Act 2, Scene 1: Where I Forget My Lines

Just when you think life hasn't anything new to offer along comes a little film that rocks you. An Indie film. No major studio involved. Just folks getting together with what money they can drum up and doing something they believe in.

Caught one the other night. A gift. It made me think: 1) How the mainstream studios often miss the mark when it comes to being intelligent and engaging, and 2) How these Indie films aren't always about stuff we can't understand or want to. And that made me think of a third thing: 3) How much our lives may be like little mini-Indies. Raw, real, gritty, funny and at times poignant. Or weird. Sometimes weird is good.

If you subscribe to this last point, you probably already know your own mini-Indie need not be full of pathos and wrought with angst. (Angst is so passé anyway.) Because you decide what your story is. Maybe yours is more romantic comedy. Mine is more of a quirky story and if I had the gumption I'd ask Steve Buscemi to play me. And if I can't get him, I can always play him playing me. If you do something like that too you won't have to worry about it being cheesy. Because people you'd choose probably wouldn't do cheese.

And once in a while, if you're into it, I'd zoom out and give everyone the full picture. It helps others know where you are. And what folks around you are doing. And maybe what you're eating.

As the story evolves, with all the nonsense surrounding us these days, and if we're being real, it's no wonder that sometimes we are at a loss for words, forget our lines, and at times even struggle to find the plot line. But chances are we figure it out in the end. If we don't, why, that's a story in itself.

So if you're into it, consider your days and even particular moments as part of a grander script. Because if we appreciate the subtleties, wackiness and richness of our little lives as we go along, we are tempted to treat those moments of ours, when we're just being human, as treasures.

And maybe the next Indie film that rocks your world will be a very special story.

Yours.

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Above: Studies from "Welcome to the Rileys" written by Ken Hixon and directed by Jake Scott (son of Ridley), with James Gandolfini as Paul and Melissa Leo, as his wife Lois, who become involved on a with Kristen Stewart who plays a teenaged prostitute. And by helping her out a bit the couple finds they feel better and can move on from their own troubles. Along the way cinematographer Christopher Soos does what more people in film and video should. He sets the scene (maybe reminiscent of Edward Hopper) with quick establishing shots. The ones he provides throughout the film obviously took time and vision to set up but those few seconds of unscripted ambient silence speak volumes.

The Irene In Our Dreams

The song is, as kids used to say, as old as the hills and twice as hairy. Some say Goodnight, Irene was the creation of Gussie Lord Davis in 1886, while others believe it older than that – passed on from an old guy to a younger guy. Lead Belly (Huddie Ledbetter) learned it from his uncles (Terell and Bob) around 1908 and by 1932 he had made it his own. In fact, while working on a chain gang in Louisiana, he sang the song to musicologists John and Alan Lomax who presented it to Governor O.K. Allen; an act (legend has it) that helped gain his release from prison.

The last line of the chorus has changed over time. Most recorded versions replace Lead Belly's original "I'll get you in my dreams" with "I'll see you in my dreams," notably the Weavers (who hit number one with it in 1950, a year after Lead Belly's death), and hundreds of others; Pete Seeger, and Willie Nelson included. Tom Waits preferred "I'll kiss you in my dreams." Both a little less feisty than the original.

Such is the way of the old songs. People may change a word here and there to suit themselves but most of the time the overall gist of it remains the same.


The lyrics tell of the singer's troubles with ramblin' and gamblin' and (of course) love. But maybe the essence of the song is rooted in the phrase in my dreams. The words appear set into the song as something of a savior.

The song touches on the fact that we are all toughened from an early age to accept less than we might hope for. The world out there is a great equalizer when it comes to whether our hopes are realized or not. But the "in my dreams" part of the song gives us something of a key to that dilemma: that if we're tough enough, and just crazy enough, we might find that secret place inside of us where all hopes, both impossible and improbable, can be kept safe.

Because, if they're in our dreams, they can never be taken away.

Typos: Bud And Good?

I meant "bad" of course. "Bad And Good." Damn them typographical errors. Guaranteed to drive all us obsessive compulsive, perfectionist, high-brow, nit-pickers totally bitty. (I meant batty.)

You can be a great speller (should I have said spellist?) and very meticulous in everything you do but eventually the ugly, child-eating typo gremlin's gonna get you. You can look at a job for hours, days, even weeks. The job can be proofed twice by three different people. It gets client sign-off and goes for the print order of 250,000. With varnishes, foil stamping and embossing. There's, like, three press checks. Finally, your print samples arrive while the bulk of the order is sent to the direct mail company, personally addressed to a quarter of a million people and sent. It looks gorgeous. Then, somebody walks by your desk, glances at the piece for like a nanosecond and utters the most-hated of hated words; "That's not how you spell that." Curse words, defibrillators and certain prayers of entreaty were invented for moments like this.

Now, a typo may be a mistake that does an instant number on your blood pressure but spotting one that someone else has done can be a bright spot in an otherwise hum-drum day. Like “This contract shall be effective as of the singing of this agreement.” See what happened there? Reverse two letters and you are no longer signing a legal document, you're agreeing to a singalong. Which can be fun. Or miss a single word space and you get a totally different meaning, as in “The penis mightier than the sword.” That there's more than an oops, it's a pack your bag and touch up your résumé thing. Or omitting one little letter, i.e. “Sign up now for our Beauty and Fitness Curse” or “Our massage treatments help relive your pain” is a sure way to attract attention. And “We proudly feature some-day shipping” could be a stab at truth in advertising but most likely not. 

And you might laugh at seeing these but the sad part is that some of that laugh belongs in the "because it wasn't you" world. Not because you're a sadist and enjoy seeing other people shoot themselves in the foot but because some days it's reassuring to know that the gremlins do attack other people as well... and they, too, can have bud days. (I meant bad.)

Summers Past

Jello with fruit salad inside. Flashlight tag. Tenting in the backyard and running inside to use the bathroom. Nanny's soft kisses. Coming in when the streetlights turned on. Gallant sword fights with sticks. Cutting through hedges. Skinned knees. Rubber boots and getting a soaker. Sunburned nights and the smell of Noxzema. Slinkies. Crazy eights. Burnt marshmallows over a campfire. Biking back up the hill from Paul's Sundries. Baseball cards fastened with clothes pins to run through spokes as you ride, making bicycles sound like motorcyles. Water pistols. Sandbox cities with dinky toys and popsicle sticks. Avoiding girl cooties. Boiled rhubarb in a dish. Building forts. Laughing at knock-knock jokes. Getting a hug from your mom.

Looking up at the sky at night and watching the stars. 

Endless days ahead...

A Summer's Embrace

Catch the hint of life's bright whispers

Hear it's song of grace

The brightness of a child's laughter

The oft-hid glee of serenity

And the grace,

ah, the amazing grace of love.

--------------------

Photos from my yard this summer.

All the best 

William MacIvor and Meera Margaret Singh

Uncle Rand

Are We Just Customer Servants?

In Ontario, as is the case in other Canadian provinces and territories, we all go into a special government-ordained store to buy our spirits. I've grown up with the system and it's generally not so bad. The fact that they hold something of a monopoly on liquor sales has been around since the age of prohibition. But whether we should be able to buy our alcoholic beverages in neighborhood corner stores has been in the public debate recently.

I don't buy a lot of booze anymore but I went into one of these stores the other day. I was in the neighborhood and decided to get a few cans. It's summer and my fridge sometimes feels sorta sad and empty without something beer-ish inside.

At the time I was there it wasn't tremendously busy and there was only one cashier open. As I stepped into line I couldn't help noticing the cashier was on the phone while she was serving customers. And because she had to hold the phone with one hand, she was limited to the other one to sort, scan codes, collect cash, give change and package the purchases. Curious, I listened to what she was saying into the receiver (she wasn't being quiet about it, so I didn't have any difficulty hearing what she was saying) because I assumed she must have been doing important business. But her conversation was clearly social chatter. What's up with so-in-so type of thing. Not only that, but this was a person who evidently had a difficult time concentrating on two things at once (talking and serving) and her progress with the customers in front of me was painfully slow. Meanwhile, more people joined the line behind me.

When it was my turn at cash, she kept on chatting and didn't smile or nod. I had 12 loose cans of beer (Keiths, from NS). She had to count them twice (she lost track the first time) and enter it into the cash register twice (she entered 2 the first time instead of 12), but before she could reenter she had to recount the cans a third time because as she voided the wrong entry I guess she had forgotten and I finally interrupted her chat to remind her I had 12. Finally, with a hint of irritation, she told her phone mate to hold on a second.

As she set the receiver down I said, "Probably a good idea."

"I was talking to an associate from another store," she retorted.

"You were rude," I said calmly as I counted out my cash. All of a sudden, everyone in the line behind me got very quiet.

Her voice went up. "SIR, I was doing business, getting a price on merchandise." She finally totaled my purchase.

"I don't care," I said quietly, waiting for my change and looking down at the counter.

As I left I couldn't help but overhear when she got back on the phone and said, "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to call you back, a customer complained I was on the phone."

Clearly, I had done something wrong. I expected good customer service. And that was bad.

I'd been in plenty of situations where people in a service industry have had an entitlement disposition and the interaction has suffered because of it. The first time was on a plane years ago and the stewardesses spent the whole flight bitching with each other about a union issue. As one gets older, one becomes hardened to it. Sometimes folks are just having a bad day. We try to forgive those. But an institutional lack of quality customer care, where employees are allowed to provide anything less than the best possible experience a customer could have, is pure horse patootie.

And I know this: I walk into my little corner store and the owner is behind the cash, their little children may be playing on the floor behind them and their store may not be all spit and polish, but when I approach the counter I have the distinct impression that, at that moment, I am the most important thing in the world to this person. They get to know what I like and tell me as I enter the store whether they have it in or not. It may cost me a few more pennies to do business with them, but they take a moment to chat and have a laugh with me. Like I am a real human being. Not just someone to be processed.

"Lightbulb, I love you..."

The title of this post refers to the punchline of an old joke where Count Dracula asks Igor, his hunchbacked assistant, to turn on the lightbulb and Igor's response was to cuddle the bulb tenderly and croon, "Hehh, hehh, lightbulb I lo-o-ove you!"

This reflects my sentiments exactly after having the power go out last night at 8 p.m. (Yes, I paid the bill, and the power company will hear from me shortly.) Their excuse, I hear, was a little freak summer storm. Like I allow a little tornadic action affect my work...

It was, to be succinct, HELL ON EARTH. I had no computer, no air conditioning and no auto-shutoff kettle (which really didn't matter because I had no bloody running water). I actually had to open windows and hear weird, geeked-out, misshapen teenagers walk by saying inane things like "That's not a little boy, that's a little girl with her head shaved."

This morning, nasty little birds woke me up with their incessant chattering and instead of grinding my personally blended Columbian fair trade, organic, free-range coffee beans and enjoying a finely filtered coffee, I had to go out for coffee (god knows what slavery and chemical fertilizers were involved), during which time because I was outside exposed to the world I had to talk to my (shudder) neighbors. Nicely. While trying to avoid Howie Mandel germs (mysophobia) and old people smells (gerontostinkophobia).

It all capped off an evening of acts of self sacrifice. Dangerous manual drugery between downpours made necessary because the tree in the front yard that the city owns shat branches all over the yard.

Then today, I had to read a real book to pass the time. With real pages. That give paper cuts. To avoid a full-fledged, deprivative-based panic attack I trained myself to huddle in my car at regular intervals to keep my iPhone charged. It remained my last link to civilization. And I was damned if I was going to be trapped in an end-of-the-world disaster without being able to tweet someone... anyone still alive.

I don't think I'll ever recover from the trauma of going into rooms and out of force of habit flipping switches only to find my actions produced no reactions whatsoever. I had to see my way around last night with the use of candles. They're made of wax, by the way, with strings inside that burn. Meanwhile my carefully stocked freezer began decomposing delicacies that I couldn't cook because I had no microwave or stove. All this on top of the fact that I only got to yell at my television once during this very trying time (right at the beginning, for being off and not turning back on). Sigh.

Thankfully, all that is over. The power is back on and once I have reset all the clocks in the house and take a load of soggy, now inedible post-frozen food to the garbage can, I pledge to lovingly use every electrical item at my disposal.

And never, ever take them for granted again.

On Characters And Potatoes

"Sam Droll, The Wobbly-Eared Troll"

Meet Sam. The guy's a troll – a nice one, not the other kind. He's a character that I worked with years ago, probably when I should have been doing something else. It would be ironic if I was supposed to have been cleaning out a closet because that's what I was doing when I came across him in an old sketch book. He's aged well, but trolls tend to do that.

He's not perfect but that adds to his personality. And having a personality was important for Sam. Otherwise, he would have had a dull existence and ended up being a character without character. And then he'd run the risk of being mistaken for a potato. (Not to infer that potatoes don't have character; I've had dinner with more than a few very nice potatoes in my time and they were very nice. But potatoes are completely different from trolls and obviously, if all was right with the world, the two would never, ever be confused.)

How trolls display their personality is very much like people – in their expressions. And it's worth it to ask them if it's okay to play around a bit. Most won't mind and will let you know if you do something that makes them uncomfortable. Fashion also contributes to character but there are some things they won't allow you to dress them in. Sam here balked at underwear on his head. It was just a thought and after reflecting on it, I agreed.

Even trolls are entitled to their dignity, after all.

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The word "character", by the way, comes from an ancient Greek word "charaktêr"; a word for a mark made on a coin. Over time character became recognized as how we're different from one another. You have to hand it to our old Greek friends. They did a lot of work back then on stuff which is a good thing because if they hadn't, we'd probably have to stop what we're doing and figure it out today. And we've got a lot on our plates already, what with all the characters around...

Long Shadows, Trends and Design Integrity

Goatees are so yesterday. Capri pants usurp shorts for the fashion conscious guy. Backpacks suddenly suck. Topics trend on social media. Skeuomorphic design is now flat design which is nudged by something called long shadow design. And everyone feels they must follow the trends.

Trendiness is the world of the seller. Magazines, fashion goods, hair products, stocks, dog breeds, new music, vacation locations, body art and what you're supposed to say and do today. It's all for sale.

While one of the aspects of today's creative designers is to produce art that appeals to the viewer, a good working designer doesn't necessarily follow trends. They devise the direction of their creations based on appropriate, strategic approaches that further the communicative value of the piece and reinforce the client's brand image.

While there are rules for design integrity (balance, composition, color, technical compatibility, consistency) I don't think you'll find one called "Thou shalt be trendy". I may be wrong. Maybe it's in the fine print.

But wait. Maybe long shadows aren't a trend but just a technique, I thought. Or better yet, a look. So of course when I thought this it made it okay to try it. Doesn't hurt to play with a specific look. As long as it's not a trend. Seems like the end of day/early morning exaggerated shadows work best when there is no gradation in them, as some of the examples in the article do. I kept the artwork in illustrator for the vector value. Adding gradations seemed to cheapen the quality of the bold colours and tarted them up too much. And it seemed to keep everything within the flat design realm.

Interesting. As long as it's not a trend, of course.

 

Painting Over Old Things To Do New Things

I don't know what came over me. Recently I slapped some gesso on a couple of old canvases. The stuff (can't really call it art) I was covering wasn't bad but it was an experience from another time and space and besides; new canvases cost a lot.

And I suppose one of the reasons I did this is because we all get caught up in everyday sh*t that keeps us away from doing stuff just for ourselves. And while most of the time it may not be too important to do that, sometimes it is.

After everything was white, the canvases were left to dry a few days and a large one was put on the wall of the bedroom blank. It's happy there for a while, mainly because it goes with the sheets. And one of the other two smaller canvases got picked to be the next victim.

They say the important thing about things you do for yourself lies in the 'doing' (as opposed to the final product). And after some sketches and deciding my approach I gathered the implements (retrieved from storage hell) and set to work. As I began I noticed that as careful as I had been with the gesso some of the texture of the old work still showed through. So the old stuff wasn't entirely gone. That was kinda nice.

Here it is to date. It's not done yet. But the basic idea is there. A person contemplating the proverbial high dive into a small vessel. A seemingly impossible act. I may add a small umbrella to the chap's other hand, just to cushion his fall... If I ever get it done I'll post the finished piece.

In the meantime, I invite everyone thinking of painting over things in their lives and starting fresh to join me in an act of exploration. And don't be bummed if some texture from the old work shows through. It adds character.

Cheers, Rand

Yet Another Endangered Species

There is a terrible crime against humanity going on, even as we speak. Consultants are being annihilated in great numbers, simply because of an undeserved bad rep. These creatures play a major role in maintaining the balance of the biodiversity in the business world. Sure they're muscular and powerful, but they are much more intelligent, cautious and inquisitive in nature than they have been depicted. Too much negative publicity has been bandied about willy-nilly regarding consultant encounters by those who are misinformed or prejudiced by fear. In fact, consultants are just doing what they are born to do. They go about their day offering business owners and executives objective expertise; helping to avoid costly mistakes, lending an outsider perspective and trouble-shooting organizational issues.

But have one consultant kill one project and that's all you hear about. The truth is, many things are more likely to kill your efforts than a consultant.

Consultants have long been the victim of folklore and blockbuster hit movies; but how much of that is really true? Your chances of an actual bad encounter are 1 in 11.5 million, and your odds of a fatal attack are even less (1 in 570 million). The truth is, your efforts are much more likely to be harmed by environmentally-based hazards, or by using a vending machine approach.

Every year, increasing numbers of consultants are cruelly ripped from their environment by poachers, who make tawdry web sites out of their parts. Many associations around the world have installed Consultant Nets around their businesses, causing many consultants to be entangled, often on the inside of these nets while heading back out to sea. Not only that, but these nets cause collateral damage to many others, including innocent project managers and their coordinators.

Join the efforts of all good businesspeople to eradicate the senseless, career slaughter of these magnificent creatures, help stop the use of Consultant Nets and join a Swim With The Consultants program today...

...before it's too late.

(No consultants were harmed in the formulation of this post.)

Environmental Cleanup Assistance

I cut the grass yesterday. It went well. No body parts fell off and I didn't end up face down in the rock garden gasping for oxygen. After, to celebrate my manliness, I sat out back with a cold drink and some shelled peanuts. After the strenuous physical exertion, my hand-eye coordination was a bit off and a few nuts slipped from my grasp. To my surprise, this guy hopped up onto the deck, bold as brass, and took control of the peanut spill.

"Right then," he stated. "Harrumph. Yes yes. Quite the mess. Step back. Nothing to worry about. I'll have this cleaned up in no time." I could see the wheels turning. He rapidly sussed out the situation, assessed a priority list, determined a removal strategy and set to work.

He is of course, a member of the chipmunk union. I could tell just by the way he carried himself. Having watched every Chip and Dale cartoon in my youth, I was familiar with their industriousness.

He lives in the back corner of the yard. We've seen each other occasionally and waved. But we've never really chatted.

But when he saw something he could help with he popped over to help. It was great. I don't know what I would have done with those peanuts if he hadn't. He was polite, industrious and obviously a pro.

And my deck is all cleaned up. No lives were lost. No thanks required. And no invoice.

Good neighbors are like that.

The New Face Of "Deal With It"

 
Define personal integrity. The status quo rocks on the principle that if an individual hired to do a job finds something happening they don't personally agree with, that the individual either works from within the organization to affect change... or simply leaves. Because maybe it's something complicated that may cause unintended problems if brought out into the open. And maybe it's something that might get warped out of shape and used by those with personal agendas.

Once that person leaves they're out of it. And their personal integrity, or the perception that they are leading an honorable life, is restored. By divorcing themselves from a situation that they felt compromised their principles they are theoretically cleansed. Then again... there are others who think they have a moral duty to take action.

Define moral duty. We have to think that it is a possibility that some may stumble across what they consider are truly egregious practices. The world isn't perfect, after all. And a few may think that they have a responsibility, if not a right, to reveal things that they think are wrong. Plain wrong. They have to be exposed, regardless of how many other people's good efforts are affected by blowing the whistle. And perhaps more importantly, regardless of what happens to them. It becomes a heroic role – somewhat scary and somewhat alluring at the same time. These people have obviously come to the conclusion (for one reason or another) that a whisper to the proper authorities just isn't enough; the status quo needs to be given a big shake.

My mother, who always had a wise word for every situation, would most likely just say, "Who the hell do they think they are? Aren't there enough problems in the world without them stirring things up?"

What it comes down to, in certain circumstances, is how much an individual is willing to risk giving up should the powers that be take exception to their actions. Their life? Their livelihood? Their future? The good they might have done by lending their intelligence to improving things as they fly through life instead of taking one big leap now and hoping the parachute opens? Because there's the whole thing about potentially spending the rest of one's life either in prison or in exile. The consequences of performing one's moral duty can be devastating.

Define solution. Perhaps we need people with the courage of their convictions. Perhaps we are on the right track as we fiddle to get assurances like whistleblower protection policies working right. And then people who legitimately speak out don't have to ruin their lives in doing so. If the foundations of society are as durable as we like to believe they are and there are changes that need to be made, things can be set right. And moral standards that may have been misplaced can be put back.

Then again, I'm a Canadian. And we generally tend to think that, given cool heads, everything can be worked out for the best.

So, sorry for the heaviosity today. As the story plays itself out, I'm just glad that I didn't send that message that I was thinking about sending a while ago about a certain someone or something to somebody that contained certain words.

"Aah, whaddya gonna do?"

We've heard a lot about James Gandolfini recently; since his passing. Everyone seemed to have thoughts. And I understand that because while I didn't know James at all, Tony Soprano spent many hours in my living room. We were close.

I wasn't invited to the funeral Thursday. I'm sure it was an oversight. I understand. No disrespect intended. Things get crazy when someone dies, especially in a foreign country. What with the arrangements and all.

But I heard about it. News gets around. I read David Chases' eulogy. Nice one. And I read a piece that Rob Sheffield wrote in Rolling Stone earlier in the week. And then in Hollywood Reporter his dialogue coach Susan Aston said "one has to remain vulnerable, and to be willing to be seen as human" to be a great actor. She might as well said "artist" there. I'm sure she meant artist.

He sure made that show as Tony Soprano, didn't he? Six seasons. Sheesh. James Gandolfini made Tony Soprano come alive. And while James may have died of a heart attack while on holiday in Rome, I like to think that Tony got wacked in "the old country." (Heart attack, shmart attack. They got ways of making it look natural.) Just tidying up a bit of old family business.

It's the way Tony woulda wanted to go out.

Whaddya gonna do?

How Not To Get Tired Of Your Brand ID

Seeing as how I don't do posts about other people's creative work and since some folks continue against all logic to see me as one of those weirdos, I figured I'd better take a stab at a post that takes a look at some concept exploration, rather than just prattle on about life and stuff.

So gird your loins. Here it comes.

Let me preface this by explaining that Rand Brand Consultants is a fictional personal project. It's an exercise in development of a new brand name and identity. Projects like this generally happen whenever there's a spare moment and perhaps a few brain cells left over to ravage. And it's always good practice to keep the gears turning.

So. You'll see here a series of graphics that incorporates a retro look and feel; relevant to this exercise because I'm pretty retro and (if I can get all Harlequin Romance on you) it harkens back to a more innocent time, when things were simpler. And it may be distinctively apropos in this day and age because it's just now gradually dawning on folks after a wild ride over the past ten years that the dazzle of technology isn't the be-all-and-end-all of everything. Whatever sizzle a business employs to sell its steak, its flame must be fed by good old fashioned Grade "A" values and ingenuity. Because consumers and clients are savvy and overloaded with messages. And new ways of breaking through is a constant challenge. So the retro thing seemed like a good approach to explore in principium.

We won't revert here to a list of dos and don'ts about brand design simply because: 1) dos and don'ts are rules, 2) I don't particularly like rules, and 3) conceptual thinking is all about looking beyond the rules (an act which helps to differentiate a brand). So, while the rules are there I try not to think about them. If I'm working on a piece and it doesn't look right I probably broke a rule and then I think about rules.

It is typical that great corporate material is used across all applications consistently. It's called adhering to brand standards. But can those standards be pushed at the planning stage? Can one of the brand standards be not to be strictly standardized? It's certainly within our rights to ask the question anyway.

So, it's probably not a new concept – the idea of a consistent wordmark with changing icons and matching "qualifiers" (those words under the wordmark), placed to coincide with subject matter, but it's a fun one to play with. Wait. It's actually called a "Variable Icon Corporate Identity" and was invented by a remarkably astute person. A leader in his field.

Yes, I just made that term up. And yes, you can use it.

The integrity of this exploration is in its format, style, font and color use. The intriguing thing is that it's enhanced by a variety of icons that highlight various aspects of the brand.

It did occur to me that something like this might not be for all executives. Because if you don't want people constantly asking you, "What logo do we use with this one, boss?" it could prove to be something of a bother to have like – seventeen of them. The two good things about a plethora of IDs are: 1) you're less likely to get tired of your own brand, and 2) if you find you don't like one of them anymore you can just throw it out and not be faced with a complete multi-kazillion dollar corporate identity redesign.

Then again, I may be totally wacked. Let me know what you think of the idea. As they say in the business, be brutal.

Or maybe you'll just look at these and get a wonderful but completely different concept in mind – a better one – and you'll do your own thing and become very rich and famous. That would be good too.

You can ungird your loins now...

Artifacts From The Past

While excavating an ancient burial ground (read closet) the other day, I inadvertently unearthed what appears to be a many centuries old treasure trove of artifacts from another time. Relics of tools from the Pre-Computer Age, (which comes just after the Neolithic, or New Stone Age). Unlike the Paleolithic, when more than one human species existed, only one human species (Homo pasteupius) reached the Pre-Computer Age.

Tools were all hand-held then, and amazingly crude, forcing the users to work at a larger size than the finished product. When finished the final artwork would be reduced, thereby creating more of a polished image. Above, this is what they called a "Reducing Glass," the opposite to the magnifying glass, which allowed the graphic artist of old to view his work at a smaller size while working; thus perceiving their work at the size it would be published.

While mathematics may not have been among the designer's strengths, this quaint disc allowed the user to align the original measure of a piece along the outside wheel with the desired length on the inside wheel and magically the percentage needed to move the piece from one measure to another would be revealed in the window. Pieces were commonly worked on at 125% so dialing in this percentage in the magic window would allow the designer to look along the measurements on the wheels to find the working sizes for all components of the artwork. Crude and time consuming but less so than doing the math in one's head. Which could have been dangerous.

Here we see a container for a roll of registration marks. Long before layers in Adobe Creative Suite existed, artwork was prepared on thick white boards. Spot colors were indicated by using hand-cut shapes on labeled acetate overlays (using rubi or amberlith). In order for printers to align the overlays properly, these registration marks were applied to all surfaces, one on top of each other. The production tradespeople simply lined up the registration marks by eye (at least three outside of the artwork crop marks) to position the spot colors amazingly accurately.

These are but three examples of the ancient tools used back in another time and place. When drafting tables, steel rulers, parallel rules, set squares, X-Acto knives and Rapidograph pens were the instruments of great (and not-so-great) designers.

Of course I'm much too young to remember these times...

Join us next week when we further examine a world miraculously without modern computers scanners and photoshop. When large room-sized "copy cameras" shot artwork in the dark. When halftone screens were actual screens placed between camera lenses and photosensitive PMT paper to convert consistent tones into dots at different resolutions. A world in which plastic bezel templates and french curves were used to manually guide pens to create smooth lines in an age without vector art. Where "FPO" meant "for position only" and "FL, RR and RL" were instructions to typesetters and things were stuck to things with a thin layer of melted wax.

An ancient, amazing age before modern conveniences...

Why Kids Let Parents Read Children's Books

Who doesn't love stories about funny beings doing improbable things? They somehow allow our imagination run away for a little vacation. Away from serious adult stuff like wars, hurricanes and heartbreak – not to mention the Kardashians, Duck Dynasty (no, not Donald) and Honey Boo Boo...

Improbably silly lives facing scary things... well, scary to them anyway. They might leave us thinking in the back of our minds what our foibles would look like if they were put into a book for the creature's young 'uns. 

As an exercise, it's fun, and a bit silly, to enter into the world these guys live in and tie into a logic and grammar that is as colorful as the characters.

When I was young(er) I thought it might be an idea to do children's books just for adults. After all, why should kids get all the good stuff? But maybe that would be crossing a line. Besides, it wouldn't be so weird to discover that parents who read stories to their kids enjoy the books just as much (or more) than their kids do. Maybe there are kids everywhere who are letting their moms and dads and caregivers continue to read the same bedtime stories over and over again to them night after night because the kids realize that their parents are just having a little fun. So kids, being the nice little animals they are, humor them and let them go on while they snuggle into their blankets and doze off.

Perhaps it's a secret that only kids know about their adults.

Perhaps it's best left that way. Sh-h-h.

(The above experiments in words and vector art illustrations are offered with apologies to Dr. Seuss, Margaret Wise Brown, Shel Silverstein, Maurice Sendak, Robert Munsch, and all the other authors and illustrators of fantastic children's books.)

Poo-Pooing The Pocket

Ah, it's tough time for us all. Not only is it evidently a crime to call 999 in England when a prostitute is not as attractive as she was advertised to be, not only is it considered inappropriate to sell 'midget' themed products, not only are two parking spaces in Boston reportedly worth $560,000, but evidently cargo shorts are no longer "in" and haven't been for quite a while. The fashion-makers, willing to humor the trend for a while, have admitted their disdain for the shorts (just as they have done for other articles of clothing that were practical). Why? They have too many pockets. Simple as that.

Pockets inhibit the sleek and tailored look that we seek as fashion-savvy consumers. Pockets commit the crime of interrupting the flow of the image sensitive eye with unsightly bulges. Because, while not evil in themselves, people tend to put things in them. How gauche.

Now that my entire summer wardrobe (from the waist down anyway) has been trashed, it seems to me (and then I'll leave it alone) that if your body is not sleek and tailored to begin with, one should be exempt from the sleek and tailored rule of dressing. Because, and I only say this because I have proven it to be true, if you attempt to place a sleek and tailored item of clothing on a unsleek and untailored body, one is apt to have stuff popping out. Displaced. In fact, there is some spandex out there that, if in close proximity, could theoretically put one's eye out. And I'm not talking about so-called "fat" people per se, although this whole thing about how the fashion industry and certain retail outlets (who will remain nameless) cater to the credo that in order to be cool and beautiful one has to be skinny is pretty ridiculous. I'm talking about people whose only "fault" is that their shape may not conform to other people's idea of ideal. That's where this all stems from, isn't it? I could go on about how large people are taught to dress so that they appear less bulgy but I won't, except to say it will be a champion moment when the stigma of not being the "perfect" body shape was erased from our consciousness and folks were accepted for and allowed to celebrate whatever shape they are. Why, we might see an end to businesses that prey on people's feelings of inadequacy. And that would be a shame, wouldn't it?

But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

Pockets. An illustrious invention that appears in Middle English and is taken from a Norman diminutive of Old French poke, or pouque. Historically, the term "pocket" referred to a pouch worn around the waist by women in the 17th C. They were so convenient they eventually migrated, as do all good things, to men's fashion (Scottish men are well known for their sporrans). They were more convenient than carrying around a sack (which one had to put down in the mud in order, for instance, to scratch two itchy places at once). Eventually though, as with all things that dangle, the strap on model became a nuisance and a temptation for young thieves running by with sharp knives. Luckily, absent-minded husbands who were forever forgetting to strap on their dangling pockets finally asked for them to be sewn directly into pieces of clothing. Practical. If it's sewn into your pants, chances are you won't forget it, unless of course you forget your pants. In which case you probably shouldn't be leaving the house anyway.

We need pockets. We line our pockets, attempt to have someone in our pocket, have out-of-pocket expenses, look for someone with deep ones and have money burn holes in them. We put hands into them to keep warm and to jingle pocket change while thinking. Pockets are an integral part of our cultural identity. They should be made bigger. We should be wearing pockets that happen to have shorts and pants attached. People would say, "Hey, sharp pockets you have there! Where can I buy pockets like that?"

But no. The fashion police are attempting to banish them because they cause unsightly bulges when people erroneously put stuff into them. And what do they offer in return?

Dangling things?

Thought we learned that lesson about 400 years ago.

I Think I'm Coming Down With Something...

A wrapper rapping. Oh gawd, please tell me I didn't just draw that. Someone take my temperature...

Oh no. Chair hair. Somebody do something. Next I'll be drawing...

That does it. I've lost it. I'm checking myself in...

Let Us Celebrate Our Nuts

(No nuts were harmed during the making of the above photo.)

What kind of friend would allow their good name to be used just so anyone in a tight spot would have a easy way to describe how they feel? Take the phrase, "Got my nuts in a vise." People use this expression and everyone instantly makes a face and goes "Ouch!" But it's not like they really mean "nuts", of course. Nuts just allow their moniker to be used. Because they're tough, unlike the body part that they're subbing for. Because, that's just the type of giving personalities they are.

Not in the entire history of mankind has there been a more magnanimous edible than the nut. They physically give of themselves at their moment of ripetitude (new word) for the benefit of humanity – giving up any chance at a higher education, long life and easy retirement to a long term care facility next to a 9-hole mini-putt (with prunes for breakfast and weekly trips to the casino). But that's not all. Nothing is more ounce-for-ounce as accommodating as our nuts.

This feisty seed-fruit does not hesitate to sacrifice its dignity to allow us to label our unfortunately foolish, eccentric, crazy or otherwise sanity-challenged people "nuts", "nutty", "nut bars" or "nut jobs". To be "off your nut" is seen as a temporary thing because evidently you can get back on when you're done being a bit crazy.

What do we affectionately call those silly geeks, info junkies and rabid enthusiasts who spend an inordinate amount of time and energy focused on a particular activity? We call them nuts (with a qualifier) of course; as in sports nut or car nut or those-things-that-people-collect-and-we-don't-know-why nut.

And what is a difficult person to get through to but a tough nut to crack. Why, some folks even yell, "Aw, NUTS!" in times of extreme frustration. Do we yell, "Aw, BEEFSTEAKS" or "Aw POMEGRANATES"? No-o-o-o.

Nuts have a distinguished history. South American gods invented peanuts 3,500 years ago deep in the Brazilian Amazon Rainforest (where they had like a secret laboratory). The Incans of Peru in 1500 B.C. used virgin peanuts as sacrificial offerings and entombed them with their mummies to give them something nutritious to snack on in their spirit life. P.T. Barnum himself made fresh roasted nuts famous throughout America. Today, they're revered by many in various ways: raw, sprouted, roasted and in satay sauce. Their oil is used for cooking and even made into cosmetics (to outwardly preserve, in a way, our present day mummies). And as long as you're not deathly allergic, people that eat nuts are said to live years longer than those who don't.

Nuts come prepackaged in natural crash-proof containers. Even some animals who own nutcrackers like them; particularly jays and squirrels – who without acorns would all do the crash diet thing every winter.

And when we yell the celebratory "Nuts to you!" the nuts all cheer. Not only do they have a sense of humor, they're just happy to be included in the conversation, especially liking it when someone informs another, "If they made hats the size of your brain you'd be wearing a peanut shell." And they're proud to be included in the Shakespearean declarations including, "A fusty nut with no kernel" (Troilus and Cressida). Fusty nut. That's just so classy.

These are great little guys, well deserving of our respect.

Let us show our nuts they are loved.

Let's have a declaration and an outpouring of nut love. And a letter from the queen. We'll have a nut party. With nut fudge sundaes. Yeah, that's it... with sprinkles.

"Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing." ~ Redd Foxx

The Secret Of "The Look"

It's called the one-raised-eyebrow look, or simply the look for short. And it has been a classified privilege for generations of high-placed powerful business leaders. One that was handed down with password and secret handshake.

Now, this mystery of the ancient societies can be yours after centuries of hiddendom. In short order you too can maximize its miraculous powers with a little practice. And when you get it right, when you find yourself talking with someone who has "issues", you will be able to just give them the look and they will turn into a quivering mass of jello right before your eyes. All without you having to say a word.

The look is not like "staring daggers" or the much maligned "evil eye". It's not meant to be mean nor hurtful; just informative.

The look is so effective and effortless, it may seem like magic. In some ways it's like having an unfair advantage. But hey, life isn't supposed to be fair. And if the look can help save some critical time for yourself and send a message to the person you're giving it to, why, you might just be doing both of you a service.

Yes, the secrets of ancient societies like the Illuminati, The Group of Seven and The Mickey Mouse Club are now yours to use. Think of the time you'll save and the money you will earn.

Versatile, subversive and politically correct, the look is a tool that should grace your leadership toolbox. It is corrective, yet constructive and not nearly as potentially devastating as those messy words can be.

For those of you who have difficulty mastering having one eyebrow raise while the other descends, it can take a bit to perfect. When in training, use a mirror but don't look directly into your own eyes or you might accidentally cause your bowels to weaken. I'm planning a two-day workshop next month. It will cover the various uses and accessory mouth and eye positions for extra ommph.

Let me know if you would like to attend and I'll put you on the list.