Indian Food

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...

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...

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...

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

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

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

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