It's Not The Song, It's The Singer

"And I was booked once to go on 'Ed Sullivan' and I got bumped and ran out the back door crying." ~ Aretha Franklin

 "One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain." ~ Bob Marley

"If I hold back, I'm no good. I'm no good. I'd rather be good sometimes, than holding back all the time." ~ Janis Joplin

"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted." ~ John Lennon

Listen. See. Feel. Aretha's soulful, iconic gospel strains. The tug of Bob's reggae beat (ya mon). The gritty tears of Janis' blues rock. Your private wishes and dreams echoed in John's ballads. It is the spark that ignites verve and vigor, presented by someone with the courage to show a unique, human quality. It is imperfection not polish – it is boldness not braggartry – struggle not entitlement and speaks of challenge; not complacency. It is the difference between "a one and only" and "just another".

They break through with passion, truth and vision. And yes; frailty. Real people with real cracks. Perhaps within their magic lies the reason why others who fall prey to shallow phrases and tawdry acts flounder in the weeds. Because we have seen real and cannot be denied.

We all speak to a savvy audience. They hear, see and feel the heart behind sounds, pictures and words. 

Especially when it's missing.

 

Fonetically Speeking, Of Corse

The English language is so silly (and one of the most difficult to learn). Seems like we're at the whim of spelling rules that aren't uniform across the spectrum.

If we were allowed to spell words like we pronounce them, writing would be so much more funner.

If you're a strict linguist, I offer my apologies, because you're probably writhing on the floor gnashing your teeth and frothing at the mouth after looking at the above visuals.

Please feel free to contact me once the effects wear off for a translation...

Oil Of The Snake

In the history of mankind there has never been a more misunderstood human being than the snake-oil salesman. Ever since money became a religion, there have been those with maligned goods, making the best of challenging opportunities and misinterpreted promises of wealth and well being. I am in awe.

They'd roll into town and sell to unsuspecting ya-hoos and leave town before they realize they'd been taken. The first recorded case of this genius came from Stanley's Snake Oil—produced by Clark Stanley, the “Rattlesnake King”. It claimed to be “the strongest and best liniment known for the cure of all pain and lameness.” Its advertising claimed it treated “rheumatism, neuralgia, sciatica, lame back, lumbago, contracted muscles, toothache, sprains, swellings, etc.”  Promising “immediate relief,” it sold for fifty cents a bottle. When tested in 1917 by the government, it was found to contain no actual oil extracted from actual snakes. The government sued poor Clark for misrepresenting his product, won a judgment of $20 and “snake oil” soon after became synonymous with false cures and "snake-oil salesmen" became a synonym for charlatans.

Today, we have those that would offer bracelets that protect us from negative ions, spam emails that rely on sheer numbers to drive people to bogus sites, offer everything from funeral plans to fork lifts to amazing offers really designed to park a virus on your computer.  The messages that are out to convince receivers that they have won a lottery, free credit checks, Nigerian offers and inheritances from previously unknown relatives. Genius.

Earl Jones: 2010 Scammed people in a similar fashion to Madoff. He received
over $50.3 million,
- See more at: http://www.charlatan.ca/2012/09/famous-charlatans/#sthash.GygtZg9M.dpuf

Earl Jones: 2010 Scammed people in a similar fashion to Madoff. He received
over $50.3 million, but did not invest in it and rather spent investors money for
lavish lifestyle. He defrauded many people, including his own family— his brother
and sister-in-law, who did lose $1 million. Jones collected money from individuals
and estates, but returned the same money as monthly interest payments.
Martha Stewart: 2004 –Found guilty of conspiracy, obstruction of justice
and two counts of making false statements in connection with sale of stocks of
a bio-tech company. She had lost 4000 shares of Imclone, which is part of the
company she invested, which had collapsing stocks.
Lou Pearlman: 2006 - Mogul of boy bands such as N’Sync and the Backstreet Boys.
In 1981 he started Trans Continental Airlines Travel Services, Trans Continental
Airlines Inc and 12 other companies. But they only exited on paper. Shares of
these companies were sold to investors, and he got loans from banks. He invented
a fake accounting firm, and a fake branch in Germany. Tax returns were falsified.
This lasted for 20 years, and cost $300 million.
Reed Slatkin: 2000 - Scientology minister and co-founder of Earthlink, acted as an
investor for Hollywood residents and corporate bosses. He worked out of his
garage and tricked the wealthy out of $ 593 million dollars, with fake statements,
and fake mortgage firms. He was caught in 2000.
Michael Eugene Kelly: 2009- He scammed seniors and retirees of about $428 million
dollars. He let them invest in fake Timeshares in Cancun hotels called “Universal
Leases”. Investors were to get a good fixed rate in return, but they did not, and
Kelly used the money to buy himself yachts and a private jet among other things.
Gerald Payne/Greater Ministries International: 1990′s- Based in Florida,
the church used Bible speak to cheat church goers of $500 million dollars.
Worshippers were able to invest in gold coins. Payne made an investment plan
where the worshippers should have made money, yet he funneled money towards
the church’s fake metals investment and therefore kept the money
- See more at: http://www.charlatan.ca/2012/09/famous-charlatans/#sthash.GygtZg9M.dpuf

Earl Jones: 2010 Scammed people in a similar fashion to Madoff. He received
over $50.3 million, but did not invest in it and rather spent investors money for
lavish lifestyle. He defrauded many people, including his own family— his brother
and sister-in-law, who did lose $1 million. Jones collected money from individuals
and estates, but returned the same money as monthly interest payments.
Martha Stewart: 2004 –Found guilty of conspiracy, obstruction of justice
and two counts of making false statements in connection with sale of stocks of
a bio-tech company. She had lost 4000 shares of Imclone, which is part of the
company she invested, which had collapsing stocks.
Lou Pearlman: 2006 - Mogul of boy bands such as N’Sync and the Backstreet Boys.
In 1981 he started Trans Continental Airlines Travel Services, Trans Continental
Airlines Inc and 12 other companies. But they only exited on paper. Shares of
these companies were sold to investors, and he got loans from banks. He invented
a fake accounting firm, and a fake branch in Germany. Tax returns were falsified.
This lasted for 20 years, and cost $300 million.
Reed Slatkin: 2000 - Scientology minister and co-founder of Earthlink, acted as an
investor for Hollywood residents and corporate bosses. He worked out of his
garage and tricked the wealthy out of $ 593 million dollars, with fake statements,
and fake mortgage firms. He was caught in 2000.
Michael Eugene Kelly: 2009- He scammed seniors and retirees of about $428 million
dollars. He let them invest in fake Timeshares in Cancun hotels called “Universal
Leases”. Investors were to get a good fixed rate in return, but they did not, and
Kelly used the money to buy himself yachts and a private jet among other things.
Gerald Payne/Greater Ministries International: 1990′s- Based in Florida,
the church used Bible speak to cheat church goers of $500 million dollars.
Worshippers were able to invest in gold coins. Payne made an investment plan
where the worshippers should have made money, yet he funneled money towards
the church’s fake metals investment and therefore kept the money
- See more at: http://www.charlatan.ca/2012/09/famous-charlatans/#sthash.GygtZg9M.dpuf

Join me as we celebrate those that find the fortitude to profit from gullibility.

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

(I jest of course.)

The World Of Actionable Offenses

Chemical weapons have caused more than one million casualties globally since World War I (by all sides). The Geneva Protocol, which prohibited the use of chemical weapons in warfare, was signed in 1925. It had many loopholes, including allowing member countries to use them against nonmember countries who had chemical weapons stockpiled. Currently, 189 nations, representing about 98% of the global population, have joined the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC): to verify the destruction of chemical weapons; to prevent their re-emergence in any member State; and to provide protection and assistance against chemical weapons.

In recent days we saw a concerted effort to gather support for a military act of retaliation, due to use of chemical weapons by a regime (who isn't a member State of the CWC) against its own citizens. More than one country has voted against military reprisals due to the possible ramifications of getting involved in a complicated civil war.

Action was not considered because innocent people, including children, were killed. It was because a weapon that was banned in most of the world was used.

Ask a humanitarian agency for options and you will get humanitarian probabilities. Ask a military force for a solution and they will give you a military solution. Truth is, killing to avenge killing in any situation has never accomplished anything but more dead bodies and fuel for a bigger fire.

Any act of violence, any crime against citizenry by their governing bodies or opposing factions is reprehensible. And those who would arm, finance or supply these civil wars are also culpable. Imagine bombing without bombs, shooting civilians without ammunition...

In a proactive world perhaps peaceful, multinational action could have been taken long before atrocities were committed, before certain weapons were used and before military action is promoted to be the only viable action.

Then maybe, this would be more of a love story.

It's Time To Get Serious, Ain't It?

Exhibit 1(a)69, Part B: The Despicable Belly Laugh

I've been thinking a lot lately about being more grown up, acting more responsibly and setting goals so that I can live a more planned, productive life. After much thought I realize that in order to do so I have to lose the lighthearted stuff. Because we can get carried away, especially when in the company of others who don't possess a sense of humor, who would look upon us laughers as worthless goofballs who are full of nonsense. (Which we are, of course, it's just they say it with such distaste.) And they say things like, "Oh don't encourage him." and roll their eyes, smile politely and give each other knowing looks.

After all, sheer hysteria may be just around the corner. Exhibiting such carefree behavior on a regular basis can be indicative of simple mindedness and may be signs of consumption of wine without cheese and crackers; unaccompanied by those little cocktail weenies.

You are susceptible to this boorish behavior if you wear fuzzy slippers to the mall, antennas on your head, collect joy buzzers and whoopie cushions, have the urge to listen to old Firesign Theater records, envision yourself in either the Life of Brian or A Fish Called Wanda and hoard old photos of Red Skelton, the Marx Brothers or Jonathan Winters or Art Carney. There are more symptoms but you get my drift.

Belly laughs are the worst. An indication of total loss of control. Exhibiting mirth is a weakness; detrimental to your public image. Normal people know that chuckles and giggles don't put money in the bank. Cracking up with a howl and roar doesn't get business done. Even a suppressed snort is unacceptable. If you're distinguished you might come up with a chortle or a titter or two (just to be polite and get past the moment) but that's about it.

So if you dabble in the black art of rolling in the aisles you are in constant peril of being undervalued. You probably began at an early age, doing things like dressing up Barbie in inappropriate ways, squirting milk out your nose and making rude noises with body parts. If you are amongst those who tell off-color jokes just to make someone split their sides and find fun places to hide cooked peas; you are in danger of going right 'round the bend.

So get serious. Please. I implore you. Before it's too late.

The Interweb Version Of A Person Of Interest

In a digital world, where everyone with a computer and access now has an opportunity to become someone of interest to others, we have to ask ourselves, "Is this a valid person of interest to me?" Some folks take advantage of the free media to become more than who they really are, or to sell something, or to advertise something for someone else to sell. It is becoming more difficult to separate a true person of interest from an adventurist or charlatan.

Following, are a few tips that may help in your perusal of the offerings online and your determination of whether the site you visit or the article you read should be seen as the interweb version of a person of interest:
1) Take anyone who offers you "several valuable tips" at face value (my bad)
2) Forgive the gurus, experts and those who preach what is good for you; because they know not what they do. They are bound to write offering generalized wisdom they've heard from others who heard it quoted from others; advice or information that may or may not have substance. And forgive those who would preach their moral values and define the wrongs of the world for you in an emotive manner. For they too are allowed to rant
3) Tread lightly around sites that present you with an immediate pop-up that urges you to register before you are even able to see what's on the site. These may be ones you find little value in and who will be peppering you with frequent spam emails forevermore, with no easy way to opt out, and
4) Watch for those sites offering fast professional services for a low dollar figure. If you're looking for online help to fill a business need and access a crowdsourcing site that offers fast and cheap services; you will not only get what you pay for but will also be subverting the value of true professionals in your area.

You probably already know all this.

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

This post marks my 500th blog entry. And they haven't kicked me off (yet). In the almighty words of Archie Bunker, "Whoop de doo, whoop de doo, whoop de doo."

Thanks for reading. 

Warning: Health Risks Of Game Play

Are you a games person? Is Saturday night games night at your house? Maybe friends come over for a few laughs and a round of poker or couples get together for a rousing game of bridge or possibly you play internet games against people in other countries. Or maybe chess is your game, or crazy eights, Risk or that game where you surgically take the organs out of the mechanical human being without the alarm going off and his nose lighting up. Good for you. Have fun.

But folks should be aware that the act of playing games may pose a health risk for some. Serious symptoms during gameplaying have been noted in clinical tests around the world. And people noticing these themselves should be advised to consider immediately avoid playing with and ban games of any sort from their house, computers and smart phones.

Symptoms may include the spontaneous invention of new swear words, headaches due to repeated head banging, and tooth erosion due to uncontrollable grinding of the jaws. Be warned that continued long term exposure causes some people to act in a way they haven't since childhood: temper tantrums and toilets blocked with foreign objects (i.e. playing cards and Monopoly game pieces). Good friends and loving couples may begin to suddenly detest each other. It is advised to stop playing if your neighbors complain about things like scrabble letters embedded in their aluminum siding or when the fire department doesn't share your pleasure of an evening roasting marshmallows around a burning X-Box console in the middle of the front yard. This is especially recommended when the fire is accompanied by painted, naked bodies doing a war dance (an act also known to prompt more than one call to the police).

Scientists are puzzled at the cause of this phenomena, one that strikes randomly and without gender discrimination. Games themselves do not appear to be the cause but removing them at the first sign of any irritability, discomfort or hair loss may be a good idea.

Notes On The Process Of Doing Stuff

Type "A" Doing Stuff. The process of doing stuff consumes just about all the time in our lives. Even when we're not doing stuff we're thinking about it. In fact, the time we spend actually doing stuff is relatively brief compared to the time we spend preparing.

Not only that but as we do stuff we find more stuff that needs doing and it becomes a vicious circle. If we could just get away from doing stuff in the first place (especially the stuff we'd be better off leaving alone) we'd probably have a lot more time on our hands. But we can't. We have to do stuff. It's a rule.

Type "B" Doing Stuff. Then we may find ourselves doing things without thinking. A whole nuther story. One might think this process would take up less of our time, but it doesn't. Truth is, we spend just as much of our time afterwards figuring out why or how we did that or how we're going to explain it. So, we're not really better off, time-wise.

The good thing for those of us who find ourselves doing stuff without thinking is we're not control freaks. And we don't do things like order the Waldorf Salad just so we can pick the walnuts out.

Note: "Sorry, I just wasn't thinking" is a great excuse. People have to forgive us when we say that. (The first time.)

Gotta go. Stuff to do.

Type Art and Laughter Playtime

I'm not a type guy. Or at least a good one. (You want to see some fine type check out my colleague Alan Ariail here.) I have an appreciation and fondness for type. But I play. There's a lot of type "art" on the internet and one thing I could never get was people spending all those hours on a piece that ultimately takes you forever to figure out what the heck it says... or means.

Not only that but often what it says doesn't make any sense. Like it's something esoteric or something. To me, type is about when you're trying to tell somebody something, and anything that interferes with the communicative value of that message is something that should be avoided. Unless it's hip art meant to be put on a loft wall and looked at for hours to find the hidden meaning.

On the other hand, there are some interpretations of type out there that are playful, friendly and easy to read; that lend a human character and appeal to words. (Bad example above.)

Ultimately appreciation of lettering is not just about how many fonts or typefaces you have or how you pick them, but about what they say and how they say it.

And in posting this I don't mean to pose as someone worthy of giving some wise wisdom lesson necessary to fulfill your life.

Thank you for taking the time to look at these playtime experiments of mine, done while at home recuperating.

Bill Murray, Bailiff Byrd and Time Shifting

"If you walk up to some random person on the street, grab them by the shoulder, and say 'Did you just see what I saw?!'... you'll find that no one wants to talk to you." ~ Bill Murray

I don't exactly know how to say this so I'll just blurt it out. My cable company recently stopped providing me with a network channel from out west which was giving me the chance to watch a Judge Judy rerun at 7 p.m. if I missed it on their eastern affiliate at 4 p.m. But they took the channel down. At first I didn't know how to take it but I'm okay with it now.

But I left it on my channel selector favorites list because I believe it still provides me with sort of a connection to people 3,350 kilometers away; a few I know but most I don't. When I flip by it on the menu it's nice to know what they're watching and if they're watching it then that means they're probably okay. And that's comforting. It makes me feel at one with them.

And I imagine myself sitting there with them, stealing their popcorn and we're laughing at Bailiff Byrd as he tells people to leave their papers behind on the table as they exit the courtroom. I realize this confession probably upsets a few eastern people because I'm not imagining myself with them but heck, my mind can't be everywhere at once. That would be nuts.

Some day I'll call someone on the phone who lives on the west coast that I don't know and ask them if they've been missing any popcorn lately. If they have I'll confess; knowing they can't tell anyone because no one would ever believe it.

And we'll laugh about old times we haven't had and chat for a few minutes about Newton and Einstein and the physics of time shifting and about how this is not like that at all.

How Much Does It Hurt?

Qualitative scales are all around us and sometimes we get tired of being asked to rate our shite "on a scale of one to ten". Quel ennui.

But things don't have to be humdrum. Here, for example, is a rating scale for pain. There are nine levels without numbers (because ten is just so common and numbers are sometimes just numbers):
None. Think of yourself in your comfy bed, not having to go pee, with cake. And ice cream
Reality TV Star. On par with stubbed toes, while distracting, appearances can normally be tuned out and walked off
Telemarketer. Like a dull headache, this bane of our existence is certainly a nuisance, especially when it calls during dinner
Stupid Commercial. A special quality of misery; the stupider it is, the more it tends to show up over and over again.
Corrupt Official. Nothing a few kind words will fix. It takes advantage of your good nature and needs to be dealt with immediately
Animal Cruelty. A type of distress that digs deep. It makes you wonder who's responsible and how it can be made to go away... and not come back
Child Abuse. Now we enter the realm of the intolerable. This type of insanity defies all logic. Not a level of pain that chanting your mantra is going to help
School Massacre. A totally unbelievable injustice. It makes you forget your name and what language is for, and
Hiroshima. The utmost. This is like the aftermath of being hit by a big truck. Several of them. At once.

We all know that pain of any sort is a message that says, "pay attention, something is going on" and we should use our discretion whether or not to seek medical advice. You might label the levels something totally different and I invite you to take the concept to where it makes sense for you. But you get my drift...

Sometimes numbers just don't do things justice.

Just a thought.

The Magic Of A Few Extra Letters

Down to your last dime? Got something you're trying to market that just isn't clicking with people? Here's a little known, well protected secret. It amounts to an unfair advantage, really. But I'll share it just with you. For free.

Add "pro" to the end of the name of your thing.

Instantly, your endeavor becomes better. Magically, it will become the thing to have. People will snap them up, trust it to perform and forgive it when it doesn't, love it, download the heck out of it and brag about it to their friends. It will trend on Twitter and have its own Facebook group of admirers.

You'll become successful, rich and famous. People will want you on talk shows and publishers will be fighting for the rights to your book. You'll buy an island off the coast of Tahiti and form your own country, which you'll call Proland.

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Of course the above is not true. And more than a bit silly. And the names in the visual are fictional. Plus, I made them up.

Sorry for the lame post today. It's been a strange few weeks. I won't bore you with the details but I will say one thing. Like adding a few extra letters like "pro" to the name of a thing doesn't, in itself, make it better; the same goes for people. Sometimes we meet people with a few extra letters after their name who figure those extra letters automatically makes them superior to others. And that gives them the right to treat others like idiots. It doesn't.

Those Who Spy On Us

They do you know. Birds. They spy on us. They have eyes everywhere. But it's nothing malicious. You're there and visible and therefore available for observation. This is not a new phenomena. The truth is, we've been observed since the dawn of humanity, by a species that began in the Jurassic Period.

They listen from perches, from telephone wires, from limbs of trees and they make mental notes on our activities. They keep tabs on us through windows and some generations of birds have volunteered to be caged and kept in human domiciles.

And they tweet each other about what they see. Not the high tech kind. The original.

Their observances over time could probably fill several hundred libraries, if birds were into writing. There would be many lessons we could learn from their studies. But, they're not; so we can't.

And what do they see from their bird's-eye point of view? There are five strong possibilities:
1) We plant grass just so we can cut it every week or two
2) We tell stories that makes water come out of our eyes
3) We molt a new set of body coverings practically every day
4) We get angry when they crap on our moving machines, and
5) We stay out of the rain but wet ourselves to get clean.

I know all this because I keep an eye on them as they watch us.

It's one of those services I provide to humanity.
 

Overused, Overexposed And Overexamined

Certainly under each of the above subjects there are many more; some more deserving, some less... all depending on your own point of view. These are but a sampling of top of mind. Please note: no messy scientific data included.

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.

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

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.

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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