in with your expensive stuff. You pair a cheap t-shirt from a street vendor in Camden with some Diesels, a MiuMiu jacket or some nice shoes and you'll look like the whole package sent you to the poorhouse.

Overall my fashion philosophy would be this. Be smart and keep it simple. Classic looks should be staples in every wardrobe as should a few key fun things to mix things up. Having some new items from season to season that are a bit trendier help keep the classic stuff fresh. Details are still very important too and can be the difference between an ok outfit and a great outfit. In my opinion, if you can swing it, it's worth spending a bit more to buy items of higher quality as they will last longer and you'll get more satisfaction from them with each wear. And you'll look great too.

Things that match

2007-03-30T17:06:00.000Z

I thought I'd begin expounding a bit on an earlier post in which I listed things that I like. One might notice in that post that I seem to like neat, orderly and geometric things. With that in mind...

In the 80s there was an American show on television called Magnum PI, starring Tom Selleck. It was quite popular and had a fairly long run, spanning nearly the entire decade. I really liked that show (as I did most classics from producing geniuses Glen A. Larson and Stephen J. Cannell i.e. TJ Hooker, Simon & Simon, the A-Team & The Fall Guy), its characters and its overall premise.

I liked the nomadic yet charming nature of the lead protagonist, Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV, or Magnum as his friends called him. He lived as a caretaker of a rich man's Hawaiian estate, and was self-employed as a private investigator. He always was on some wild caper which seemed to regularly involve the chasing of a bad guy, some guns, driving fast in several kinds of vehicles, an unexpected plot twist, a love interest and a closing drink at Rick's beach side bar, where Magnum, Rick and TC would have a pina colada and some laughs when the mystery was solved.

One might call me delusional, but I used to seriously believe that my life would some day be very similar to Magnum's. The main difference was that being that I'm not fond of guns, I envisioned myself instead a Hawaiian mail carrier, rather than a private investigator. Might not seem quite as exciting, but fulfilling nonetheless. Mind you, I would expect to be a well paid mail carrier and would still require access to Mr. Higgins's Ferrari 308 for my personal business.

As I got older and realized that I would not in fact end up with this or any semblance of this lifestyle (being married, living far from anything vaguely tropical in nature and being neither an investigator nor a mail carrier), I still maintain(ed) a fantasy about 1 thing related to this show.

The fantasy of which I speak doesn't involve fast cars or fast women (although I like both of those too). What I always wanted (and would love to still some day have) is a van and matching helicopter. Just like the one that Rick and TC did their island hopping tours with. See, Magnum may have had a Ferrari and all the glory, but without Rick, TC and the use of their fabulously matched helicopter and VW Eurovan, he never would have been able to hunt down half of his villains.

Again, I'm a designer, not a PI, but the idea of rushing out of my estate and having a matching van and helicopter at my disposal, is permanently burned into my psyche. I do love things that match.

Friends

2007-03-28T18:59:00.000Z

The area of the country where I live is often called "a great place to raise a family". This is a nice way of saying it is cheap, relatively safe and most of all, it lacks any excitement. What this means for me is that, while I am able to afford a fairly nice house, I have to travel to other cities for any decent clothes shopping. It also means that no one sticks around here for very long, especially if they dont have a family to raise.

Over the years of living here I seem to have had several finite friendships. Being a region where most people that are born here, die here, I am typically drawn to these short term residents as they are likely far more interesting. These tend to be magical folk who have been past the shire and tell tales of cities of gold, forests as tall as buildings and riches beyond your wildest dreams. They come here for new jobs or they'll return briefly for family reasons. They stay a while, then move on to someplace typically more exciting. Places which are apparently not "great places to raise a family".

4 years ago we hired a new designer (I'll call him C) who moved here from Los Angeles with his pregnant wife to work at our growing firm. We didn't get on too well at the beginning as he had a tendency to rub people the wrong way with his brash big city ways. Having worked in other cities and countries with countless different personalities, I was more accustomed, but even with that, C was particularly difficult at times. Howvere, a funny thing happened about 5 months into his stay here. There was a project that we were working on together that required us to make a research trip to South America. He and I both enjoy travel and were excited at the opportunity, though I was still a bit uncertain as to how it would be spending extended periods of time with him out of the office. What happened over the next few weeks as we planned our trip, was that a guy who was once borderline nemesis at work, couldn't have been more different outside of that environment. My wife and I began spending several evenings at his flat planning our adventure all the while growing closer to him, his wife and baby.

With an elaborate itinerary planned, which hit 2 countries, 3 cities and a wonder of the world, over the course of 1 week's time, and we set off on our quest a la Frodo and Sam. We arrived in Santiago, Chile early in the morning on a Sunday, took a taxi to our hotel in a nice section of town, checked in and went off to begin our research. Most of the stores were in fact closed though due to the day. Not that it was Sunday, but that it was Chilean Indepence day. This made for an interesting twist to the experience. There was a grand parade which was particularly amusing as the Chilean military was actually trained and outfitted by the Germans years ago, so they all looked like tiny, swarthy SS. Odd.

Anyway, 2 days there, then off to Lima, Peru which was far worse than we had initially expected. Imagine a bit of Jakarta mixed with a dash or Marrakech, swirled with a splash of Mexico City and there you have it. From there we left for Cuzco, Peru and our selfish sidetrip to Macchu Pichu, which to this day is the most amazing place I have ever been. We ended our trip back in Lima, rushing through Miralflores and the antique shops to export a 100 year old Thai sculpture my mate had fallen in love with.

After a week of eating and drinking (a lot) while immersed in foreign environments researching the shopping habits and packaging in 3rd world latin american counrties, we had become inseparable. We saw mountains of ice and kingdoms of stone. We even saw a dead hobo on a sidewalk. He looked like an old shoe.

We came back to the office changed men. We had seen and done things and bonded in ways that maybe only can happen on the battlefield. This was no normal business trip. You dont see dead hobos on most business trips.

After a few more months, right after his 1 year anniversary at the firm, C announced that he and his family were moving back to California. Many in the office were happy. I was sad. He and his wife and daughter had become more like family to us than friends in a very brief period. And like that, they were gone. It's been 3 years now since they've left and we've managed to maintain regular contact with them, even spending time with them at their home last summer.

This past week I had a call that C was flying into town for a meeting! My wife and I were thrilled to have him stay with us. He arrived on saturday evening a bit under the weather, so we stayed home, cooked and caught up a bit before bed time. The next couple of days were spent talking, introducing him to our new friends (who still consider him "the competition"). He took that all in jest and it was great to have him around, even at half speed due to his cold. He wrapped up his visit today when I drove him to the airport, hugged him goodbye, and with that he left to go back to San Francisco.

What struck me the most was that while I miss him not being nearby, I think I missed him more while he was here. Distance and time make you forget what it's like to interact with someone regularly and when they're suddenly back, you seem to notice the void that they had left more. Friendships like these are in fact more familial than anything and not having much family in this country, I like that. You can tell because you dont have to do anything for entertainment and you can feel its depth when you laugh with them and when you cry with them. I think that's how you know you'll be friends forever.

Since C and his wife left, we've blessed to have had "the replacements" in our lives, but soon they too will leave and begin their own adventure. They're family now too and I know this because I find myself starting to miss them before they've even gone.

Jack True

2007-03-20T21:40:00.000Z

As a hobby and borderline obsession, my dad collects art. He has hiked mountains in Nepal, excavated ruins in Brazil and scavenged the most obscure regions of Indonesia all in search of art(and sometimes rare woods, but that's another story). My dad also spends most weekends at auctions and art galleries, buying interesting (and sometimes not) work or looking for up and coming talent to invest in.

Back in 1984 he met such a talent, a young graduate student of art named Jack True. Jack already had a bachelors in painting and was finishing up his masters when my dad was first introduced to his work. Among the 6 or 7 masters students that year, Jack's work stood out the most, and to this day, I've never seen other work like his.

Jack was a typical artist in some ways as far as he was sort of aloof and very much into the things he was interested in, but he lacked that off-putting ego that you'll find in many. He was a man of the earth, great with people, genuine and a good family man. He loved nature, he loved life and he loved art. That and he loved marijuana.

Jack looked sort of what you'd expect Grizzly Adams might look like if was very slender. He was a painter, a sculptor, a furniture craftsmen and particulary loved to carve wood and would often pair interesting combinations of species and grains. All of his work was very organic and extremely well assembled and executed with an authentic percision, not unlike a 200 year old log cabin or 5000 year old pyramid.

His paintings were snapshots in time as seen through the his eyes, as no one else could. Working with acrylic paints, brushes and airbrush, he achieved surreal depictions of river beds, landscapes and skies. His paintings were often times very large and you'd find yourself floating into them, exploring all the details, seeing only a glimpse of what he must have seen. Later in his career Jack began creating elaborate stretchers over which he painted-in the shapes of eagles and arrow heads, structures so intricately built, that the back of the paintings were art in their own right.

My dad became good friends with Jack after meeting him in '84, and was likely his biggest benefactor over the years. I met Jack then also, myself a young artist no more than 12 years old, I was really captivated with his work and his personality. I began spending time at his studio where he would let me help him make stretchers, make crates for shipping his pieces and offering me tips on his techniques. During the summer of '87 I believe(Jack and I good friends by now), Jack spent more time training and teaching me, imparting wisdom and criticism, both always constructive, drawing together and grooming me to pursue a creative career of some sort.

As I entered the later stages of my teen years, I was driving and becoming more independent, I began to rely less and less on parents and friends and didn't see Jack quite as much. A few years later though, already pursuing an Industrial Design degree at University, I was working on a project to design and construct a chair. Naturally, I called Jack. I went over to his new house, which had a bigger studio and workshop and went over my ideas for the project that I had in mind. My work being a bit more contemporary than his, it was a bit tough for him to get his head around, but he was gracious, offered me his advice and the use of his workshop. I spent the better part of three weeks at his place working on this chair (which I still have in my living room) and even though we hadn't seen eachother much in the 3 years prior, it was like old times, only better. I somehow felt like I was catching up and our age difference wasn't the barrier it once was.

With the chair project completed, presented and awarded, I was well on my way to finishing my degree and pursuing my career path. I invited Jack to my University graduation, as I had for my High School graduation, but surprisingly he didn't make it to either. It bothered me a bit, but I understood. He's an artist and you never know when the moment will strike to be creative. I always hoped that he was lost in some masterpiece during these events and the days just slipped by. He was probably, just sleeping, but that's hardly as romantic. I bumped into Jack at a Celtic festival a few years after that and we spoke for a bit, talked about getting together sometime to catch up, but never did.

Jack died almost 3 years ago today, on the 24th of March, 2004. He passed suddenly of an apparent heart condition at 45 years old. I read it in the newspaper, which made it less personal, yet far more painful. Jack was my mentor, my guide and most of all my friend. He may in fact have played a bigger role in shaping me than my parents ever could.

I have been a design professional now for almost 15 years, while practicing my art on my own time and now, on the eve of my first solo art show next week, I couldn't help but think of Jack and how much I wish he could be there.

I'm guessing that he probably wouldn't have made it. He'd probably be working on some new masterpiece.

Indian Food

2007-03-17T21:55:00.000Z

I really like Indian food. I live very near my favorite Indian restaurant, Ambar India, and carry out food from there on average once a week. I suppose most of what we get there would be considered southern Indian, but to me it's all just the same, delicious.

Ironically, I have not always liked Indian food and in fact once so detested the smell of curry wafting out of the ventilation stacks of the 5 other Indian restaurants near me that I would cross the street dodging curry fumes like they were Tsetse flies.

I like the fact that no matter what your mood, occasion or time of day, Indian food can satisfy your needs. Always there, always ready to please. It's pretty much always consistent in its taste and preparation. Sure it differs quite a bit from one area of the world to the next, but again, still delicious. It's almost as universal as pizza.

It's this overall reliability in the food though that puzzles me. Not so much in the food really, but in the proprietors of MY Indian restaurant. I have been a faithful diner at Ambar for around 7 years. Since I moved 1/2 mile away 6 years ago, I would say that my wife and I on average have carried out food from there at least once a week. I call it in, I give my name (I enunciate very clearly so they can understand what I'm saying), I leave my telephone number, they tell me it'll be 15-20 minutes or so and I hang up. After about 15 minutes I drive up (yes, a bit lazy I know), park across the street illegally and run in. This is where the mystery strikes me every time. I walk up to the counter and the all look at me like I'm from another planet. I tell them "yes, hi, um I'm here to pick up an order for Chase". They look at me, then look on the tags of the several bags of food carefully lined up on the counter searching for my name. Eventually they find it, I pay and I leave.

This is what kills me! No matter how many times I go there and no matter how many pleasantries I try to exchange with the proprietors, for some reason they never, EVER remember me?!? What's up with that?

Wild Game...

2007-03-15T02:32:00.000Z

I have been MIA the last few days at a huge innovation workshop for my largest client. I cant even begin to describe how draining these things can be. From the prep work leading up to the workshops, the grueling 12 hour days of being "on" 100% of the time and the constant roller coaster ride of praise and/or disgust. We finally wrapped up this evening and I am so glad....and exhausted. And to think, I have to go back to the office for 2 more days yet! Brilliant!

The worst part is that I not only should have been in Chicago this week at a tradeshow (which means 2-3 hours at the show and the rest of the time at Barneys, Diesel and Prada), but I also received a call from my friend who is doing reconnaisance work in Paris for an impending move. The call was short and to the point and went somthing like this...

Friend - "hey, it's Cricket"
Me - "oh, hey, how are you guys?"
Friend - "Good, hey, we're staying a couple of extra days, can you watch our cat?"
Me - "Yeah, sure, no problem. When you coming back now?"
Friend - "Tuesday, I think. Oh, by the way, you should sell all your shit and move over here. My brother's looking at Smart cars while we speak."
Me - "Ok...(thinking to myself, god I wish I were there instead of at the beginning of the last day from hell)...See you then. We miss you guys."
Friend - "yeah, later."

That was it. He went back to continue his pan-Parisian adventure, while I sucked down the rest of my coffee as the clapping began to get day 3 started amid discussions of ALL the work that was still left to be done.

The day began rocky (as they often do during these sessions), but ended with me sipping several glasses of pinot noir and hob-nobbing with the CEO of the world's largest consumer products company. Very down to earth fellow.

Actually, I have known about this session for only two weeks and spent the better part of those 2 weeks preparing, coordinating the design of several research pieces, arranging caterers and prepping my team on the facilitation aspects. Just 2 weeks prior to that, I had a great idea about a new collection I wanted to start.

Somewhere amidst sorting out several hundreds of business cards in my office one day and trying to file these in a way that would make sense....to me, I had an idea. I've always thought of business cards as just a way to compare dick size or more likely a way to have a little piece of paper legitimize your floundering career. I often times think that a card should have more info than just your name and phone number. For several folks I've interfaced with over the years I could see it like this:

Joe Blow
Corporate Fuck (Less important than I think I am)
Company Cheap-Ass
Penis size: 4" (erect)
Salary: 75k plus bonus (in my dreams)
Car: Dodge Minivan

It could be like some sort of sports trading card, embellished by feats and stats or something. It was during one of these enlightening moments that I thought to myself about starting a collection of the business cards of global CEOs and other important leaders. The elite folks, not just average blokes. I want Steve Jobs, Sir Richard Branson, Bill Gates, et al. Now the act of swapping cards takes on a completely different meaning. I envisioned having these hung on my wall somewhere like some prized game trophy from Mozambique or something. "Yes, I wrangled that rare George Soros whilst trudging through the bush, barely avoiding a stampede of wildebeast in the jungle of San Diego. Actully, come to think of it now, I wonder if these guys even have business cards?

Anyway, knowing that today I would be coming face to face with a man who could have provided me my first piece of prized corporate memorabilia, I had been trying to envision the moment, like a sniper, mentally preparing for his next hit. Then the moment came, our hands intertwined in a business-like handshake (firm, yet approachable), and all I could do was say, "nice to meet you". I may as well have gone deer hunting with a trombone instead of a shotgun.

I've met several big-whigs over the years and in my experience, most of them want to be treated like anyone else. I also subscribe to the mindset of acting like you've been there before, meaning never be awestruck by another person. Remember, they likely still wipe their own asses every morning.

Nonetheless, I missed my big chance on that one. I still want my collection, but need to define a keen strategy that will aid me in my capture of that rare specimen I so covet, all while maintaining my dignity and keeping me from looking like some sort of asshole.

Ions...

2007-03-10T03:33:00.000Z

Our best friends recently left for a weeklong trip to Paris. I travel quite a bit and always enjoy reminiscing on all the adventures I've been on. I also am quite fond of the bizarre things that sometimes...well, oftentimes happen. Again, not sure of my readership, but everything I write about seems to just spark something else.

I was returning from Korea some years back and had a stopover in Los Angeles where I had to deplane and go through US customs. This was fairly easy on the return route as I was not carrying several hollowed out electronic prototypes which looked quite suspect to most of the security staff.

For some reason, when going through security in the US, all passengers are required to remove all laptop computers from their bags prior to placing their belongings on the conveyor through the x-ray machines. I would think that an x-ray machine would be able to see my laptop through any of my luggage, but apparently not.

Sometimes during the laptop removal, it becomes necessary to undergo a second, more thorough test, to really ensure that it is indeed a laptop you're carrying and not some sort of concealed explosive device or elaborate drug carrier. Los Angeles requires use of these devices I found out upon arrival.

Once through the standard security check a select laptop toting group was ushered to a second line, aiming us all towards a large white machine which was manned by an equally large black man holding a long set of tweezer looking things. I never really concerned myself with what this was for or why I had to undergo this. After 23hours of travel, you dont really think much at all.

Finally, when I became second in line from the machine, the gentleman directly in front of me who was about to have his pc examined, decided to ask what this test is actually for. In broken english, he asked the security guy:

"what zis machine do?"

Security guy (I can see now he's named Jamal), while begininning to molest the man's laptop with a cotton swab at the end of a long metal wand answers:

"this thing test for ions".

Seeing obvious puzzlement on the foreign man's face Jamal continued:

"...you know what ions is? Ions the shits in bombs."

The man sort of shrugged in acknowledment, took his approved laptop and went to his connecting flight. As he was walking away and I now became first in line, Jamal looked at the foreign guy, then looked at me and added:

"...man, that dude stunk!"

He was French.

The little things...

2007-03-08T02:53:00.000Z

Life, by nature, has it's ups and downs. At the current pace of the world it seems that people dont make the time to stop and appreciate the little things in life. Myself I tend to work a very long workweek, but make sure to take a bit of time everyday to unwind, but that is more of a "macro" activity.

There was a film done by a husband and wife team of designers, Charles and Ray Eames, called the Powers of 10. The film is all visual and it starts at the vantage point of the universe, zooming slowly by powers of 10 (hence the name), to the galaxy, then the solar system, then the earth, etc working it's way through to the cellular structure of a leaf and ultimately ending at a universe scene sort of like the opening.

I like this sort of "micro" view of the world. I use this micro level of observation to find opportunities throughout the day to get tiny pieces of happiness, as fuel for healthy living. So, with that, here's a brief list of things I get micro-joys from:

songs that incorporate whistling
tiny, round stones
well manicured grass
shiny things
serendipitous correspondence
level blinds
crusty french bread
the foam swirls on my latte
well constructed sleeves
the pleasing "click" sound on a shampoo bottle cap
the legs of wine in a glass
the smell of vinyl inflatables
rubberbands
purring
brush strokes
lawn gnomes
the popping sounds of an open fire
magnets
sparkling water
walking through leaves
old couples
flashlights
unread magazines
very small video screens
grid systems
maple helicopters
escapee balloons
round things
getting into a freshly made bed
the 2 dimples on a woman's lower back
a perfect snowflake that lands on me
well chosen fonts
the color of mimolette
the aroma of freshly baked cookies
finding pennies

Interns

2007-03-06T23:47:00.003Z

Over the years at my office and previous places of employment I have hired several interns. At the big corporate jobs I've had we didn't expect much from them except to be loyal lackeys, easy prey for pranks and sometimes pretty girls to look at. I've hired stoners and bible bangers alike, all in the name of providing an educational environment for them and some cheap labor (and fun) for me.

I have been head of creative services at a design firm for a number of years now and in this environment, there is no room for jokes when it comes to interns. They need to be focused, motivated and talented beyond their ages. They're still cheap labor, but cheap labor that's actually required to produce.

This being the case, we rarely hire interns anymore as what we need isn't usually easy to find. We've actually had quite a dry spell of a couple of years or so since the last time we had interns. Ironically, we just hired 2 that will be starting in a few weeks. Funny enough, we have grown so much, I have no clue where they will sit nor what computers they will use, but that's another story.

Anyway, if anyone reads this, you'll notice that events of many sorts trigger memories and/or daydreams about related (or not) things. The hiring of these recent interns made me think back to the last one we had and how could I forget! I thought I'd never hire another one again.

We'll call him Jacob. He contacted my office in the winter of '04 I think. He sent me a sample portfolio and a resume, which both seemed decent enough to bring him in for an interview. So, he came in one morning with his work, seemed dressed nice and pleasant, and spent an hour or so with us telling his "story".

It started out with the usual conversation, meeting, greeting etc. We looked through his stuff which looked pretty good. We then scanned his resume and noticed a disparity of time and a noticably absent degree. Naturally this changed the direction of the interview a bit and sort of went like this...

Me - "...so then, what have you been doing since you graduated from school?"
Jacob - "Well, I..uh...never quite graduated...you see, um..well, ok I was dating this girl and things got really serious, but somehow things fell apart and that really messed me up. Then, well, my mom's boyfriend was poisoned with arsenic by his ex-girlfriend, but he didn't die, and he's laid up. Anyway, all this stuff really got to me and I quit school and basically have all my school work done, but have to make up 3 internships in order to graduate."
Me - stunned, "uh, ok"...
Jacob - "...you see man, I got real fucked up and lost sight of what was important and man, I realized I fuckin' love design and I've just got to get back into it."

I'm not sure what came over me at that point, but I just remember that we were shaking hands and I was telling him when he started. It's kind of a blur. You may be thinking to yourself, 'you actually hired him?!?, this kid sounds nuts!' Call me a softy, but I kind of felt for him. He seemed sincere and eager and frankly, I've always rooted for the little guy. In retrospect, maybe not the best idea, but he did make for some great stories to share. I'll begin with his first day...

Jacob shows up on a Monday bright and early and ring the doorbell to the office. I went to answer the door and I see him standing there with a monitor (looked like a 20" crt) in his hands and a rolling suitcase in tow behind him (he had run his belt through the retracting handle and was pulling it like a trailer). I let him in, showed him to his new desk and naturally had to ask what was the deal with the "stuff"? "Well, I wasn't sure if there was a computer to use here and...well...I live as a caretaker of my aunts house in the hills and i dont always go back there every night, it's kinda lonely. So, I usually bring all my stuff with me and I crash at friend's places". "Hmmmm" I say, "OK, well, we do have a PC AND and a monitor for you to use, so you dont have to bring that again. As for your suitcase, why not just leave it in your car?" "well, I have a Jeep, so I cant really leave my stuff in there because someone may slash the vinyl windows and rob me, but it's cool."

Jacob set up his workstation and all of his belonings, filled out some paperwork, got aqcuainted with the office and the design team and started his stay with us. At day's end he packed up all his things, and I mean ALL. He undid his belt and pulled it through the suitcase again, hoisted his huge monitor and asked for a hand with the door and the lift call button. I didn't mention that Jacob is a slight say 5'7" and about 10 stone (140lbs) at best.

An odd, yet strangely pleasing end (I get such joy from the little things in life) to a wierd day. Little did I know that it would be one of the more normal days of Jacob's brief employment.

Wine, Cheese and Falconry

2007-03-02T21:29:00.000Z

I am intrigued by all things at the extreme high end of opulence. Anything ranging from the attainable interests in fine food & drink and travel to the more inaccesible levels of wealth that allow for personal jets, private islands, 100+ foot yachts, obscure breeds of dogs and cats and the like. Who are these people that look through the Robb Report as casually as they would peruse a Boot's circular? In this world a helicopter is just a whirlybird, a convenient mode of transport. Money is not an object to be bothered by, just an instrument in a transaction, often times never even seen or exchanged. The activities and hobbies at this stratospheric height are often so obscure that the average bloke would likely not know the difference between rocking the casbah and snorting blow off of a prostitutes bare breasts. Intriguing.

Earlier today I was driving through a rough section north of town where I saw a large bird in the middle of the street straight in front of me. This bird as I got closer appeared quite large and seemed to have something in it's talons. I was about 10 feet away when it flew off with a puff of feathers in its wake, at which point I realized this was in fact a falcon with a city pigeon in it's grasp. I was quite surpised to see such a site in an urban setting of this nature.

This experience did however, like many things do, send my mind into a daydream where I was pondering one of my other interests, Falconry. I particularly like those tiny little hats. Anyway, I have these pictures in my head of stately settings in the English countryside, wearing the appropriately garish garb and sporting a massive rawhide sleeve upon which the most noble of raptors, the Peregrine Falcon, is perched. I envision a hunt where I, with my most direct and yet borderline telepathic commands, send this regal beast into the evening sky, bound on its quest to do my bidding and bring me some sort of meat in the shape of a rabbit or other unidentified fowl. While this hunt is taking place my mates and I would be sipping 60 year old bordeauxs and discussing some merger or acquisition or maybe just about chicks.

This brought me square back to the dead pigeon being carried through the grey March sky in the present. I wondered, how did this come to be? Could this really just be a most unlikely sighting that I was a witness to or was there something else behind this? I recalled an article I read several months back which was about an issue plaguing the inhabitants of several larger, lower income cities. It seems that locals of these environs are beginning to feed on the local fauna (read pigeons, squirrels and raccoons). These animals, being free (like you dont have to pay for them) and seemingly harmless to what are often immigrants from far off lands, are actually quite deadly, being full of the toxins and diseases that an urban environment can create.

So again, my mind adrift, I had this funny vision of the Urban Falconer. I pictured a squatter getting on in years, say about 60, who over time had caught and somehow trained a Falcon. Perhaps he came from an aristocratic family in Eton, attended boarding schools and the like, but decided to forego university and instead chose to follow a different path...a young lady. Maybe this was an unreciprocated love, perhaps she was a kept woman, only to be loved from afar evetually driving the young squire mad. Our mate, let's call him Giles, roamed the darkest corners of London eating and sleeping where he could,emotionally spiraling downward until he reached the point of no return.

Having grown accustomed to this living situation, Giles was forced to rely on his instincts and a modified version of his upbringing's teachings. He eventually stumbled upon a wounded young Falcon when searching through some brush beneath a tree in Leicester Square. Having a faint recollection of his Falconry lessons as a young lad, he held on to this young fowl and eventually nursed it to health. Giles finally had a new, loyal companion and a yearning desire to train this rare bird. I pictured the pair in Regent's Park, practicing their hunting techniques on unsuspecting rodents. Eventually Giles's training of the bird would be complete. No longer would he have to beg for a few quid for some chips or a pint of lager. The Falcon would bring him fresh prey, which he'd eat with some old cheese and a cheap bottle of wine, recounting the splendor of days long past. Regal indeed.

Of course this could have just been a random Falcon that had simply made it's way into city limits through the push of the everexpanding suburbs and forced to dine on the local feathered vermin. I suppose it's a good thing I actually had my eyes on the road at that moment, otherwise I likely would have run over both the Faclon and it's catch, seeing just the explosion of down in my mirror as I passed. A less than regal end to say the least.

Tanner Valentine

2007-03-01T14:34:00.000Z

I would like to welcome the illustrious Tanner Valentine to this blog.

Intro to the "Plan B" lifestyle

2007-02-28T17:18:00.000Z

I was inspired by my best mate, Cricket McGraith, to switch my allegiances to this wonderfully literate venue I've dubbed "myspace for grown-ups". I've thus begun my blog journal which is essentially a living chronicle of everyday (almost) happenings and thoughts, with an undercurrent of the "Plan B" lifestyle. Being that this is a new blog, many of you (probably not many actually) may be wondering, 'tell me Simon, what is this "Plan B" you speak of and how may I follow the ways of your teachings?'.

There comes a time in a man's life when he begins to question everything he's done, what he's doing and what does it all mean. This usually hits around 33. I've read that this is some sort of cosmic "coming of age" year, with Jesus's crucifixion and Hitler's rise as 2 famous examples. Not two names you'd often say in the same sentence, huh? Anyway, I think this came early for me, more like 25 or so. In fact, as 33 came and went, I find I'm still there. I think I'm getting clarity however as to what I'm doing and why. It doesn't necessarily fix it, but I dont obsess about it either.

So, back to Cricket. He and I have been friends for a couple of years and we spend many sunday afternoons holding "meetings", drinking coffee and comparing notes on life's idiosyncracies. What we've deduced is that the way we live and the paths we're on are essentially necessary. Unless you're born rich, you win the lotto or have that million dollar idea and slave away to bring it to life, most of us go to college and then get jobs to earn a living. If you're lucky you'll like your job, maybe even find it rewarding. The reality though is that the reward you'd rather have, no matter how much you love what you do, is enough money to never have to work again.

With that said, we all need a back up plan to keep us going. You know, for when "the shit goes down". That's what Plan B is all about. Having a back up plan. The spare apartment in Amsterdam, a new name, the passport and the swiss bank account with some cash socked away. It may be a Bourne Identity type of dream, or you may actually follow through. That's the beauty of it, you dont actually have to do any of it, you just have to have the plan. The plan gives you a type of confidence you may have never thought you had. Say, you have a shitty day at work or you get in a fight with a loved one, what do you do? Sulk? Hell no! You think to yourself..."fuck this crap, if I wanted to I could leave all this shit behind and start from scratch".

Remember, no one owns you (or limits you for that matter) except yourself.

The Oscars...

2007-02-26T01:50:00.000Z

In one of my last posts I spent the better part of a half hour praising all the wonderful things about television. Tonight the Oscars...oh sorry, I mean ...The Academy Awards (tm) are on and while this is one event that even TV haters like to tune into, ironically, this whole category of masturbatory programming is one that I despise! I hate awards shows. Almost more than anything.

The whole concept of all these people who are already famous, designating several nights a year under different guises, just to remind themselves how great they are, just seems messed up. Now, whoever reads this might say that I am just jealous. I am not. I never grew up wanting to be an actor. Not to say that I didn't think I could be one if I wanted to...a good one actually.

Being a creative person I can understand the need for incessant reassurance and praise, to be recognized for excelling at your craft of choice. You may recall my post a few days back when I spoke about the power that reality has when it hits you in the face with less than glowing criticism. But this is just ridiculous. And really the superfluousness is what gets me the most. Sure, one event a year (the Oscars) would be ok, but do we really need the Golden Globes, the People's Choice Awards, the AFI awards, the SAGs or the MTV ones? Holy crap that's a lot and only the movie related ones I can think of.

My recap of last night's event would be as follows:

1. Ellen is a pretty good MC
2. Al Gore should be president
3. The Departed deserved to win
4. Jennifer Hudson didn't
5. I'd like to see West Bank Story
6. Hellen Mirren is old enough to be my mom, but still hot

So, why did I watch you ask? Well uh...how's that one go about the trainwreck? In my defense I was on the couch working on a proposal while my wife watched and it was sort of background noise...and of course it fueled my observations of pop culture. I still love you TV!

1999

2007-02-24T04:11:00.000Z

The last 2 days of this past week I had been stuck in a hotel conference room in Columbus, Ohio with the 45 employees of our company for our "annual" meeting. We have 3 offices, so we try to do these all-hands company meetings once a year, but they seem to happen far less frequently. This was the first one in almost 2 years, so there was a ton to get caught up on.

The meetings start off like any meeting of this sort that you can imagine (think Wall Street meets The Office). You have several slides presented by the owners with graphs, pie charts, gantt charts and the like. Then, in case you didn't understand those charts the first time, the same data points are re-charted in a different way. Call it filler.

The next part entails our 2 departments (design and engineering) walking through several slides that give an overview of all the work done since the last time we met. Being a creative firm, there are also lots of pretty pictures and leniency when it comes to giving the presentation (as far as what I can get away with saying). Good thing too as I distinctly recall drawing a similarity between a lively brainstorm session and a meth lab bust.

When I was a kid I was really shy in front of groups of people. I remember having to sing and dance as part of Mike Fink's crew in my 5th grade production of Davey Crockett. The sight of all those parents and kids in the audience was startling. Like any kid you dont want to be the one that screws up and embarasses himself or his parents. It went fine. This sort of inhibition continued into high school when my sense of humor seemed to really sharpen. I dont know how or what eventually clicked and I realised that people weren't actually lauging AT me, they were laughing WITH me...most of the time. I guess I've always marched by my own beat and have been comfortable with myself, but have been sensitive to the criticism of others. I've gotten over that too. Funny what age and experience can do to shape us.
Anyway, while these meetings are invaluable in their special way, the preparation required of management (that'd be me and a couple others), is insane. With that in mind, the first day of these meetings is always the best for me though because a), we're halfway done and b) there will be some opportunities to hang out with people outside of work and socialize.

When I checked into the hotel, naturally I flirted with the ladies behind the counter ('cause that's how I roll). The rooms were prepaid, but they needed my card anyway for "incidentals". I involuntarily replied, "good, 'cause I'm gonna party like it's 1999 and trash the joint like a rockstar". All said mind you with the straightest of faces. The women behind the counter all gasped and looked at one another trying to figure out if I was serious. It's fun to mess with old ladies. It's particuarly funny too becasue I'm normally in bed by 10....maybe 10:30 on the weekends. A girl needs her sleep ; )

So, as the day 1 meetings drew to a close and we all left for the big company dinner, I never would have thought that I wouldn't have just come back to my room afterwards, read some stuff online, send out some emails and then get to bed early to prep for day 2. How wrong I was. Dinner ended and everyone returned to the hotel bar for a nightcap. That's when I was introduced to the "chocolatini". My drink of choice normally is the Vodka Gimlet. My 007 drink if you will. Wine is also an important part of my potable life. I dont usually go for girly drinks, but I love chocolate and I guess it looked tasty. Well, 1 turned to 3 pretty damn quick and before I knew it I was being whisked away to the first of 2 bars to continue what I had started.

I'm not exactly sure which of my co-workers accompanied me or exactly how much of an ass I made of myself, but I do know that there was dancing involved..on a table no less and I was not in bed until 3:30 am or so. As comofortable (and borderline obsessive) as I've become with being in front of crowds over the years, adding alcohol to my already extroverted personality can be a recipe for disaster. Now if only I had adopted the Gimlet when I was 10, I might have had the starring role.

Television...

2007-02-22T02:46:00.000Z

I'm watching American Idol right now with, from what Ryan told us, about 30 million other people. Of the other 270 million odd americans not watching Idol with me, there is a large group, though likely not as big as they think, who like to bash television and all of it's faithful viewers.

This group of self-righteous liberals love to hang their Dukakis/Greenpeace hats on the "kill your television" hatpost. They say it rots your mind, is a waste of time and is dumbing and numbing our children. I'm actually quite liberal myself. I mean, I love whales, trees, baby seals in trees and alternative fuels as much as the next guy. I also happen to love television. I think it's great. I think too however, that not unlike driving a problem-prone car increases your chances of sputtering out on the highway, the more weak-minded the simpleton, the more likely to be influenced by the bright likes and talking pictures. But why waste time on a high horse over television? Just turn it off!

Brains are just big slimy sponges that absorb what they're stimulated by. If you take your kitchen sponge and drop it in the toilet, it'll absorb toliet water right? The less saturated the sponge, the more it'll take in. Nature is magically built with balance at it's central of laws. Pretty neat.

I think I'm a relatively intelligent guy. College educated, dean's list and fairly well read and cultured. Granted, I'm no Stephen Hawking (I'd probably be a faster typer ), but you get the picture. I'm smart enough to know better and bottom line, I think television is great. The whole concept of hundreds, even thousands of channels of useless information and contrived situations is frankly just really entertaining and fulfilling to me. Always something new to see., something to make you feel better about yourself or just make you think. Don't get me wrong, I like books, magazines, plays and other non-television driven entertainment and education media as well. But don't discount the purpose of reality tv, cheesy sitcoms or your evening news. They're all the same and should be taken for what they are. Mindless entertainment....and lots of words and pictures.

Engineers

2007-02-21T13:11:00.000Z

For some reason people seem to find me funny. I'll have friends say to me 'oh, so and so loved you,he/she thinks you're so funny!' For a moment I'll catch myself wondering, what on earth could I have possibly said that would make "funny" the adjective of choice when describing me? I'd certainly prefer "good looking", "talented" or "great in bed", but I suppose it'll do.

Anyway, with that said, I have never been much for actual joke telling. Most seem so simple that I dont find them that funny. Others that actually are funny often become too complex to recall verbatim. I recently read a joke though that I thought was brilliant and it was due in large part to the fact that I work with several engineers. Upon hearing this joke (an engineer joke), I couldn't wait to use it!

Yesterday my boss was taking a new face around the office. He stopped by and introduced his nephew Jim, or Steve, I cant recall. What did stand out is that the nephew, a lanky, meek fellow, happened to be an engineer! Finally my big chance! We exchange pleasantries and then I lead in with...'hey, I heard a great joke about engineers, want to hear it?' Poor guy, what was he to say but 'sure'.

'Great!' I said with obvious glee in my voice. 'How can you tell the difference between an introvert engineer and an extrovert engineer?' 'I dunno?' he says. 'The extrovert engineer looks at your shoes when he's talking to you!'

The look on nephew's face was priceless! And while he might not be one of the ones that says 'oh, he's so funny!', for that heart-piercing and emasculating moment, I truly was.

The thing about parents...

2007-02-21T03:12:00.000Z

As a designer and artist I (my work,actually) have, through education and practice, been subject to years of highly subjective, deeply critical and sometimes downright nasty commentary. By now, having suffered through that gauntlet of professors, clients and random passers by, I have grown a pretty thick skin. If you can't take some abuse (remember, it's aimed at the work, not you), you just shouldn't pursue a creatively focused career. Otherwise you'll end up like countless other creative types before you and just go fucking nuts, shooting your ashes out of a cannon, cutting off your ear or hopefully at least coming up with a more creative way "out".

For the past several years I seem to periodically go through a cycle where I need to feel creatively productive. This is due in large part to this most common of occurences. Guy goes to (insert type of schooling here), he gets really good at what he does, he gets a good job, works hard, management says 'heck, if he's that good on his own, maybe he can lead an army of his clones', guy then moves into management. Hopefully he gets good at that too, otherwise he gets canned. Remember, you can't get promoted back to what you were originally good at if it doesn't work out. So, what happens in this process is that eventually you are no longer doing what you love and instead you are trying to train monkeys to be like you. Not fun...mostly. To help you reconcile this, they give you bigger paychecks. That doesn't suck. The thing though is that there is a creative form of expression that's lost. I imagine it's kind of like making it big as a musician, where the charm that got you there is what they want to strip from you to make you appeal to a broader audience. My audience is small.

I was getting to a point, being the need to still have a creative outlet. Those last several years I was talking about, I have been (when motivated) painting. This isn't something that I do for long stretches of time. It sort of goes in waves, say like every 2 years I'll get in a groove for a few months and crank a bunch of stuff out. Then something in my house breaks or I get really busy or there's a sale at Barney's and I fall off the creative wagon. It's a bit manic, but longer term. I'd like to do this more often. Paint that is, not stop and start like some crappy tv you bought at a thrift store because it was a sweet deal. Now, if I had a benefactor or sugar mama I could have been a painter full time. Granted I'd get bored and take breaks from time to time, we are flaky us creative types, are we not? As it stands, I squeeze a few hours in here and there between errands, chores, socializing, etc. Seems though, when I finally get all the shitty work out of my system, I have to stop.

I come from a family of artist, designers and architects. We can take critcism well, but also like to give it. Anyway, a funny thing happened yesterday and it started something like this:

My dad, who is a brilliant man (an accomplished architect, urban planner and economist, not to mention a gifted artist to boot) came by to see the work I have been doing during my most recent period "on". I have a show coming up next month and I thought I could use the feedback. My studio is in my basement, so I brought a couple pieces upstairs for better lighting then took dad downstairs to see the rest of my work. We (more like he) probably spent about an hour all told going through each of 10 or 12 paintings. It started with the usual (but uncomfortable), "hmmmm". Then in detail, my dad with his still strong accent (even after 35 years), begins to critique my work to pieces. Being a proffesor , he's trained to inflict crushing blows with minimal effort. The overall feeling was a sort of 'better learn how to walk before you try to run'.

Funny thing is that after the weeks of my friends and my wife all saying that my work was great, I really just wanted a real opinion and some tough love frankly. You could say I asked for it.

What I find most interesting about yesterday's events though is that, at this point in my life and career, I can have my work (or anything else for that matter) torn to shreds and I'll just brush it off. For some reason though, and I imagine no matter how old you get, the criticism our parents give us always seems to sting a bit longer.

Music and Lyrics...

2007-02-20T00:03:00.000Z

For as long as I can remember, I was always the guy thay hated all romantic comedies, and drew the line of acceptable romantic films with Wild at Heart and Kalifornia. Not so heartwarming in the Ross & Rachel or Seth & Summer kind of way, but worked for me anyway.

Recently however (meaning over the last say 4 years) I have very slowly begun to go through some sort of a shift in my feelings towards this genre and it really frightens me. I can't say for sure which film or show it was that planted the "soft" seeds in me. It may have been the first episode of the OC, or Love Actually, maybe even Chasing Liberty. Somewhere my hardened heart has taken a liking to Hugh Grant's charm and Mandy Moore's "princess movies".

I suppose this weekend really solidified it for me that I had officially "crossed over". A couple of friends of mine (already "out"), asked if we'd like to go see the Music & Lyrics starring Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. For the record, when I was asked if I wanted to go I looked at my wife and did that "gag me" motion and responded something like ...'well...let me see...uhhhh....I'll call you back.'

Somewhere between "no" and "are you fucking kidding me", I called back and said "sure". Mind you this was more for the chance to see our friends, but I said yes just the same. Anyway, we went, got snacks, saw the film and left. Upon leaving, we did the usual recap and critique. Hugh Grant was naturally playing his usual smug English self, always just out of reach and aloof, but with a glimpse of a softer side. Drew Barrymore played the love interest and was typically charming. Sadly, I was the only one that liked it.

My name is Simon Chase and I like romantic comedies.