The Modern World

I'm frustrated. Last Saturday, I continued a long honored tradition of standing in the kitchen and preparing dinner while listening to A Prairie Home Companion on my portable radio. The show has been on for 30 years, and listening to it brings me back to a quiter, simpler time.

At one point, while I was cutting the ginger and green onion for the steamed seabass, Sally Dworsky, the daughter of one of the band members, sang a beautiful song. It was one of those moments where you know the lyrics and you can't quite place the artist. After a while, I realized it was an old John Prine song. So, while I was waiting for the rice cooker to finish, I powered up the computer to see when Prine was coming into town. Of course, I eventually found out that he is coming to L.A., but most of the good seats were already gone.

It got me thinking. With all of this technology around us -- with all of these gadgets and "information pushers", we still don't have tools that bring it all together for us and personalize information. Google is great but you still have to open the browser and push "Search." I want my technology to work for me, but also to get out of the way and connect me to what is important to me (like my rice cooker and radio).

I believe that in the search for economic success, many of the world's great computer companies have pitted themselves against each other to define their "markets" and lost sight of what is most important -- that technology is a tool. A hammer is a tool as well, but if all you've got are screws, it ain't gonna do you much good.

I'm still going to get those tickets....

School is in Session

Education has been on my mind a lot lately. First off, my wife and I have been looking at pre-schools for our son. Picking a pre-school is somewhat like buying a house -- you walk through prospective locations trying to imagine if you (or your kid) would be comfortable there. One of our first visits was to a factory-like campus with a insanely controlling director who talked up the Reggio Emelia method, the new "hip" method of teaching. The director said things like "if a child wants to do math, we will not discourage them from pursuing it." Come on, my kid's gonna be 2 or 3 when he enters pre-school. Of course, he's a genius, but math? Another friend gave me a pointer about avoiding a certain pre-school that lost her kid -- twice.

My sister in-law is a teacher and we were talking a little about how media is used in the classroom experience. When I was in grade school, I thought filmstrips were the best thing ever. I probably learned more from those presentations than anything else the teacher said. Today, DVDs and videos are sometimes used, and some schools even have computers hooked up to TV monitors. But the sad fact is that our current educational system and the No Child Left Behind Act has turned our teachers into test prep tutors and our students into mindless memory machines. Teachers are so worried about their students failing tests that they can't concentrate on the art of teaching and maybe get through to the students who need them the most.

I went to some pretty regimented grade and junior high/high schools growing up where they followed this approach. The sole goal was to get the best grade and prepare you for a good college. Well, when I finally had a choice, I bucked the system and chose a college where I could be involved in the process of learning. It made all the difference.

That was a different era. Since then, people say that our education system is broken. They're right. But I'm afraid that our government leaders don't understand that times have changed. They think that if we throw money at the problem and encourage reading that things will get better.

The problem is that our students have changed. Nobody really reads books anymore. They watch TV and play video games and chat on IM. Their attention span has shortened. Now whether or not you think that's a bad thing, it doesn't really matter -- the fact is that students (and learning) are different; so we need to use different tools. We need to encourage actions like this and stop trying to shove Moby Dick down kid's throats. Just because they don't know the answer to Question 8D on the English section of the PSAT doesn't mean they won't make it in today's world.

We need to learn how to teach again.

The Toys of Fatherhood

BENCART
Originally uploaded by loomiswatoosi.

One of the great things about being a father is that you get to play with all of the toys you had (or wished you had) as a kid.

I packed up the family this weekend and headed out to Palm Springs to spend some time with some friends. On the way, we stopped at an Albertson's in Banning, just shy of the low desert.

Ben really enjoyed this cart. Might have to build him one soon.

He also enjoyed some baby-back ribs at Babe's BBQ and Brewery.

Another favorite was the Date Shake at Hadley's on the way out of town.

Even with all the rain, a very good weekend.

Context

I had never been to Austin, Texas. I had mixed feelings about going. Ever since George Jr. took office, I’ve associated the Lone Star State with W. It somehow went from being a core part of the country to being an isolated, strange cousin from overseas. Well, since the Democrats (and everyone else) got their behinds kicked in the last election, I realize that I am the strange relative; so I better start understanding the “others” or I won’t have anything to say.

So, when I walked off the plane into Austin’s cavernous terminal, I was more than pleasantly surprised to hear a live Texas Rock band playing (pedal steel, mandolin, harmonica) and see a beautiful Collings Custom acoustic guitar in the window of an Austin City Limits Store.

My ride was running late, so I had some time to look around and soak in the Good ol Texas feeling. Interesting, the airport has a rule that only local stores can have concessions in the concourse. Very down home. Memories of W. were washing away.

Though my sponsor was a transplant, he still had the mannerism that was oh-so-Texas. He drove me around the beltway that surrounds the city (I hear downtown is nice, especially the bats under the bridge) to his house in an upscale suburb, where we fed his two dogs and talked about oak burn rates.

After enough time, we got back on the road and eventually ended up at The Oasis, a multi-level restaurant/bar on the edge of man-made Lake Travis, one of the high-lights of an Austin experience.

It was here that I met “The Boys.”

In another era, I had worked at The Walt Disney Company, around the time Michael Eisner began rebuilding everything and re-branding Mickey. My first office had been on the first floor of the Old Animation Building, surrounded by artists and colorists.

I remember one day when we (the new creative exec. team) went over to visit WED (Walt’s initials), which was Disney’s “Imagineering” department where concepts were developed for the movies or the Disney Parks. This place was made up of a bunch of engineers, many of whom had worked side by side with Walt for decades. Though they were pretty old and the place was just beginning to come into the future (think no computers), you could tell that these seemingly over-the-hill guys were actually light-years ahead of what everybody else was doing. (Marty Sklar is one of the only guys still around and he’s brilliant). It was like being in a room with the original Space Cowboys, the Apollo astronauts, 40 years later -- still as sharp as when they first climbed into capsules and hurled themselves into space.

Well, “The Boys” lived up to their potential and more. I can’t go into much detail on who they are or what they do, but that’s not what’s really important. What matters is that they use their abilities as scientists, engineers, and mathmaticians to answer questions and solve problems -- they use their strengths to make the world a better place.

Now any preoccupation with something for too long will usually lead people to some wonderful places, but it also makes for some really interesting character traits -- I like to call them “accessories.”

The most brilliant of “The Boys” is a Dr. named Al who, among other things, has an accessory fascination with "Mooses."

His logic is that transportation should be an extension of your home -- you should be able to do anything you like where ever you like -- so why not on the road? “Moose II” as he dubbed it, was a custom-built, 6 battery Diesel behemoth with Red and White leather seats and a backup camera. The thing was classic. Now that I think of it, I should have asked if I could have slept in it instead of the La Quinta Inn mentioned in yesterday’s post.

The rest of the guys were equally as interesting and definitely had a unique approach to life and work. The lesson for younger generations, especially in the technology business, is to never judge someone by their age -- in fact, people who were around before computers and advanced technology permeated everyday life have something we, the younger generation, can never have -- context. Context defines purpose, and purpose is something no form of research or market prowess can give you.

Fast-forward 20 hours. I’m back in the airport, strolling the souvenir stand. A different band is playing on stage. I’m debating what to get my wife and son from my travels. A Bull-head shot glass? A bottle of BBQ sauce? I always like to get something for them if I have the time. I shoot past miniature toy trucks to a picture of the Texas flag. My mind clicks to bad thoughts about W. No, Marsha wouldn’t like the flag. If only they made toy "Mooses" for my son. Now that would be new.

Texas

I’m sitting on the sagging bed in a the La Quinta “Inn” -- North Austin, Texas. A Paris Hilton Chihuahua is barking outside and somewhere near a guy is coughing up a lung. I can hear the backup beeper of a semi over the low din of the freeway.
What, in God’s name am I doing here?

All Good things Must Come to an End

Well, the weekend of Daddy Daycare is quickly coming to a close. Soon, my wife will return from her respite of leisure and pampering and I will venture, tired and battle-worn, back to a week full of travel and work.

And what do I take away from these 3 days of splendid camaraderie with my fellow man-warrior-child? Perhaps a better understanding of the intricacies of Thai cooking...and a little bit of joy.

Stag Weekend Continued

The party continued for Ben and I this morning. After a fairly quite night (Ben was pretty wiped from his Thai market experience), he woke up with a serious milk hangover, but that didn't stop him from guzzling another 8 oz. of Organic Whole straight from the carton.

I, myself, was pretty destroyed from the night before. After Ben hit the hay, I decided to make good use of my new Thai ingredients and whipped up a skillet full of Turkey Kang Panang Curry. Now, apparently, my schooling in the metric system is long forgotten -- I had a bit of a problem figuring out measurements, and, as such, I made some of the most spicy Panang I have ever tasted. It made me dizzy and plugged my ears. Then again, it may not have been all my fault. Exhibit A, the instructions on the back of the bag:

"Squeeze ground coconut meat for thick milk yield; heat in a boiled pot until boiled showing oily refined topping; take a condensed part out to rest in a pan, white frying the ground spices in the heated coconut milk/oil until strong aromatic odour emanates; mix the meat in the oily melange until just done; mix the remaining part of the coconut milk into the pan; cover it, using still high heat; after boiling again, put fish sauce and sugas and taste it according to your taste, then put the cleaned vegetables on top; topped with some basil leaves...stirring once to ensure well mixing and the vegetable half done; and the soup is boiling again...."

(If anyone can tell me how to cook this stuff (Mae Anong Jittritham brand) I will be greatly appreciative).

Ben noticed that an "odour emanated" from me so he suggested some exercise to work it out. We drove to Westridge Road, half-way up the Santa Monica Mountain range, listening to some Janis Joplin. Ben sang along to "Me and Bobby McGee."

One thing I learned today. If you're a MALE with four limbs, not wearing a wedding ring because you had to take it off to clear the shower drain, and you're pushing a baby in a stroller, you're a very popular person. No wonder political candidates like to hold babies. Must remember this for single friends...baby rental service.

We strolled for 30 minutes or so and came across a great old tractor used to clear and grade the fire road after heavy rains. Ben said he needed to conquer it. More photos HERE.

Thai Stag Weekend

Ben (my son) and I are stag this weekend -- Marsha's mom came in from the East Coast and they went up North to the Oaks Spa in Ojai to enjoy a weekend of rest and relaxation.

The first thing Ben and I did after her car pulled out of the driveway was to look at each other and say "now what?" After a few minutes of discussion, we decided a road trip was in order. We packed up the iPod, a bag of diapers and our sunblock and headed North on the 405, over the big hump of the Santa Monica mountains and into the San Fernanado valley.

Ben was happily chirping along to a Toots Thielman, song. The freeway was packed, so we tried surface streets. Ventura Boulevard, made famous by Tom Petty, was packed, as well, due to luxury mini-vans cruising the shopping district.

We finally made it to my brother's house after 45 minutes on the road. J was out in the back smoking a cigar and T was doing some gardening. We dropped off a present and hung around for an hour or so, listening to the airplanes fly overhead and enjoying the afternoon sun. S (my nephew) really enjoyed the iTrip we got him.

Ben was up for more fun, so we headed to Studio City and picked up Mike, who was more than ready to get out of his house for a little while and rumble with the big boys in the Subaru wagon.

We headed deep, deep, deep into the valley to a place called Bangluck Market in North Hollywood. For a while, I've been wanting to find some concentrated chili sauces for Thai cooking. On the plane back from Jacksonville, they had some excellent Chicken Curry (and some AMAZING white-label pigs in the blanket, which, if you can tell me who supplies the Jacksonville FBO, I will be oh so happy) and it got me hunkering for the sauce.

Bangluck is in the middle of strip mall near the railroad tracks-- pretty unassuming place -- but when you get inside, it's a whole other world. "The Luck", as I like to call it, is full of every imagineable Asian ingredient you could ever want (or not want). Mung Beans, Dried Fish, Shredded Ginger in Brine, Fresh Catfish Heads -- they have it all. And the amazing thing is the prices. It's what food SHOULD cost in L.A. Coconut milk cost $.99, six heads of garlic cost $.79, and the Cock Brand Fish Sauce cost $.59. Unbelievable. (I must say, though I picked up a lot of vegetables, I stayed away from the meat and fish section -- didn't see any cats in the alley).

Walked out with eight bags of groceries. Total bill=$44.23. Mike was pretty pleased as well, but Ben was starting to get bored with the whole scene (except for the packaged Frogs) so we packed up the car and headed back. We dropped Mike off at his house, showed him the new HD camera and hit the road.

Somewhere near In-and-Out Burger, I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Ben's eyes close, gently lulled to sleep by the sound of Little Willie John singing "Fever." I turned the Subaru into the sun and headed home -- two weary suburban warriors returning from battle.

Death of an Artist

"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."
Arthur Miller

The World Stage

I've been thinking a lot about community. The many shapes it takes in the modern world. Used to be that a community consisted of people who lived around you in your village or who believed in the same thing you did. It was not only a social structure, but the feeling of warmth and security that came along with it (religion makes good use of this.) But with the coming of the corporations and the rise of the Industrial Society, the idea of a shared grouping of souls has been replaced by a dog-eat-dog world. Nowadays, the closest most people come to a sense of community is ad companies showing them something warm and sweet in a bid to sell them something.

But there are exceptions. The Internet has provided a wonderful place for expression, compassion and inclusion -- all parts of the community experience. Email, chat rooms, websites, blogs, online photo galleries -- I could go on forever about how many different ways people have today to share and feel a connection to something -- but there is something on the horizon that I think will eclipse it all.

We're visual beings. Once movies were invented, reading rates declined drastically. Since the advent of television, literacy rates have hit bottom. Whether or not you feel this is a bad thing, the truth is that we are more engaged and involved with visual material than we are with the written word.

They say that every waiter who lives in L.A. has a script he's shopping around, and that every car detailer has a secret desire to direct. The sad truth is that the odds of these people every being able to get a shot at breaking into "The Business" is about as good The Pope leading a Bar Mitzvah of the Dalai Lama -- until now.

The Internet will become a viable distribution platform so that everyone will have an equal chance to express themselves visually. Sony has released the FX1 HD camera. Combine this with a $500 mini-mac and the included editing software and you've got a small studio.

"The Business" will be run by the people.

I already video conference with others usingiCHAT, but the world will open to others. Some of the different people I know who might benefit:

My friend Eric Haller mentioned that he would do a show about fixing up his sailboat, The Boate...a sort of "This Old Boat" show.

Another friend, Erich Schiffmann has self-produced numerous DVDs of his yoga practice and travels around the world to teach. Wouldn't it be great if the classroom could come to him or I could join all of his classes without ever leaving home?

Another guy I met, Chef Eric(what is it with all the Eric's?) teaches cooking for individuals and groups in a small classroom on the Westside.

A friend teaches something called"The S Factor" , which is "Stripping & Pole Dancing Workout for the Everyday Woman." It's a serious workout...really.

We have these wonderful technologies in front of us that can help bring us together in a new sense of community. If anyone has any other ideas, I would love to hear them (or see them).

Boeing Rainbow

Boeing Rainbow
Originally uploaded by loomiswatoosi.

Going home can sometimes be really special.

A Pause

It seems that every year around this time, I hear about a lot of people getting sick and/or dying. My greataunt passed away last month, my friend's boss died from cancer and one of my other friends went through a cancer scare.

On the plane back from Bermuda, I was digging through some long-forgotten paperwork and came across an article by Kathleen Norris. I think it speaks best for itself.

"It often takes a crisis to give us perspective. A man sipping a drink in a restaurant coughs, stops breathing, and turns blue. Everything changes in that moment. Family, friends, strangers -- it does not matter -- drop whatever they are doing. One phones 911, others place him on his side until he begins to breath again. When he opens his eyes and responds to a question, they cheer. It's as if time had been suspended, waiting for this moment. Once the EMT's arrive, the rescuers drift back to their business lunches or their offices. Having stared hard into what is true -- that life is both precious and precarious -- one will order a stiff drink, one will phone her husband to tell him she loves him. Another will sit at his desk, staring at the photograph of his children until tears well up and he turns back to the blinking cursor on the computer screen."

All of it gives me reason to pause -- and simply be.

To The Bone

I've been in Bermuda for 4 days now and have had about 3 hours to myself. My good friend Chinni has been providing me with a constant flow of coffee -- freeze dried though it may be -- to keep me going.



I almost didn't make it into the country. Immigration stopped me at the desk and said I didn't have the proper papers -- took me into a back room and questioned me -- told me I could stay for 1 day and try to get everything in order. Luckily, it all worked out and I've been going on all cylinders ever since. What started as a simple color calibration and printing job has turned into a full blown computer networking, advanced tech. trip.

Last night, we got some time off and drove into Hamilton to have dinner with Maggie and Richard. Maggie has a fascination with Mr. Winkle and Richard's a great Canadian ex-pat. After dinner, I walked back to my cottage in the dark, the sound of the tree frogs chirping all around me.

Been using Skype and iChat A/V for Internet calling and it's been absolutely fantastic. Free, unlimited calls everywhere in the world. Finally, the communication monopolies of the world will fall.

Can't wait to get home.

Paradise

I’m working in Bermuda for a few days...I know, I know, lap of luxury. Now before you get yourself all worked up about poor me and how hard my life is, let me tell you that it’s pouring rain and so windy, the trees look like they’re being shaken (not stirred) sideways. On the airplane here, the pilot basically said “don’t worry about fastening your seatbelt cause after we land, there won’t be a seat.”

Still, it’s defiantly beautiful here.

The Life Of A House

My wife and I have been thinking about tearing down our house in Pacific Palisades and building a bigger one to accommodate our growing family.

Architects we’ve recently met speak about finding the soul of a building, about using the space to define a spirit. I experience this when I walk into someplace new and am mindful of feeling somehow different. It’s this feeling that either attracts me to certain places or repels me from others.

I had a certain positive feeling about the house I now live in when I first walked through it over a year ago. The hardwood floors, the fireplace; the large, spanning, lazy sycamore tree with the six foot trunk that IS the backyard. Peace.
As we’ve lived in the house this past year and experienced both incredibly happy and sad times, I’ve attached my own, new feelings to it. A little bit of my soul has somehow influenced the house’s soul.

Now whether or not you believe in re-incarnation (I, myself, am not yet convinced; though I find it hard to believe James Brown came about just from a sperm and egg), you’ve got to wonder what the space you currently live or work in was like before you got there. Who lived there? What did they do? What was their life like? Happy? Difficult? Serene? You find glimpses in the form of wallpaper behind layers of paint, and worn and pitted maple floors beneath shag carpeting; initials and dates etched in once-fresh concrete with a nail -- frozen in time.

So it was in my house. I knew the owner before us was an odd fellow who lived with his mother, his Greek wife, and a bunch of transient borders who took up residence in a back room and bathed, I assume, in the sizable jacuzzi. (Yes, I bleached and scrubbed that thing 20 times before I ventured in.) I also knew he liked old cars from the grease stains on the garage floor; and that his wife eventually flew the coop and returned to Greece. (Given his idea of fun, I can’t say I blame her.)
But what about before him? Who were the people who had the crazy vine-patterned, thick wallpaper in the kitchen? And why was the room behind the garage outfitted with what seemed like hundreds of 110 and 220 volt electrical plugs every few feet? Were they growing drugs or operating an international call center, as the real estate agent told us? And where did that huge Sycamore tree come from?

I knew our neighborhood had been settled as a Methodist enclave, but what about my own house? How had it lived?
My answers came to me rather serendipitously. One day soon after we moved in, I ventured up into the attic to do some wiring for the telephone and stereo (don’t ask) and came across some boxes. My first thought was how lazy the previous owner had been not to throw out his junk, but as I started to sort through the boxes, glimpses of the house’s other lives began to emerge through ledgers and cancelled checks, Christmas decorations and old airline tickets.

The owners before “Mr. Three’s Company” were apparently a very nice, traditional couple who bought or traded the house for $42,000 from a real estate agent who lived there before. They owned a few apartment buildings in Santa Monica, which they bought with the the husband’s earnings as an electrical engineer for Hughes Aircraft and the local movie studios (that explained the wiring in the back room) and his wife’s career as a real estate agent. He kept detailed, handwritten accountings of their finances for over 30 years and, as he aged, though his penmanship became increasingly scratchy, the message to me was still clear -- roses for wife, kid’s dentist bills, seaplane trip to Catalina. Eventually, his penmanship was replaced by the rounded flow of his wife’s hand, her entries detailing the rising medical payments as his health declined.

Then, a single, final line item entry : Funeral Expenses. She never remarried.

They had Christmas and Halloween decorations and lights, St. Patrick’s day and 4th of July flags -- all worn and used, now all shoved away in the attic. A life reduced to a few boxes.

I tried to contact the widow or her relatives to see if they wanted any of this stuff, but I could not find them. I kept a few pieces of paper (the old deed, the ledger, some vintage airline tickets) and eventually recycled the rest.

We’ve got our own holiday decorations now and buy more with each celebration. We paint and remodel and each day make the space more our own.

One thing lasts from before though -- the old Sycamore tree, hanging over the backyard, it’s branches a protective, calming presence. The electrician/owner had planted the tree sometime during his life there, and it had grown to the point that it now reaches into all our neighbors’ yards. In one season’s time, we’ve watched the leaves grow from green to orange to tan and then fall in the yard.

We’re not yet sure if we’ll need to tear the house down, but I know one thing: I’m gonna hang a swing from that tree next week -- my son’s almost old enough to appreciate it.