BLOGRIZZARD

Hotter N Hell 2010

2010-08-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I decided to ride 100 miles at the world's largest cycling event, the Hotter N' Hell Hundred.

But I didn't ride 100 miles last year. I knew I wasn't ready. Instead, I rode 50 miles on a borrowed Schwinn Paramount bike. While riding, I began thinking about attempting the century ride in 2010.

After a lot of research, I picked up my first real road bike, a 2009 Trek 1.5. Starting in late March, I began riding at least 3 times a week (except during travel or intense periods of work).

I rode in the heat (sometimes up to 103 degrees) and the wind. In Oklahoma, the wind never stops. I biked into the strong south winds that blow in hot from Mexico. I biked on roads that felt like a blast furnace, complete with those ominous, squiggly waves of heat dancing on the asphalt. By the end of July, I'd become accustomed to riding hard in extremely hot conditions. Cycling in July and August became a thing to be endured, not necessarily a thing to be enjoyed.

Still, I never managed to ride more than 50 miles in a single day. What would it feel like to ride twice that distance? Would my body break down?

The HHH is far and away the most important single event in Wichita Falls. Fourteen-thousand cyclists, much of the local police force, and an army of volunteers gather before dawn on the ninth day before Labor Day. My good friend and riding partner, Brent, and I unloaded our bikes in the dark and made our way to the starting line. But with 14,000 cyclists, it was impossible to even see the starting line. In fact, when the ride began at 7:00 (after a dramatic Air Force fly-over), it took nearly 30 minutes before we made it to the starting line. Riders can't really mount their bikes; you simply straddle the frame and walk a few steps forward, pause and repeat.

At 6:00 a.m, an endless line of cyclists drive toward the starting line.

Eventually you're able to start moving, but you've got to be cautious. Bikers are everywhere, on your left and ride, and close behind. Some are slow, but be careful when passing, or you're liable to cause a big pile-up.

Self-pic at 6:55 a.m. I got four hours sleep last night.

Even before 8:00, you see lots of locals standing along the road shouting encouragement and waving at us. They understand how important the HHH is to their city, and they clearly appreciate us. It's a good feeling, much better than the general contempt cyclists sense from aggressive drivers the other 364 days of the year.

I was feeling strong as the morning progressed, but Brent was beginning to feel sick. In order to complete the 100 mile course, riders must reach mile 62 (called "Hell's Gate") before 12:30 pm. At 12 noon, we were 10 miles away from Hell's Gate, and Brent was feeling worse. He's successfully ridden multiple century rides at the HHH, so he knew what he was up against. He wisely knew his body just wasn't feeling right on this particular day. He urged me to ride ahead for Hell's Gate, and with a fist bump, wished me luck. He would wait at the finish line for me.

But Hell's Gate wasn't a given. I now had to cover 10 miles in 30 minutes, which meant riding at a 20 mph clip, or waiting another year to complete my first century. All my training, all my preparation would have been for naught. I had a little pep talk with myself and rode as if my life depended on it.

Accelerating past slower riders, I rode on a smooth patch of flat asphalt at 24-25 mph, quite fast for me. My heart was pounding. But when the smooth road suddenly turned into a gravely aggregate, my speed dropped considerably. I was now riding at 17-18 mph, even though I was spinning as quickly as before. The bumpy road gave my wrists a beating as they absorbed the rough surface. I pushed hard, never allowing myself to be passed, only passing other riders. Hell's Gate was mine; I would rest later.

Indeed, the first rest stop after Hell's Gate was sweet. I took extra time to rest under a shade tree; speed was no longer foremost in my mind. During the push to reach Hell's Gate, my heart rate reach 170 bpm; now I let it ease back into the 110 range. I thought about the rode ahead. With 62 miles under my belt, I only needed to ride 40 more miles. If I broke those 40 miles into two 20-mile rides, with frequent breaks, there was little doubt I'd finish. It was now 1:00 pm. Riding at 13-15 mph, I could expect to finish around 3:30 pm. Not too shabby.

Treeless prairie, scorching heat, West Texas in late August.

But the West Texas heat was beginning to intensify, and the wind was blowing strongly. For a time, my 13-15 mph pace slipped to 10-12 mph. I settled in behind a line of riders to let them absorb some of the wind. I drank constantly. In fact, I drank so much that I started to bloat. A sloshy mix of Gatorade and water chugged around in my stomach, leaving me feeling heavy and slow, not lean and quick. But I was parched and I emptied my bottles so fast that I had to stop to refill (and subsequently pee) twice before reaching the 70 mile mark. This ate up valuable time.

Then, at mile 75, my front tire started to wobble in a strange way. My speed dropped. I looked down at the tire. "Dear God, no..."

My heart sank. I most definitely did not want to deal with a flat tire, not now. After several hours of riding, my brain had entered a comfortable, trancelike state. Now, the trance was disturbed, and my brain was required to shift gears into problem solving mode.

I sat under a large shade tree in front of an old-fashioned orchard storefront. An old coot (and I mean that in the kindest way) was literally sitting on a rocking chair while a scruffy old dog slept at his feet. It was like the Cracker Barrel logo had suddenly come to life. And the logo wanted to chat.

"Where 'ya from?" the old coot asked.

"Oklahoma City," I said, without elaboration.

"I've never been to Oklahoma City," the coot replied.

It's not my character to disengage from a conversation with a kindly stranger, but I didn't reply. I was busy trying to change a inner tube so I could get back on the road.

"If you need to fill up your water bottle, there's a hose over yonder by the sign." The old coot used the phrase "over yonder." I couldn't believe it.

"Thanks," I said. "Actually, I've got plenty of water. I'm just trying to fix a flat tire."

I looked up at the waves of cyclists passing me. This only made me more frustrated. "Focus, Grizzard," I told myself. "Don't worry about the coot, don't worry about the other riders passing you by. Just focus on getting this tube replaced."

Still, I struggled. My pump wouldn't work. The tube wouldn't fill up with air. I pumped and pumped. Nothing happened. I didn't know what to do. I looked toward the sky in exasperation.

The old coot was kindly beyond all human goodness. He offered to go fetch some sort air pump that he used for his old tractors. I thanked him but told him by inner tube used a special valve size that wasn't compatible with larger tires. As wonderful a man as he was, the old coot was sucking away all my mental energy. Besides that, my clumsy hands kept fumbling around with the tire, and I was becoming more frustrated by the minute. A quick tube change turned into a 15 minute ordeal. Still, I thanked the old coot before riding off. "Thanks for letting me use your shade tree," I said with a smile. "It's my pleasure," he said. "Best of luck to 'ya."

With my front tire working again, it was time to put some miles behind me. A 3:30 finish was now out of the question. Four o'clock was more likely. I rode hard, past the orchards of Burkburnett, TX, through the barren, treeless prairie. The wind was blowing hard, but I zipped past other riders, one after the other. As I passed one young woman, she shouted "Miyf ryte!!" At least that's what it sounded like.

"I'm sorry?" I said, slowing down.

"I said, 'Nice bike!' And it matches your jersey!"

"Thanks," I said. "I bought this jersey yesterday at the Expo."

Her compliment gave me an extra burst of speed. In my mind, I was riding great (and with style, to boot!) At least that's what I let my vain self believe.

Pushing onward I passed rider after rider. Everyone else seemed to be weakening, but me. I was becoming stronger! The finish line was no longer a question; the only question was how quickly I reach it.

That's when I noticed my front tire was flat. Again.

(to be continued)

Arcade Fire: Are They The New U2?

2010-08-24T21:54:00.000-07:00

It took me a while to discover Arcade Fire. They seemed kind of pretentious, and way overblown. I wondered why their live performances required nearly a dozen people. I wondered why so many people loved them (they've played high profile gigs at Coachella and Lollapolooza, not to mention TV appearances on Letterman, SNL, and The Daily Show).
So, I ignored them.

But then, by chance, I heard "Ready To Start" off their just-released third CD, "Suburbs." It immediately hooked me. I listened to their brand new CD,"Suburbs." I was blown away. I watched some YouTube performances. Each live performance showed a young band singing and playing as if their lives depended on it. They clearly made a conscious decision to always perform with intensity and focus, like a "War"-era U2. There aren't many rock acts that approach their professions with this sort of work ethic. I've seen a lot of sloppy shows by bands with huge names. When you watch Arcade Fire perform, you realize they're simply head and shoulders above their peers. Their only comparisons are big names, like Springsteen, Bowie, Radiohead, The Cure, and yes, U2.

Some more things to like:
• The band is from Montreal, probably my favorite city in the world.
• As a Montreal band, they have a unique, Francophilian approach to art (i.e., they're not afraid of sentimentalism that teeters on the gauche). This is a good thing.
• Though Montrealers, the lead singer and his multi-instrumentalist brother are former Mormon kids from a rich suburb of Houston.
• These brothers, Win and Will, went to elite schools like Philip Exeter Academy, Northwestern, Sarah Lawrence College, and MacGill University, but managed to escape the establishment.
• Win is married to a woman named Reginé, who came to Montreal from Haiti. She is also in the band.
• Reginé wears stylish dresses and has a full head of dark brown, naturally curly hair.
• Reginé plays drums, keyboards and the hurdy-gurdy (pure Montreal).
• Win is vaguely Nordic, and sort of suggests a younger Christopher Walken.
• Win sounds a LOT like Bruce Springsteen or John Cafferty.
• Dave Grohl of Nirvana and Foo Fighters once said he listens to "Keep The Car Running" the first thing when he wakes up in the morning.

Enough gushing. Check them out, they're big, epic and passionate, sinister and sullen.

What Is "Indie" Rock

2010-08-23T21:41:00.000-07:00

I'm 42 years old.

Over the years I've listened to a lot of music. I've seen a lot of bands. I've attempted to write and record rudimentary songs. A couple of them aren't half bad!

A long time ago, I taught myself to play guitar (with a friend). I've entered and won (with a different friend) a college talent competition, even though I'm terrified of performing in front of an audience. In fact, I would almost rather die than be asked to perform in public.

As a moderately educated white man, my musical tastes lean toward Indie Rock. If you're not sure what I mean by "Indie Rock," well, I'm thinking about bands like The Smiths, early R.E.M., The Replacements, and more recently, Arcade Fire.

Niche bands. Bands with a cerebral bent. White bands.

Here's my take on "Indie" Rock.

• There's an established social/economic caste in the United States. These families make decisions that affect entire country. They have names like "Bush," "Hilton," and Kennedy." Their children listen to indie rock.
• Indie rock audiences love to watch live music, because it gives them a chance to (a) stand completely still in one spot; (b) smoke cigarettes; (c) not dance.
• Indie rock pretends that black music simply does not exist. Remember the MTV racial controversy of the early 80's? (Basically, MTV refused to play videos by Black artists until an asexual, sanitized Michael Jackson arrived on the scene.) Indie rock continues to avoid any acknowledgement of soul, funk or hip-hop.
• Indie rock is white, but it's beyond "white." It's white, upscale, college-educated and professional.
• If you're the child of an elite U.S. family; you will likely be drawn to indie rock.
• Elite, white audiences in places like France, Spain and Germany, enjoy U.S. indie rock, even though they're inclined to be skeptical of Americans and American culture.
• Indie rock receives disproportionate coverage in the media.
• Fans of indie rock are likely to read books.
• Fans of indie rock are skeptical of religion, capitalism, and The Establishment.
• Indie rock is often about ideas. Large ideas.
• You rarely see African-American faces in the audience at an indie rock show, but you will see Asian, and occasionally Latin faces.

I sincerely hope this helps.

Resemblance?

2010-05-30T13:22:00.000-07:00

Is it me, or does paleo-conservative Rand Paul bear more than a passing resemblance to another radical thinker, Lee Harvey Oswald?

I'm just sayin'...

Pat Metheny on Kenny G

2010-05-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

Asked to recall his first impressions of frizzy-haired saxophonist Kenny G., jazz guitarist Pat Metheny lets loose:

"He had major rhythmic problems and his harmonic and melodic vocabulary was extremely limited, mostly to pentatonic based and blues-lick derived patterns, and he basically exhibited only a rudimentary understanding of how to function as a professional soloist in an ensemble..."

But he did manage to give him some left-handed praise:

"...he did show a knack for connecting to the basest impulses of the large crowd by deploying his two or three most effective licks (holding long notes and playing fast runs - never mind that there were lots of harmonic clams in them) at the key moments to elicit a powerful crowd reaction (over and over again)."

MEOW!

Bottom line: Metheny thinks Kenny G. is a hack (albeit a rich and successful hack).

Full article here.

Get Ready For Green Walls

2010-05-20T22:52:00.000-07:00

We live and work in environments that separate us from nature. Why?

I suppose there's a reason for this — our natural world is beautiful, but it can be a dangerous and deadly place.

When we hang a painting of a nature scene on a wall, we're trying to bring a bit of the natural world inside. We're trying to make the wall seem a bit less lifeless. We're trying to reconnect with our natural spirit.

This is why architects are finally experimenting with "green walls," which are exactly what they sound like. They're literally walls constructed with living, green plants, not dry, painted Sheetroc.

Most of has haven't been exposed to green walls, but I predict we'll see a them everywhere in years to come.

We'll see high-rise buildings completely covered in green, not granite. Retail stores will use green walls to make a statement. Architects will absolutely crave the chance to spec green walls, because they represent offer the chance to make an environmental statement, an intellectual statement, and a creative statement. What architect could resist?

Most of us working in cities spend our waking lives completely surrounded by lifeless, drab walls.

We're seeing more and more interesting uses of green walls, I can almost guarantee they're coming soon to a wall near you (maybe your own walls).

Rand Paul & The Business Good, Government Bad Argument

2010-05-20T16:14:00.001-07:00

A few thoughts about this Rand Paul/Rachel Maddow dust-up:

While I certainly don't believe he's a nasty, overt racist, Paul's mish-mash of Libertarian/Republican/Tea Party tenets certainly revealed his beliefs to be incongruent with the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (you know, the one that forced racist restauranteurs to serve black folk).

Here's an exchange about a specific effect of the '64 C.R.A.:

Maddow:... How about desegregating lunch counters?

Paul: Well what it gets into then is if you decide that restaurants are publicly owned and not privately owned, then do you say that you should have the right to bring your gun into a restaurant even though the owner of the restaurant says 'well no, we don't want to have guns in here' the bar says 'we don't want to have guns in here because people might drink and start fighting and shoot each-other.' Does the owner of the restaurant own his restaurant? Or does the government own his restaurant? These are important philosophical debates but not a very practical discussion...(emphasis mine)

Maddow: Well, it was pretty practical to the people who had the life nearly beaten out of them trying to desegregate Walgreen's lunch counters despite these esoteric debates about what it means about ownership. This is not a hypothetical Dr. Paul.

Paul is basically suggesting that he has a philosophical problem with government imposing civil rights laws on business owners. His defense? Well, business are owned by people, not by the government, and should be allowed to operate their business in any manner they wish, even if it's offensive.

I've never been impressed with this argument. First of all, it ignores the symbiotic relationship between private business and government. If I operate a restaurant in the United States, I benefit from the support of the government in a host of ways:

• Highways, bridges, and tunnels (built by the government) make it easy for customers to drive to my restaurant.
• Subsidies paid to farmers help ensure that I'll be able to buy fruit and vegetables at an affordable price.
• Our public school system provides me with a literate, educated pool of workers to choose from.
• The Federal judicial system lets me defend myself against lawsuits, insurance claims, and other legal matters.
• Environmental protection laws let me rest assured that my customers won't get sick and die if they drink the water I serve them.
• I don't have to worry about serving rotten hamburger patties to my customers, thanks to meat inspection laws, mandated by the government.
• The Federal Reserve helps stabilize the dollar, protecting me from wildly unpredictable, Zimbabwe-style inflation
• An infrastructure of satellites, telephone lines and broadcast frequencies allow me to advertise my restaurant to a huge audience of potential customers
• I'm protected from foreign threats thanks to a highly advance, standing military force.

So when I hear Paul suggest that business owners should be able to decide whether or not they should be allowed to serve black people, because, hey, it's none of our business, I've got to disagree. We're fortunate enough to live in a nation that literally moves mountains to help businesses prosper. Defiance of federal Civil Rights legislation isn't just ugly, it's un-American.

Update: Paul made a clarifiying statement today:

"I unequivocally state that I will not support any efforts to repeal the Civil Rights Act of 1964."

Can you believe a political candidate in 2010 would need to make such a statement?

Beyoncé

2010-05-07T06:24:00.001-07:00

"Glee" fans know her as the ditzy Cheerio, but Heather Morris is a tremendous dancer. She got her first big break with Beyoncé, and she's spirited and energetic in this clip.

Why The Arizona Immigration Law Is Unconstitutional

2010-05-06T21:04:00.000-07:00

As a White man, I won't enjoy equal protection under Arizona SB 1070 — I'll enjoy enhanced protection. Super-sized protection. Protection that violates the 14th Amendment. Here's why:

• If I am attacked and beaten in a random act of violence, I won't hesitate to report the crime to the police, because I know that, as a White man, I won't be asked to "show my papers."

• If I'm at a party that gets too loud, the police officer will not demand proof of citizenship from everyone attending. That's because we will all be White and we will be listening to Indie Rock.

• If I'm caught watering my lawn on a "no water" day, I may or may not receive a warning. This is because I'm White, and it will be presumed that I'm the owner of the house, not an illegal day laborer.

I could go on and on with other examples, but hopefully you've gotten the idea.

Here's where things get complicated for non-White U.S. citizens:

Suppose I'm a former professional baseball player from the Dominican Republic (yeah, it's a stretch). I'm a naturalized U.S. citizen, my wife is a naturalized citizen, and my children were born in the United States. We all have very dark complexions, and we are clearly not Caucausian.

While driving through Arizona, we're pulled over for a traffic violation. The officer asks for my driver's license. Whoops, for some reason I don't have it. I actually don't have any identification, and my wife doesn't, either. My English isn't very good. My wife's English is worse. The officer becomes suspicious. Under SB 1070, not only can I be arrested, the officer is obligated to arrest my wife and I. My children will be taken into custody, too.

Would this happen to a white family? Of course not. I've been pulled over on two occasions without my driver's license, and managed to drive away with a smile and a warning.

The Equal Protection Clause of the 14th amendment of the U.S. Constitution ensures that states must guarantee equal application of the law. This is essential to prevent institutionalized racism within a state.

As a White man, I'll be able to move through Arizona freely, above suspicion. My skin is light. I don't speak with a Spanish accent. I get a free pass. Under SB 1070, Latino men won't get the same free pass. How does this reality uphold the principle of Equal Protection under the law?

It's interesting that Arizona legislators didn't pass a bill that would require police to check the immigration status of every single individual, during every single call. This would ensure that Latinos would not be unfairly targeted because of their appearance. But this didn't happen. White Arizonans would never stand for such a law.

The architect of the bill, attorney Kris Kobach, offered a spirited defense in a NY Times Op-Ed piece. But despite his best efforts, vagaries in the language resulted in a hasty re-tooling of the bill, even after it was signed. That's because police officers are expected to make judgments based upon skin color and appearance.
Kris Kobach. It's doubtful he'd be subject to scrutiny under his bill.

Does U.S. immigration policy enforcement need to be urgently addressed? Of course. But this is a bad (and innately racist) law, which swings the barn door wide open to racial profiling, fear and intolerance. It reveals an ugly side of America, but thankfully, I'm confident it won't survive legal challenge.

A Poetic Wall

2010-05-03T22:59:00.001-07:00

The design, the photography -- "lyrical" is the best way to describe it.

A wall is just a wall. But with some creativity, it can become a poem.

(more here...)

Conan: Take a Reality Check

2010-05-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

Conan O'Brien didn't get to be Johnny Carson, so he's very sad and depressed. If you don't believe me, check out his beard. As every White American Man knows, when we're sad and depressed we grow a beard. We just can't be bothered with shaving.

I sort of felt sorry for him, until I remembered a few facts:

• He was paid $32 million to walk away from his contract. When most of us lose our jobs, we're lucky to get 2 weeks' severance pay.
• He's spent much of his adult life hosting a late night talk show on a major TV network. This isn't a bad gig; in fact, only a handful of people on Earth can make such a claim.
• He's a smart guy. He's fully aware that the TV business isn't about grace and honor; it's about cold, hard cash. Loyalty means nada.

Conan O'Brien is a brilliant comedic talent, but is he really that much funnier than any "Onion" staffer? Did he deserve the "Tonight" show more than, say, Jon Stewart, or Stephen Colbert? Of course not. Conan should be more than pleased with the way his life has played out. He was never a natural performer; he was a writer who was promoted to become a performer, bypassing thousands of talented performers to take the reins of "Late Night." He done good, much better than he deserved.

Conan, you're still young. You're filthy rich. Take some time off, see the world, take up a hobby, and please stop whining.

The World's Biggest Josh Groban Fan

2010-05-03T19:51:00.001-07:00

Tucumcari Tonite

2010-04-01T21:17:00.001-07:00

Tucumcari, New Mexico epitomizes the Route 66 Boomtown.

When the highway was built, Tucumcari capitalized on her location and built dozens of motels to cater to travelers along that stretch of road between Amarillo and Albuquerque.

"Tucumcari Tonite!" billboards invited drivers to spend the night in one of 2,000 sparkling new motel rooms.

But when I-40 was completed, travelers began to zip past this one-industry town.

Today, the main street is lined with crumbling old businesses, a harsh reminder of the old days. Route 66 has become a sort of American Appian Way.

We made a point to stop here. Walking past faded old signs, weathered by decades of sunlight, your mind fills with images. You picture an old Chevy station wagon. Mom & Dad are in the front. You're sitting in the back.

Dad still has a full head of dark hair, and Mom is lean and lovely. They're both smoking cigarettes; neither wears a seat belt. Their windows are rolled down, and you can see that their arms are starting to get sunburned.

All you can think about is swimming in a pool. Any motel will be fine, as long as it has a big, blue pool.

But today, the pools are dry, and the travelers are gone. Walking down the street, past the spectacular, faded signs, you remember the days when you were in the back seat, and Mom and Dad were in the front. They've finally settled on a motel, and yes, it has a big, blue pool. They picked it because they wanted to make you happy.

Albuquerque: A Quaint Japanese-Inspired Home

2010-03-22T23:52:00.001-07:00

Many of the homes in Albuquerque subscribe to a neo-Pueblo architecture. That makes this modest, Japanese-inspired home (situated near Central Avenue) all the more captivating.

Note the gravel-strewn front yard; this a staple in desert metropolises like Albuquerque and Phoenix. Here, grassy lawns are a folly, a fool's game, a battle you're bound to lose.

A pair of forboding yucca plants create a spiky symmetry to the front yard, fully situating this home in the high desert, not Osaka.

I picture an aloof, complex and mysterious artist living here, perhaps a divorceé with dark hair and curious habits...

Albuquerque: An Actual Conversation

2010-03-22T22:46:00.001-07:00

Setting: The Albuquerque Museum of Art. The "Grizz" is at the ticket counter, purchasing a single adult admission to the Museum.

Grizz: One adult, please.
Ticket Girl: OOOOOO-kay, could I get your zip code?
Grizz: Sure, it's "7-3-1-1-8."
Ticket Girl: Hmmmm, what state is that?
Grizz: Oklahoma.
Ticket Girl: (Beaming) OKLAHOMA!! I love that song!!
Grizz: It's a great song.
Ticket Girl: It IS a great song! I love that song!
Grizz: Rodgers & Hammerstein, you can't beat it.
Ticket Girl: (Making direct eye contact) You know, I learned how to spell "Oklahoma" by listening to that song.
Grizz: Wow.
Ticket Girl: (singing) "O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A, Okla-HOMA... OK!
Grizz: (Nonplussed) You guys need a song like that to help kids learn how to spell "Albuquerque."
Ticket Girl: No doubt! I've lived here all my life, and I still don't know how to spell "Albuquerque!" It still takes me like, five minutes to figure it out.
Grizz: (Sympathetically) Hey, it's a tough word to spell.
Ticket Girl: (handing over one ticket) Enjoy your visit.
Grizz: (winking & smiling) Oh, I plan to.

photo from Wikipedia Commons

Santa Fe

2010-03-22T21:02:00.001-07:00

If you were born and raised in Santa Fe, the rest of the U.S. would seem very strange to you.

You would wonder, "Why isn't the sky as blue? Why isn't the air as crisp?"

You wouldn't understand why the buildings outside Santa Fe look so formal, so English, so... fake.

You would miss the sound of the snow-melt dripping onto the street.

Though your city is wealthy, you would miss the unpretentiousness of your surroundings, the raw, wooden logs that support your home, the earthen tones that fill the horizon.

Simplicity and harmony. Earth and sky.

Sun and rain, night and day. The beauty of a simple, turquoise etching telling a story on someone's front door. Sixteen strokes capturing the sweep of history. This is the sort of thing you see in Santa Fe.

Santa Fe is the smallest capital city in the United States. It's far smaller than most of the suburbs surrounding cities like Houston and Chicago. It also sits at the highest altitude. You can quickly lose your breath strolling across the Plaza.

Yet people are drawn to this city, this old town filled with art galleries, cutting-edge restaurants, and adobe buildings. Artists come here, because of the sky, that ancient cerulean sky, ever-changing, ever the same. Santa Fe is a place to escape from life in the U.S. It's a place to discover the artist inside of you.

Santa Fe makes you think, "I need for my life to change. I need to approach things differently." Each time you visit, you hear the silence. It's deafening. You feel yourself becoming a better person. This is why you never want to leave, yet you can't wait to get back home.

Albuquerque: A Most Poetic Moment

2010-03-22T20:19:00.000-07:00

Crossing the intersection of busy Rio Grande & Indian School Road, in Albuquerque, we spot a tiny Yorkie galloping across the street.

Cars slow down to avoid this little creature, running with joy and confidence, completely indifferent to danger. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd swear the Yorkie was smiling.

A small white van suddenly swerves onto the scene. It's the county dog catcher, in hot pursuit of this rogue mutt. A dog catcher? Am I in a dream? Do people still earn a living capturing stray dogs?

The dog catcher gets close to Yorkie, but at the last minute, BAM! The Yorkie sprints away, literally bounding with glee. Those of us driving slow down to watch. It's comical, like something from a Little Rascals short, watching this tiny critter repeatedly elude authority (and capture).

We drive on, watching through the back window, as the Yorkie continues to confound the dog catcher... so much delight, so much poetry, all in the space of less than 15 seconds. We are all Yorkies now.

Go Yorkie, Go!

Places I Miss: Quincy Park, Parkersburg, WV

2010-03-09T20:19:00.000-08:00

I'd spent an entire year in Parkersburg before discovering this jewel of a park. It's a bit off the beaten track, not that easy to find (if you're not a local), but the view is glorious.

The park overlooks downtown Parkersburg, the Ohio River, and Belpre, Ohio, just across the river.

The view from Quincy Park inspires me to seek out the most stunning, panoramic views of any city I visit. These photographs, found on Flickr, are wonderful, and capture a charming side of the old city of Parkersburg.

When I climbed the picturesque steps of Montmarte, in Paris, I thought, "This reminds me of Quincy Park" (only not as steep).

I look at these pictures and I'm 19 again, sitting on a park bench with friends, gazing off into the horizon, wondering where life will lead us...

photos by Andrew & Courtney Holbrook

My House, Then & Now

2010-03-06T15:06:00.000-08:00

1952.

2010.

Brightmusic, March Poster

2010-03-05T11:47:00.000-08:00

Pebbles The Cat Enjoys The Snow

2010-02-23T20:46:00.000-08:00

Pebbles the Cat has enjoyed all of the freaky snow we've had this winter.

It's easy to understand why: Pebbles is a Maine Coon, which means she's from Maine, where it snows all the time. She has a tremendous amount of hair to keep her warm, which, in Oklahoma, is typically useless (because it's so hot here). This winter, though, her furritude has served her well.

Interesting fact: Maine Coon cats are created when a racoon mates with a kitty cat.

(not really, but people used to believe that story.)

Carlos Páez Vilaró

2010-02-22T21:29:00.000-08:00

I love this man's work. Painting, sculpture, ceramics, architecture, music -- he's dabbled in everything.

Casa Pueblo, in his home country of Uraguay. Vilaró wanted to create a sculpture one could live in, so he created this lovely, organic home studio. It's now a tourist attraction and hotel. I hope to visit someday.

So simple, but so observant...

A radiant, South American sun.

This recent series really grabbed me. I love the bold, black outlines. I love the bright yellow areas sitting next to the muted, almost autumnal color fields... I love the subtle stenciled numbers and letters that tie the pieces together.

Still a very handsome and vital man well into his late 80s.

Heavy Rotation: "Save This Town" by Blue Foundation

2010-02-22T20:45:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you stumble upon a song that grabs you the first time you hear it. "Save This Town," by Danish group Blue Foundation, grabbed me last week and hasn't let go since. I think I've probably listened to this song over 100 times by now (obsessive much?) and I'm still not tired of it.

I love the languid groove, the slow, carnal hip crunch, and the general lazy Sunday afternoon feeling of the song. The chorus is a catchy hook, and I love the horns and Hammond organ flourishes. It's a great tune.

The video is pretty good, if a bit heavy-handed. The young graffiti guys represent the pure creativity that resides in us all. They decide to express themselves by spraying up a city wall into an intricate work of art, only to have it painted over by "society."

Thankfully, our free-spirited heroine rides by on her bike and magically restores the graffiti mural to its former glory. While I'm not a huge fan of graffiti art, I really like the message.

And I love the song.

America, 1860

2010-02-10T21:39:00.000-08:00

When you think the gulf between left and right is insurmountable...

When you think, "How could this country be any more divided?"

Just remember:

Before Abraham Lincoln even took the oath of office in 1861, seven (!) U.S. states seceded from the Union.

That's right, seven Southern states, led by South Carolina (naturally) decided that the prospect of a Lincoln Presidency was so abhorrent that they didn't even give him a chance to govern. They opted out.

What was Lincoln's offense?

Well, he had the audacity to suggest that future U.S. states should be free states, not slave states. This did not sit well in the Deep South.

Lincoln took the oath of office, and the South decided to fire the first shots at Fort Sumter, leading to a senseless, bloody war no one wanted, but one which Southern apologists continue to reframe as a war about "state's rights," not slavery.

Huh?

Delete slavery from the equation, and there is no Civil War. If you don't believe me, read this speech by the Vice President of the Confederate States of America (and a tiny, weak man, barely five feet tall), Alexander Stephens:

"Cornerstone Speech," Savannah, GA, March 21, 1861.

If you don't have time to read the entire speech, here's a summarizing sentence:

"...the negro is not equal to the white man; ...slavery subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition."

Alexander Stephens, VP of the CSA. Too small for a properly-tailored suit, Stephens deplored the inferior status of "the Negro."

Are we then to be surprised when a white politician from South Carolina shouts "You lie!" during a State of the Union address delivered by the first Black President of the United States?

Tebow Tackles a Tough Issue

2010-02-09T11:12:00.000-08:00

Fundamentalist poster boy Tim Tebow kept things light in his controversial Super Bowl commercial by playfully knocking the crap out of his Mom. Hilarious!

Not surprising from a guy working to erase a woman's right to reproductive freedom.

Why We Love Steve Jobs

2010-02-02T22:59:00.000-08:00

Because of His Restraint:
"From computers to smartphones, Apple products are known for being stylish, powerful and pleasing to use. They are edited products that cut through complexity, by consciously leaving things out — not cramming every feature that came into an engineer’s head, an affliction known as “featuritis” that burdens so many technology products."

Because of His Aesthetic:
"In his Palo Alto home years ago, he said that he preferred uncluttered, spare interiors and then explained the elegant craftsmanship of the simple wooden chairs in his living room, made by George Nakashima, the 20th-century furniture designer and father of the American craft movement."

Because of His Taste:
"Great products, according to Mr. Jobs, are triumphs of “taste.” And taste, he explains, is a byproduct of study, observation and being steeped in the culture of the past and present, of “trying to expose yourself to the best things humans have done and then bring those things into what you are doing.”"

Because of His Expectations:
"In choosing key members of his team, he looks for the multiplier factor of excellence. Truly outstanding designers, engineers and managers, he says, are not just 10 percent, 20 percent or 30 percent better than merely very good ones, but 10 times better."

From "Steve Jobs and the Economics of Elistism," Steve Lohr, The New York Times, January 29, 2010.

(Note about this post's title: by "We," I don't mean "me." This is Steve Lohr's love letter to Jobs, not mine. But it does shed some light on the synergy between tastemakers, technologists, and scribes.)

Confidence or Arrogance?

2010-02-01T21:52:00.000-08:00

For Roger Federer, it's a bit of both. Here are some quotes from his post-Championship press conference, 2010 Australian Open:

• I always knew I had something special.
• I think this has been one of my finest performances, you know, in a long time, or maybe forever.
• You know, I’ve dominated hard court and grass for a long time.
• It’s just not an easy thing to do, Grand Slams, and I proved it again tonight.
• I’m professional the way I’m supposed to be.
• [On his opponent, Andy Murray] You wish, you know, only the best for him.

Usually, comments like those suggest some sort of overcompensation. But in Federer's case, I think he really does indeed inhabit some strange world of unshakable confidence and high self-approval. Which is why it can be hard to relate to him.

An Understatement

2010-01-26T20:39:00.000-08:00

"Because of its northerly location in the United States and lack of large enough bodies of water in close proximity to moderate the air, Minneapolis is sometimes subjected to cold Arctic air masses, especially during the months of January and February.

The average annual temperature of 45.4 °F (7.4 °C) gives the Minneapolis–St. Paul metropolitan area the coldest annual mean temperature of any major metropolitan area in the continental United States."

- from Wikipedia

A Few Hours in Chicago

2010-01-25T21:31:00.001-08:00

I shot all of these images in color, but when I looked at them at home, they didn't seem to work. In January, Chicago doesn't need color. It's gray; it's cold; it's metal. Color doesn't reveal Chicago in January; it conceals it.

The Chicago Bean (actually, it's entitled "Cloud Gate.")

Quintessentially Chicago.

Danger lurks around every corner.

Outside a coffee shop.

The Chicago Theatre.

Public art from Jean Dubuffet. I didn't realize you could actually walk inside the sculpture.

The Cubs broadcaster is still a legend here.

Ice skating in Millennium Park.

Marina Towers in River North. You really can't ruin this shot. These buildings create a really interesting geometry that becomes very soothing in a city full of Beaux Arts architecture. I've since remembered that this shot is basically the cover to Wilco's album "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."

Looking south toward Frank Gehry's Pritzker Pavillion, Sunday morning.

The 11:00 pm crowd at Second City.

Signs you won't see in Salt Lake City.

Existentialism & Dark Side of The Moon

2010-01-12T20:28:00.000-08:00

On New Year's Day, 2010, the Flaming Lips performed "Dark Side of the Moon" in it's entirety, at the Cox Center in Oklahoma City. Cami had already gone home, so I stood alone on the floor, thinking about the music, the words, and my own life.

"Dark Side of the Moon" is perhaps the most important work of rock music ever recorded. Few albums have aged better. It's a cohesive piece of work, with songs linked thematically around themes of alienation, desperation, love, and peace. The music borrows from many genres, and creates new genres within itself. And all of it is rooted in Existentialist thought, that broad array of musings growing out from the Industrial Revolution, two World Wars, and advent of high speed travel and communication. Existentialists questioned our place in the world, and defended our disconnect from God. But while a select group of academics are familiar with original Existentialist writings, a thousand years from now, an observer might say, ""Dark Side of the Moon' better encapsulated what it meant to be alive in late 20th century West."

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

from "Brain Damage"

I'd first heard "Dark Side" in my teens; and now, here I was, in my forties, reflecting on all the years that have passed. The music that I first absorbed as a 16 year old hadn't changed, yet somehow was completely new. Lyrics that once seemed simplistic now seemed poignant. At times I felt like I might cry.

"Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one."

from "Breathe"

When the show ended, I walked back to my car in the bracing cold. Snow was on the ground, a leftover from our strange Christmas Day blizzard. I walked for several blocks behind another guy, a young guy, also alone, who was singing the lyrics to "Breathe" (the first proper song on the album). The music we'd just heard was so completely absorbing, so touching, that his singing seemed completely natural. I was right there with him, inhabiting those same spaces, only with a few more lines around my eyes.

"Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be."

from "Breathe"

"[People] cannot endure [their] own littleness unless [they] can translate it into meaningfulness on the largest possible level."

- Ernest Becker

In the hyper-trendy world of popular music, "Dark Side of the Moon" is that rare piece of work that manages to win new fans year after year. Released in 1973, the album sold millions of copies upon release, but for some reason, continued to sell year after year after year. At last count, it has sold somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 million copies, very unusual for such a downtempo and cerebral collection of songs.

"The desire for a strong faith is not the proof of a strong faith, rather the opposite. If one has it one may permit oneself the beautiful luxury of skepticism: one is secure enough, fixed enough for it."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

"Dark Side of the Moon" somehow managed to capture the essence of that very important modern philosophical construct, Existentialism, into hummable, memorable tunes. Dudes driving Camaros (who had never heard of Kierkegaard or Nietzsche) were able to relate to the concepts of being all alone in this big, scary world, thanks to "Dark Side of the Moon."

"You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."

- from "Time"

Though "Dark Side" may seem at first bleak (just like Existentialism), it ultimately becomes a clarion call to the potential within us all. It asks us to reflect on our lives, our dreams, and what we might realistically expect to accomplish with the few years we have left on Earth. It's confrontational. It's alienating. It's disturbing, yet it's comforting: we realize that we all feel these feelings, we all hurt, we all dream. It helps us pare down to the essentials. It helps us consider what is really important.

When I realize that I am alone, I realize that I need you. When, as lonely, helpless beings, we realize we are interconnected, we finally behave as we should. We need no gods. We eschew the supernatural, and instead praise the day that we are given, and those that share it with us.

"And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I
don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying?
There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime."

from "The Great Gig In The Sky"

I'm not exactly sure how the members of Pink Floyd (especially Roger Waters), then young men in their twenties, were able to so fully comprehend Life, in all it's madness, futility, pain, and ecstasy. They could have written another collection of songs about getting laid. Hell, their record company would have probably preferred it. But they didn't, and as the years go by in my own life, I've realized their music somehow addressed the reality of all our lives, in the spaces we now inhabit, be that 20 years old, 30 years old, or 40 years old. I suspect it will resonate when I'm 50, 60 and 70 years old, as well. This is the hallmark of a majestic piece of art.

All that you do
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

from "Eclipse"

Quel Shock!

2010-01-11T20:59:00.000-08:00

Mark McGwire did steroids? Say it ain't so!

A friend with an inside connection asked a pitcher the big question, point blank:

"So, how many guys in the big leagues are juicing?"

The player's response?

"At least 80 percent."

I'm surprised the percentage isn't higher, actually. A young man aspiring to become a Major League baseball player is obligated to use steroids if he hopes to compete with his peers.

Could I possibly earn a living as a graphic designer if I decided not to use a computer? It's not likely. But while I understand McGwire's imperative to beef up, what do we do about his Hall of Fame status? Does he deserve to go?

Momma Kitty in Repose

2009-12-21T07:41:00.001-08:00

Top Cinematographer Hates Digital

2009-12-01T22:10:00.000-08:00

I remember 5-day photo shoots that felt like a month. Every minute of every work day, you worry about the shot your working on, while trying to figure out what you're going to do for the next shot. The photographer and assistants stand around looking at you, waiting for you to tell them what you want to do next. If something goes wrong, you've got to ultimately solve the problem.

Before you begin a shot, you announce your plan. Invariably, someone on-set tells you why your plan won't work. You listen. You deliberate. If you ignore their advice, you hope against hope that your plan works so you'll be proven right. If your plan fails, you feel humbled. You've just wasted everyone's time and money because of your own stubborness. But there's no time to dwell on it. You've got to quickly rally to regain your confidence, or else you'll lose control of the shoot.

You construct sets using paper and cinder blocks. You order the young studio assistant to stand on a ladder to hold a peacock feather precisely in the upper right hand corner of the frame so we can get the perfect shot. You send someone to Home Depot to buy 10 bags of sand. Hurry!

You crouch low into the set, rotating something slightly counter-clockwise so to better face the camera. You back up off the set, still in a crouch, to peek into the camera to see if the shot looks better. If it does, great. If it doesn't, you crawl back into the shot and adjust things yet again. You hope you don't hit your head on the huge Fuzzylamp, but you will at least once a day, guaranteed.

When you finally think you've got the shot ready, you ask the photographer to shoot a Polaroid. He shoots a test shot, then rips out the Polaroid print. You wait for 90 seconds for the shot to develop. You make small talk. You stare at your shoes. He waves the Polaroid like a fan, as if to will the chemical process to develop the film faster.

Finally, he peels apart the Polaroid and you look at the shot. If you're lucky, you're ready to shoot a real color transparency on real film. If you're not lucky, you repeat all the steps until you get it right.

You might repeat this process 90 times a day. If you don't get a certain number of shots done each day, you look bad, and you waste money. A lot of money.

Photo shoots could become all-consuming. At night, I'd think about the shots we'd done earlier that day. During the actual photo shoot, I'd think about the shots we need to do tomorrow. Or I'd worry that I'd made the photographer mad because I'd changed my mind and asked for completely different lighting. Or I'd get mad at the photographer for questioning my shot.

You lift things. You bend, you move. You steal a few moments away alone in the prop room, away from the photographer's "what are you thinking for this next shot?" expression. We'd listen to whatever music I wanted to play. We talked about interesting things. We got to be best friends, because we spent so much time together under so much pressure.

Now, of course, the pressure has diminished, thanks to digital photography. No more waiting 90 seconds for polaroids. If the background looks too dark, no problem, we'll fix it in Photoshop. Is there a piece of masking tape showing? Don't worry, we'll erase it on the computer. While I love digital photography, I do confess to sometimes feeling wistful for the old days.

That's why I appreciated the remarks of Taiwanese cameraman Mark Lee Ping-bing. He recently complained that digital photography diminishes the artistry of traditional film photography:

"Film is unknown, uncertain. It's a chemical reaction. To be frank, it's a little bit like painting. So if your technical skills and experience aren't up to part, you'll think that HD (high-definition digital video) is very easy to use," Lee said in the book.

"But HD is different. There is a monitor. It shows what you have shot. You'll know if it's a little dark in one part and you need to add a bit of light. Everything is on the monitor. Everything is OK if you have the monitor. All the expectation and the texture is gone," he said.

Lee also denounced the practice of covering up visual flaws on computers.

"Maybe there is a kid who knows about how to play computer games, or is sensitive to color – they can get the job done. But if everything can be changed by computer, then this is not a form of art," he said.

He's wrong, of course. Digital photography is indeed a form of art. But I've got to admire his crustiness.

Thanksgiving 2009

2009-11-30T15:42:00.000-08:00

Last year I missed Thanksgiving because I was sick.

This year found me in robust health, the very picture of vitality and pluck. We gathered in Harrah, America for dinner in a spacious 2 car garage. It made for lovely ambience.

Cami's grandmother Dorothy was in full glory, with freshly set hair and a morning Mimosa. She's looking good at 97!

But baby Maeve stole the show with her never ending smiles and general sense of merriment.

The Grand Canyon In Winter

2009-11-29T21:45:00.000-08:00

Henry Shukman has written about hiking into the Grand Canyon in the NY Times. The article, found here, makes me want to Go There Now.

Most of us never get to experience such an adventure, and it's a shame, because it's more than wonderful hike; it's literally a trip in the earth's bowels. Shukman reminds us of this with strong prose:

"To experience the canyon, you have to leave the rim. The frustration aroused by the bigness, the grandness, on a rim-only visit becomes a liberation once you drop down. The modern world falls away. It’s not just a trip out of the human realm, but into the deep geology of the earth. Layer upon layer of the planet’s crust is revealed, stratum by stratum: the Toroweap limestone, the Coconino sandstone, the Redwall limestone, the Tonto Group; the Vishnu schist deep down, close to two billion years old, nearly half the total age of the planet — the stuff that is under our very feet as we go about our lives is laid bare here. And in the silence and stillness, in the solitude of the canyon in winter, it’s all the more impressive."

Winter is a good time to visit; the temperatures are obviously much milder than the average highs in July and August (when most people make the trip).

It's around 25 miles to hike from the South Rim to the North Rim. Lots of crazy people do it one day. That sounds like an accomplishment, but I'd rather take my time, to savor all that stratum.

Kentucky Lawyer Decorates Entire Basement With Sharpie

2009-11-28T15:58:00.001-08:00

Charlie Kratzer works as a corporate attorney, but he's also a very creative artist.

Using $10 worth of Sharpie permanent markers, Kratzer has drawn elaborate murals on the walls of his basement. He's drawn logs onto the flat surface of his fireplace. He's drawn an elaborate staircase leading into an imaginary room. He's drawn stacks of books to fill an imaginary library.

It's amazing, check out the 360° video here.

Thoughts on Venice

2009-11-23T22:51:00.000-08:00

As my parents traipse through Venice, I'm thinking back to the my own impressions of that city.

Venice is an old woman, once soft and ripe, but now cracked and withered. The salt air is corroding her.

Venice is an old man, creaky and decrepit. Once magnificent, he is now crumbling, struggling to avoid collapse.

Venice is no longer Tazio, Thomas Mann's tempting adolescent. Those days are long gone.

Yet Venice remains, and the throngs still visit, and still marvel. Though falling into the sea, Venice remains, proud and old, feeble, yet resolute. In a culture that venerates all that is young, Venice shouts,

"I am old, but I am beautiful! I am the only one of my kind, and when I am gone, there will be nothing to replace me!"

Venice is on life support, just as we, too will eventually need life support. Our younger loved ones will prop us up and try to extend our life for a few more months, a few more years, even though we're well past our expiration date. We will follow their wishes, just to make them happy, even though we know we've lived a good life and are ready to move along.

But before we reach that stage, perhaps it is Venice that will teach us how to grow old.

Sensual Mathematics

2009-11-04T22:06:00.001-08:00

Bach's prelude to his first cello suite is currently being used in the American Express "Smile" campaign, which, by virtue of airing repeatedly during the World Series, is currently my obsession.

I love the architecture of Bach's arpeggios. Technically, they really aren't complicated. But there's an insistent, driving determination that lulls you into this strange meditative trance, only to surprise you with some startling detour.

Math is something I really don't understand, and the mere mention of it gives me a creative sphincter contraction. But somehow, in Bach's hands, music becomes a mathematics of sensuality, of conquering the labyrinth so quickly that you find time to discover your lover playing hide-and-seek from you in the hedges.

I should listen to this when I'm doing my taxes, it'll make it seem sexy.

Don't Smash That Bug

2009-10-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

Look how beautiful these bugs are up close. It's hard to believe we slap these things when they bother us. Is it because we've never seen them so close?

More of the work of Tulsa photographer Thomas Shahan here

"Experience Things!" - The Experience vs. The Story of The Experience

2009-10-19T05:53:00.000-07:00

It's interesting to witness the seismic shift instant messaging has created. When a Big, Important Event is taking place, say a concert or sporting event (or even a first date), we're now expected to send reports from the field using our iPhone or Blackberry. Rather than simply experiencing life, we're asked to record life, placing it in tidy digital context for others.

This isn't surprising: much of what we think we "like" are things we sense we're expected to like. Our tribe tells us what's important, and by reporting back to the tribe, we reaffirm our sense of belonging. Twittering and posting about how awesome the Super Bowl is only confirms what everyone senses deep inside: the Super Bowl sucks. But wait -- the Super Bowl is important! If we're at the Super Bowl, therefore we're important.

Mad Men's Matthew Weiner touches on this:

"When I look at digital, the dark side of it for me is the physicality that's being presented alongside the Internet. I think about that movie The Matrix, and about these bodies that are human batteries that support computers. I met this guy who was creating software where you could watch Mad Men and you could chat with your friend while you're watching it, and things would pop up, and facts would pop up, and I said, "You're a human battery. Turn the fucking thing off! You're not allowed to watch the show anymore. You're missing the idea of sitting in a dark place and having an experience. Are you just like sitting with your phone and you're kissing your girlfriend and saying, 'I'm kissing my girlfriend! This is so great, we're having sex!'" EXPERIENCE THINGS!"

Before long, the idea of recording an individual's entire life, cradle to grave, will be reality. We'll no longer speculate if a George Washington really chopped down that cherry tree - we'll just refer back to his Twitters for proof. The internet will be full of these archived "Lives Lived" for us to study. How will yours measure up?

Another Crazy Grizzard...

2009-10-16T20:34:00.000-07:00

From the Daily Telegraph (UK):

"Marc Grizzard, of Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, North Carolina, says that the first King James translation of the Bible is the only true declaration of God’s word, and that all others are “satanic”. Pastor Grizzard and 14 other members of the church plan to burn copies of the other “perversions” of Scripture on Halloween, 31 October."

My heritage is southern Confederate. That's reality. They came from the racist South and they behaved like every other racist Southerner. My heritage is fundamentalist Christian. That's not a surprise, either. We're taught from infancy what we're supposed to believe, and warned of damnation if we stray.

But book burners? That's pathetic and scary — it's a symbolic act of violence against ideas. What happened to THIS Grizzard?

"Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings." — Heinrich Heine.

Fascinating Fact: California

2009-10-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

If California were an independent nation, it would be a member of the G8 (a political forum addressing the interests of the eight riches countries on Earth).

From the Family Values Desk: Dad-To-Be Gropes Maternity Nurse

2009-10-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

From the UK Daily Mail:

"A father missed the birth of his first son after being arrested for groping a nurse on the way to the delivery room.

Police said Adam Manning sexually assaulted the nurse as she wheeled his wife into the delivery room.

The 30 year old had told the nurse she was "cute" then reached round to grab her breasts.

Police in Ogden, Utah, were called to the hospital and arrested Manning on charges of forcible sexual assault.

When later asked about his actions he said he had no idea why he carried out the assault. Police confirmed that he missed the birth of his son."

Here's the irony of the story: Utah Adoption laws prevent a person from designating their same-sex partner as a second parent if they are cohabitating. According to Utah state law (78-30-1), "a child may not be adopted by a person who is cohabiting in a relationship that is not a legally valid and binding marriage under the laws of this state". Furthermore, state legislature suggests that the optimal Adoption placement for a child should be a married heterosexual couple.

Therefore, in the eyes of Utah law, delivery room groper Adam Manning is far more fit to be a parent than any gay or lesbian (or unmarried hetero, for that matter) couple in Utah. Period.

American Painting

2009-10-08T23:50:00.000-07:00

When it's all said and done, this painting by pinup artist Gil Evgren might say more about America than any thing Pollock, Ruscha, or Warhol could ever say.

Family Pictures: Down on the Farm

2009-10-08T22:32:00.000-07:00

My mom's parents, Lucile and Willis Logan, owned a 25-acre farm in Taylor County, West Virginia.

The two of them raised four children, then continued to live a simple, old-fashioned lifestyle. They kept cows for milk. They kept chickens for eggs. They grew their own vegetables. They often got their protein from varmints, like squirrel or ground-hog. I helped milk cows. I collected eggs. I saw Grandma behead chickens. I hiked in the woods. I picked berries. I used an outhouse. For a couple of weeks each year, I got to experience a rural, agrarian way of life that was a huge contrast to our families' life in industrial Baltimore. Everything moved so slowly. It was like visiting another country. Grandma played local gospel and country music radio in the house. When she sat down to watch her soap opera, she strung beans, or darned socks, or did something constructive with her hands. I never once saw her sitting idle.

Grandad chopped firewood every day that I can remember. Grandma baked bread almost every day. The old Philco refrigerator in the kitchen seemed extraneous. You know they didn't really need it.

Still, their house was full of books and news magazines. Grandad read voraciously, and kept nearly every magazine he ever read. All over the house there were stacks of old, mildewed magazines. I spent many hours studying old copies of "The Saturday Evening Post" from 1956, or "Coronet," from 1943. I read articles about politics, entertainment and sports. I loved looking at old advertisements. Back then, most ads featured long blocks of wonderfully written copy. I read every word. And the visuals: photography still wasn't popular back then. Most ad agencies hired talented illustrators to create sumptuous worlds of material wealth and comfort. I was hooked. I grew up and worked as a magazine designer, and then an advertising designer.
After my grandparents both died, there was no way to maintain their house. It was literally falling apart, and with no permanent residents, it was prone to break-ins. The family made the difficult decision to level the house. All of those memories are gone, but a few pictures remain:
Today, I can still smell the meadow. I can hear the sound of the cows braying. I can feel the bounce of our station wagon as we drove up the rough dirt road that led to their home.

We park the station wagon. Grandma is there to greet us. She's wearing a work dress and her hair is pulled back in a bun, as always. She's so happy to see us, and we're so happy to see her. She's so full of life. She loves my sister and I so unconditionally. She smiles at us so sweetly. I'm so happy to be here.

Our family still owns the Logan farm. We'll always own the Logan farm

"Making Money" vs. "Earning Money"

2009-10-08T22:14:00.000-07:00

Despite what anti-intellectuals may tell you, words matter. When we spew out a "Freudian Slip," we reveal our innermost secrets. When we speak extemporaneously, we tend to show our hand in an extraordinary way.

Witness this excerpt from a speech by disgraced Merrill Lynch CEO John Thain. Pay close attention to the last sentence:

"Purely based on the fact that Wall Street is a pretty good meritocracy -- you have to have the right skill set -- basically you can start from zero there. You can become the president of Goldman Sachs. You can become the CEO of the New York Stock Exchange. You can become the CEO of Merrill Lynch. You can make a lot of money."

"Make" a lot of money. In the wake of exotic financial transactions gone bust, does the notion of a Wall Street hotshot "making" money sound ironic? It reveals these financial whizzes as Houdini-like figures, conjuring up profits via risk-laden speculation and naked ambition.

The take-away? "Earning" money is for chumps. "Making" money is for winners.

Friday Wack

2009-10-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

My Doppelgänger

2009-10-04T21:26:00.001-07:00

A search for "David Grizzard" on Facebook brought a few matches.

The most scary match was this dude from Virginia. From the looks of things, he drives a pickup truck and misses the good 'ole days of slavery.

He also wears a very hip moustache/goatee (well, it was hip in 1990, for a few hours).

We Grizzards certainly tend to originate from the U.S. South, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Why is it still acceptable to wear the Stainless Banner in the U.S.? Don't tell me it's a celebration of a "heritage." That "heritage" was based upon the forcible enslavement of other human beings. It's nothing to be proud of.

Does merely invoking the word "heritage" suggest that moral criticism is off-limits? There is a "heritage" shared by families of Nazi soldiers. Should that be honored? What about the "heritage" of the 9/11 hijackers? Would you enjoy seeing their symbols on a baseball cap?

I guess my question is this: why would anyone want to wear the flag of such a racist, murderous, and sanctimonious group of individuals? What message are you trying to send to the world?

Mountain Biking Documentary: Early Footage

2009-10-04T20:35:00.001-07:00

My friend Brent and I began filming on a documentary over the weekend. The subject? How NOT to mountain bike. Check out some video from the Northshore Trail, outside of Dallas. Or not. They're actually a complete waste of your time. Read a book instead.
Always wear bright yellow on the trail. Bears are afraid of yellow. I've never seen a bear while riding with a yellow shirt.

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Big-Time College Football: Scenes From Stillwater

2009-09-29T20:29:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I once again watched from the sidelines as #14 Oklahoma State battled Grambling St. in Stillwater, Oklahoma. The view from the sidelines is fantastic. You're interacting with dudes who are making plays in front of 56,000 rabid fans, and yes, it's thrilling. If you aren't paying attention, you'll get knocked down. If you have a crazy streak, you might be tempted to run onto the field and line up with the offense. No one would stop you, at least for 15 seconds or so. However, your day would be ruined. I pretended to be a press photographer, and took these shots with my little point-and-shoot camera.

Dez Bryant (1) and pals pose for some pre-game shots. These dudes are physical specimens.

A lovely cowgirl. Also a physical specimen.

My friend Neal has a nephew playing for OSU (#87 Tracy Moore, at far right). Tracy caught a TD in the 2nd half. Neal's brother (Tracy's dad) played in the NBA in the early 90's. He occasionally had to guard Michael Jordan. Q: What was it like guarding Michael Jordan? A: What do you THINK it was like guarding Michael Jordan?

Male bonding in the end zone.

I love being on the field, taking pictures of my own self.

"Mad Men's" Don Draper might take his family on vacation in a vintage camper like this one. Sans graphics.

Here's what the press box looks like 2 hours before kickoff.

Anthropology 1.1: The lissome, nubile females of the tribe celebrate the bravery of the heroic young men. Implication? Success on the battlefield promises carnal rewards at home. The times change, but the roles stay the same. [Ironically, each of these young women will likely graduate with a degree and enjoy higher earning power than most of the young men she now celebrates.]

Mike Agan surveys the crowd.

The stylish Dez Bryant shares some love with the fans. Bryant is the best player on his top-20 NCAA football team. He's incredibly fast, charismatic and talented, and everywhere he goes in Stillwater he's quite literally worshipped. He appears genuinely sweet and kind, if slightly blown away by all the attention.

Stretch those hamstrings.

Jerry Rice Not Optimistic About Brett Favre as a Viking

2009-09-29T18:23:00.000-07:00

The old graybeard, Brett Favre, just can't quit football. He's shown some steel with the Vikings this season, but the legendary Jerry Rice remains pessimistic:

From the Minneapolis Star-Tribune:

Q You don't sound too convinced that Favre will play at a high level for the whole season.

A I really don't. Brett is a competitor. But I know towards the latter part of my career, even though I still wanted to be out on that football field, it was like things became a little bit more difficult. But my job was different. It consisted of a lot of running and stuff like that. With Brett, the thing for him is dropping back, planting himself and throwing the ball downfield so it might be a little bit different for him. But he's a competitor. I think if he still wants to play, I think he should. But I really thought this team would be moving and looking down the road instead of trying to look for the one-year miracle.

Q How hard is that for guys like yourself and Brett to walk away from it?

A It's hard. It's hard because you love the game. I was listening to some guys doing commentary the other day. If you have other things going on in your life and you have other businesses going on, I think then you have other things you can focus on. But if it's just football and that's it ... and I think with Brett right now, he's been so in love with the game and he still wants to play. I tip my hat to him for going out there and giving it everything he can give it, but I don't know if it's going to be a good year.

While Rice certainly minces his words, this is still a surprisingly candid interview, especially coming from a man who played football into his forties.

Hollywood Renaissance Woman #2: Lucy Liu

2009-09-29T17:27:00.000-07:00

Hollywood has been an historically inhospitable place for Asian women, yet Lucy Liu stands out in a world of willowy young blondes. Here are a few reasons why:

• She's the daughter of Taiwanese immigrants.
• She's forty years old.
• She graduated from one of the most demanding public high schools in the U.S., Stuyvesant High, in NYC.
• She later graduated from the University of Michigan
• She speaks Chinese (Mandarin), English, Italian, Spanish, and a little Japanese.
• In addition to acting, she's a visual artist, and has exhibited her paintings and photography.
• She's served as a UNICEF ambassador.
• She practices the martial art of Kali-Eskrima-Silat (knife-and-stick fighting), skis, rock climbs, rides horses, and plays the accordion.
• She once worked as an aerobics instructor.
• She lives with her brother and his wife.
• She has never tasted coffee (a fact to which she partially credits her beauty).

The View From Norway

2009-09-18T22:47:00.000-07:00

From The New York Times:

"As a Norwegian, looking at the U.S. health care debate from the outside, I cannot help but laugh sometimes. It seems like the word “socialism” has become a swear word. In Norway, we just re-elected a “socialist” government. That does not mean that we live in a communist state. We have full-fledged capitalism over here, and we are just about the richest country in the world, per capita. But we have chosen to let the state supply world class health care to all inhabitants.

To allow private insurance companies to let private profit maximizing decisions get in between a patient and a doctor is close to unethical for us. In Norway, you get the same care no matter if you are a homeless drunk or the C.E.O. of one of the biggest companies. And that’s how it should be. They say that the measure of a country’s success lies in how it treats its most unfortunate citizens."

— Gjert Myrestrand

Word Clouds: U2's "The Joshua Tree"

2009-09-18T21:37:00.001-07:00

Wordle is a website that analyzes any block of text to create beautiful word frequency diagrams. The larger the word, the more frequently it's used in the source text.

Since I've always been struck by the lyrics to U2's "The Joshua Tree," I decided to create a word cloud based on this album.

For those familiar with the album, it's not surprising to see so many of what I call "elemental words." These are the most basic words in the English language, and most would be understood very easily by English speakers living over 700 years ago. They're words like "rain," "eyes," "heart," "cold," "river," "stone," and "sky," and when used with style and invention, they work to form poetic works of striking directness.

These are the kinds of words used in the most memorable Bible passages, which isn't surprising coming from U2's primary lyricist, Bono. He's long been inspired by Biblical allegory. For "The Joshua Tree," he didn't write typical "let's party and get laid" songs. He wrote about feeling simultaneously lost and found across a harsh, yet beautiful landscape.

When a talented poet chooses monosyllabic "elemental words" such as these, the resulting work is timeless. It becomes understandable across generations, centuries, even millenia. It needs no annotation.

Though it has a few clunkers, at its best, "The Joshua Tree" speaks to the experience of being alive, not just being alive in 1987.

Reading Between The Lines

2009-09-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

What do y'all think this recent CNN.com headline about young Miley Cyrus is trying to imply?

Appropriate? Inapropriate? Knowing? Cheeky?

Innocent? Innocuous? Wholesome? Hyprocritical?

Teasing? Suggestive? Off-Limits?

Wink-wink, nod-nod!!!

American Health Care, In A Nutshell

2009-09-16T01:22:00.001-07:00

Let me put it simply:

In the United States, if you are wealthy, you are entitled to comprehensive health care.

If you are poor, you're up the creek. Sorry. Don't you wish you were rich?

Quick Quiz: Name one other wealthy, civilized country that dooms her poor to such shame and misery.

Yet, if anyone in the U.S. attempts to challenge this disgrace, they're quickly branded an anti-American. A Socialist. A Marxist. A Nazi. Just look at the signs being hoisted by the fat and happy folk benefitting from the status quo.

Why are those most opposed to health care reform members of the White majority?Haven't they been educated in the best public school systems? Aren't they most likely to land high paying jobs, the kind that come with some kind of health insurance?

Why are they so loathe to even entertain the idea of extending guaranteed health care benefits to the weakest Americans?

Do you ever see people of color at these anti-healthcare rallies? There's racism at work here, and it's pretty hard to ignore. If I'm wrong, show me some dark faces at these rallies.

Are we White folk simply afraid those lazy, unproductive minorities might get some free goodies at our expense?
Why aren't we protesting other forms of Socialism, like a paid police force, or public libraries? Why aren't we outraged by the taxes spent to maintain our fire department?

Here's a scenario: let's just eliminate all taxes, full stop. Let the Free Market rule. Stop all social services. No more Medicare. No more Medicaid. No more arts funding. No public schools. Check your history. This is what Republicans dream about.

If you've got money, you're going to be fine. If you don't — sorry, pal! It's social Darwinism, as practiced by Bible-thumping Christians.

Carter Weighs In

2009-09-16T00:55:00.000-07:00

"I think an overwhelming portion of the intensely demonstrated animosity toward President Barack Obama is based on the fact that he is a black man, that he's African-American.

"I live in the South, and I've seen the South come a long way, and I've seen the rest of the country that shares the South's attitude toward minority groups at that time, particularly African-Americans."

"That racism inclination still exists, and I think it's bubbled up to the surface because of belief among many white people -- not just in the South but around the country -- that African-Americans are not qualified to lead this great country. It's an abominable circumstance, and it grieves me and concerns me very deeply," – Jimmy Carter.

Finally, someone is bold enough to strike back at the hate.

For Republicans crying foul: the facts aren't on your side. Remind me of the last time a member of Congress called the President a liar during a nationally televised address.

Jimmy Carter elucidates what all reasonable people in this country are sensing: that a hateful and disrespectful conservative groundswell is working overtime to further erode political discourse in this country.

"The president is not only the head of government, he is the head of state. And no matter who he is or how much we disagree with his policies, the president should be treated with respect."

It should come as no surprise that it was a Southern senator breaching American political protocol with a shout of "You lie!" during President Obama's recent address to the nation. South Carolinians have an embarrassing legacy of hatred and cruelty toward African-Americans in the United States.

How To Connect With 72,000 People

2009-09-15T21:49:00.000-07:00

Over the decades, I've attended a lot of concerts. For me, nothing compares with seeing a great up-and-coming band in a small, sweaty club. When everything clicks, the energy is indescribable. The music slices into your core, and everything in the world seems right. You feel young and alive and beautiful. You're flushed with the feeling that, right now, there's no place you'd rather be on the entire Earth.

Sadly, this experience usually doesn't translate to larger venues. I've wasted wads of money to watch big, important acts play to large crowds (say, more than 10,000 people). Usually, the musicians fail to connect with the audience, and you never experience those feelings you get in a small club.

One performer, however, managed to make a stadium concert feel intimate. Freddie Mercury, the shy, African-Asian lead singer of the band Queen, was completely at home performing for large audiences. In fact, the larger the stage, the better his performance.

On a hot Saturday in 1985, my sister and I sat glued to the television all day long, fighting over the right to videotape our favorite performers. It was Live Aid, and she was 13, I was 17. Chandra got to record the New Romantics and New Wave acts. I recorded the more established acts. When it was time for U2 to take the stage, I invoked my first-born status and got to record their amazing set. Their performance at Wembley Stadium cemented their status as the best up-and-coming band in the world. Their performance of "Bad" transfixed the crowd, and I wondered how anyone could top them.

But then Queen took the stage. Queen was already very established, though in my mind, they were already well past their prime. Freddie Mercury didn't seem to dress very cool. He was almost forty years old. Wearing a pair of skin-tight faded jeans and a wife beater, he looked like a Tom of Finland character, before I knew what that was. I pressed "record," on the VCR, but wasn't expecting much.

Within a few moments, though, I realized that Queen was in complete command of the massive crowd. They burned through a few well-known songs, sounding tight and lean, and far younger than any band I'd ever heard. Freddie, in particular, was in total control of the audience, and I was stunned by his ability to capture the attention of such a huge crowd.

By the time the band started into "Radio Ga-Ga," the wall between artist and audience had been shattered. Everyone in the stadium clapped in unison to the chorus. It almost resemble a German Youth Rally. Mercury pranced and preened across the stage, relishing the moment, and you knew you were witnessing the highlight of the day.

In fact, many respected rock critics still rank this performance as the finest in rock history. Judge for yourself. For me, I still get goose bumps.

The song is essentially an aging man's love letter to a part of his past. He loves a thing that he knows is dying (radio), and delivers an elegy to her fading glory. But in the end, he still holds out hope that she'll rise up once again, cheating death:

"You had your time, you had the power
You've yet to have your finest hour "

Today he's reminding an audience half his age exactly what he loves. Watch his eyes. He's completely focused. Watch how he moves on stage. Nothing seems extraneous. He acts as if performing for 72,000 people were old hat.

Just two years later, Freddie Mercury would contract HIV. He eventually wasted away, and died at the age of 45.

Mercury was a complex man. He was born in Zanzibar, a tropical island off the coast of East Africa. He was raised Zooroastrian. He married a woman when he was young, and though they later divorced, they remained best friends until his death. In fact, he left the bulk of estate to his ex-wife, Mary. "The only friend I've got is Mary and I don't want anybody else," he once said. She still resides in his mansion in England.

His untimely death shined a bright light on the spectre of AIDS, and for many, served as a catalyst into action.

Over 20 years after his death, Freddie Mercury's status as a rock god has only grown. This sweet and gentle man with the enormous onstage charisma has become an iconic figure in rock history, and this performance at Live Aid may be his finest.

Mini Roadster Concept

2009-09-15T00:14:00.000-07:00

Mmmmm... I love this Mini Roadster concept.

Check out the tilted-back windscreen.

It's a small car, but it's pugnacious-looking. It's designed with a huge aesthetic, managing to be gorgeous and full of scrappy attitude all at the same time.

Lean & Mean

2009-09-14T23:53:00.000-07:00

From the NY Post:

"One simple indication of the difference in age and status of the two finalists: The 28-year-old Federer's guest box was full, with pals such as rock-star couple Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale and Vogue editor Anna Wintour seated alongside Federer's parents, wife and agent. Only three of the 15 available seats were occupied in del Potro's box."

Q: May I Say A Few Words in Spanish? A: No.

2009-09-14T22:41:00.000-07:00

After a stunning 5-set win over tennis god Roger Federer on Monday, twenty-year old Juan Carlos del Potro dutifully answered questions from CBS Tennis lead announcer Dick Enberg. It was clear the young Argentine struggled with English, but still, he did his best.

But when del Potro asked for a moment to speak a few sentences in his native Spanish, how did Enberg react? "No, I'm afraid we don't have time," he deflected, nervously.

A few moments later, after yet another request to speak in Spanish, Enberg finally relented.

Does anyone else realize what kind of message this sends to the world?

Perhaps "Desperate, Fading Superpower?"

In a sport struggling to win fans in the United States, what is the value of disrespecting the language of a surging minority Hispanic population? Wouldn't you want to win Hispanic fans?

Why must American sports coverage constantly scrub away any semblance of diversity? Are we really so jingoistic as to deny a Spanish-speaking champion a moment or two to speak from his heart in his own language? Are we really that desperate to cut to an episode of "How I Met Your Mother?"

And how about Enberg's lustful check presentation? He positively purred out the amount of Del Potro's payday: one-million, eight-hundred thousand something or other. How crass is this? Is this our message to the rest of the world? Come to America, make some crazy money!!

Isn't this why we're in the financial mess we're in?

Paging Dr. Freud

2009-09-14T21:39:00.000-07:00

In a roomful of megalomaniacs, just what kind of behavior is off-limits?

These people aren't like you and I. They're damaged, needy folk who've spent their entire lives devising new ways to capture the attention of others. Ironically, the "others" (whose attention they seek), are worthless in their eyes.

Should we be surprised when one of them behaves like a petulant child?

Kanye West isn't clear on this fact: the image of a drunken black man physically seizing the microphone from a blond, white woman while she's delivering a speech only fuels racial stereotypes.

As it turns out, the man who once told a post-Hurricane Katrina national audience "George Bush doesn't care about black people," is every bit as tone-deaf as "W."

FYI, Kanye: your world is a world driven by profits, not art. It's in your industry's interests to constantly develop new stars, regardless of their talent. This way, lots of different people in L.A. can get rich. It's all a game, only it's played with real money.

Later in the show, Beyoncé invited Taylor Swift back onstage to reclaim her moment. Even from one megalomaniac to another, you've got to appreciate this moment.

Sisters are looking out for each other. Across racial lines. Thanks, Kanye, for making my gender look aggressive, desperate and pathetic.

Jim Carroll Qualifies For His Own Song

2009-09-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

Punk poet/rocker/athlete Jim Carroll died on September 11, 2009, at 60.

He's most famous for his The Basketball Diaries. With The Jim Carroll Band, he recorded a college party staple called "People Who Died," a morbidly fun power pop/punk anthem, that served as a blueprint for the blasé irony of Generation X.

Serena Williams Threatens Line Judge, Is Disqualified From Match

2009-09-12T22:16:00.000-07:00

Whoa, scary Serena!

After losing a point on a questionable foot fault call, Serena thought about it for a moment, and then walked over to the lineswoman and threatened to shove a tennis ball down her throat. With a few choice f-bombs sprinkled in for good measure. While brandishing her raquet in a threatening manner.

She then walked back to serve, match point down, but decided it would be better to approach the lineswoman again. After another threatening tirade, the tournament director was summoned to the court to solve the dispute.

There wasn't much to solve. Serena had already received a code violation for smashing a racquet. The rules dictate that the next code violation results in a disqualification, even if you're Serena Williams.

Disqualifications in a Grand Slam tournament are rare. It only happens every 20 years or so. John McEnroe was disqualified from the Australian Open in 1990, and Willie Alvarez of Spain was qualified at the 1963 French Open.

The more interesting debate here is the way players deal with anger. Serena is heads and shoulders above the entire women's field, but when she finds herself being pushed by a contender, she doesn't always react well. She's loathe to credit her opponents when they beat her. She wears obnoxious t-shirts to press conferences with statements like “Can’t spell dynasty without nasty.”

In her post-match interview, I didn't hear Serena apologize for her threatening outburst, or even acknowledge that she was out of line. She reminded us what a passionate person she was, and told us John McEnroe was her favorite player.

She wasn't wearing her "Dynasty" shirt, however.

Meet South Carolina Republicanism

2009-09-09T23:14:00.001-07:00

Republican Joe Wilson shouts down the President during a nationally-televised address to Congress. Aggressive, in-your-face attacks have characterized the health care debate in this country, and apparently, this Republican has abandoned all decorum. Thankfully, even his political friends condemned his actions, and he quickly tried to hit the "undo" keys with a formal apology.

Sidebar for Christians: Just try and imagine Jesus Christ shouting down someone for because he feared they would provide health care for illegal immigrants. Even more, just try to imagine Jesus referring to someone as an "illegal immigrant." All this stuff in the Bible about "who is my neighbor?" It's lip service, y'all.

Mark Sanford was black and white in his condemnation of Bill Clinton's behavior. But when it comes to his own shortcomings, he's all about "forgiveness," and none-too-shy about invoking God's name to reassure the Cracker voting base in his state that he's still holier than thou.

San Francisco Dining, 100 Years Ago

2009-09-03T19:56:00.000-07:00

If you're a foodie, you must head to Librivox and download a fantastic audiobook called "Bohemian San Francisco."

The book, written by Clarence Edwords in 1914, details the author's search for interesting culinary experiences in the beautiful city by the bay. He presses favorite chefs to share their recipes, and provides details for his readers.

He visits Chinatown and laments the her loss of charm after the 1906 earthquake. Apparently pre-earthquake Chinatown was an unbelievable experience for an American, full of mysterious alleys, exotic sights, sounds, and flavors. He barely recognizes the "new" post-earthquake Chinatown, and complains about gentrification and a general watering-down of the culture he remembered.

He spends time sampling Italian fare in North Beach, when Italian was spoken widely in the streets. He and his friends are invited to a lavish Japanese dinner, which is recounted in exquisite detail.

He describes the restaurant scene in the now-extinct Barbary coast, and clues us in to the early Mexican cuisine of San Francisco.

Most interestingly, he describes how he and his friends go "slumming." Then, as now, upper-class folk sought new experiences by traveling into the rougher areas of town for an evening's entertainment.

The stories in the book sound fresh even today, and make you wonder what happened to these long-defunct restaurants of yore. Little is know about Clarence Edwords, but if he were alive today, he'd probably be hosting a show on the Food Network.

Download it and listen for yourself, it's completely free:

Bohemian San Francisco

Crimes of Fashion

2009-09-02T19:59:00.000-07:00

Disgraced Ohio Politico James Trafficant was released from prison today. He served a 7-year sentence for accepting bribes.

The fashion police will be hot on his trail. He dresses with more postmodern flair than the most ironic Williamsburg hipster.

Has a toupee ever looked less convincing?

Fania, 99 Years Old

2009-09-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

photo from Ari ad advancedstyle

From the advancedstyle blog:

"I saw this wonderful woman at the movie theater and asked if I could take her photo. She told me that she was 99 years old and has lived in Manhattan her whole life. Fania is a Fabric designer and has worked with many studios throughout her long career.She has had most of her clothes for many years and always dresses up. While standing on the street corner, she pointed out buildings to me, and told me stories about what they used to look like."

Advancedstyle, by Ari, is an on-the-street fashion photography blog, but with a twist: the photos focus on seniors with a great sense of personal style.

Ari also shares occasional stories about his subjects. The stories are usually quite touching. Ari seems like a sensitive individual who, in searching for flashes of senior dignity and style, often finds extraordinary new friends.

It's a great site, click here to visit: link

Potential Personified: Lily Allen

2009-08-31T22:32:00.000-07:00

Daughter of a famous UK comedian, Lily Allen has emerged as one of the brightest lights on the UK Pop scene.

Though lacking the raw talent of British counterpart Amy Winehouse, Allen writes with a scathing, unmistakably Anglo wit that recalls the best work of Morrissey and Jarvis Cocker.

She's clearly in love with art and music, liberally quoting from reggae, house, calypso, post-rock, country/western, pop, and trance. Her mind is open to anything. Nothing is off-limits.

She's born of privilege, yet she sings with a Mockney accent. She knows she's lucky, but wishes she came from the streets. Still, she didn't, and she's ok with this, and you never doubt that artists from the street will recognize her as one of their own.

Her untrained voice is breathy and rough, yet angelic, and she possesses a natural sex appeal that screams "I'm quite alright with myself as I am." Fake tits? Not a chance. She doesn't need them. Her wide-set eyes suggest the coolness of a reptile, but they're as big as the sky. Her brain lets you know she's in charge. Is she pretty? Yes... maybe... who knows? Who cares?

As Amy Winehouse struggles with drug addiction, Lily Allen seems poised to succeed over the long haul. Like Madonna nearly 30 years ago, Allen is almost a completely realized artist with a clear vision of what she wants to achieve. Would the Madonna of 1983 suffered a fool? Of course not. While Amy Winehouse surrendered her talent to a junkie boyfriend, Allen has glided over a series of men, completely unwilling to sacrifice her identity. Just as Madonna has dumped destructive influences, so has Allen.

Check out this sympathetic remix of "The Fear," by Dr. Rosen Rosen. His uncommisioned mix of synthetic piano and strings give the song a timeless quality that exceeds the official album mix.

Her lyrics remind you of what your life was like when you were twenty-two, endlessly searching for the right "one," trying to figure out the meaning of life, and hoping to carve out a place in the world you could call your very own.

She's the cool girl you wanted in college, completely infatuated with art and music (and herself), dressing in a style all her own, blissfully unconcerned with being "popular." She didn't have a boyfriend. She didn't seem to care. She knew where she was going, and understood that older men would help her arrive at her destiny. You didn't stand a chance. You longed for her, but she was always out of reach. Still, you're glad things worked out as they did, because no man could tolerate the drama she craved, nor the isolation she constructed, and there would never be room enough for the both of you in her world.

This is Lily Allen.

Overheard at the HHH

2009-08-31T22:20:00.000-07:00

"Check it out, dude, the bike is almost bigger than the car! Get a picture!"

My little '05 Mini Cooper dutifully carried the Schwinn Paramount (circa 1970) across the Great Plains.

The Zen Of Self-Propulsion

2009-08-31T21:19:00.000-07:00

Riding in the Hotter 'N Hell 100 over the weekend, I was seduced once again by the zen of self-propulsion.

There's a spiritual awakening that occurs when you traverse long distances without using a motor. It's almost anarchic. Why would anyone choose to ride a bicycle 100 miles, when a car is easily available?

Here's my answer: when you're barreling down the freeway, yakking on your cell phone, you've lost your humanity. You're a pawn in a game that rewards technology for technology's sake. You're participating in someone else's moment, not your own. You're part of a game you cannot win.

But when you use your own body to propel yourself across the landscape, you reconnect with your humanity. You disconnnect from florescent lights and air-conditioned cubicles, and get a small taste of the struggles we've faced as a species. You feel as though you could survive, even if everything goes to hell.

You appreciate our ingenuity as a species, but understand the necessity of deconstructing that ingenuity. Our humanity depends upon it.

Riding across a hot, brutal landcape, your mind focuses on the moment. You reconnect with your body. Your legs become your best friend. You learn to quiet your mind. A lifetime spent in church pews, following the whims of tradition, can't possibly equal the insight gained in a long-distance physical challenge.

Money? It doesn't matter. Sex? It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're alive, and you have energy, and that you must complete your mission. All else is extraneous.

Anything that you've done during your life that has made you unhealthy is a hindrance. Any illness that's befallen you is a challenge to be conquered.

You stop thinking. You hear the beat of your own heart. You feel your lungs gasping for breath. Nothing else is important.

You're not concerned with politics. You don't care who your neighbor is sleeping with. It's not important, what kind of car you drive, or where you live, or what religion you practice (or don't).

There's a special joy in living for a few hours with your mind shut off from the world. A long, tortuous bike ride can bring that back into focus.

Great Success at the Hotter 'N Hell Hundred

2009-08-30T12:10:00.000-07:00

Three weeks ago I received a call from my friend Brent. "Let's do the Hotter 'N Hell this year." I mulled it over for a moment. "Sure," I said. The only hitch? I hadn't been on a bike in several years.

Still, I had been exercising throughout the summer, and felt I could get prepared for the ride. I dusted off my old Cannondale hybrid, and started riding after work. I started riding the 9-mile loop at Lake Hefner. After the first couple of rides I felt rough. My bike was forcing my body to remain upright, and several sections of the Hefner course take you into some pretty strong lake winds. I rode 9 miles in slightly under one hour. This wasn't so good.

Then, I was offered use of a vintage road bike (Thanks, M.X.A.) and started riding it around the Lake. My time improved dramatically, and I was biking the 9 mile loop in 30 minutes. That's an average of 18 mph, which was pretty acceptable for a recreational rider.

But because I was working during the day, I had trouble starting my evening lake rides before 7:00. That gave me enough time to do 2 loops around the lake before it started getting dark. Also, as the sun sets at the lake, thousands of pesky bugs would appear for their evening feeding. If I rode much past 8:15, I was inhaling swarms of gnats, and they weren't tasty.

Bottom line: I never biked more than 18 miles in a day. The HHH would require me to bike at least 50 miles, in furnace-like conditions. I was only cautiously optimistic about my chances.

But during the actual HHH yesterday, a few factors worked to my benefit:

• The heat. It's not unusual for temperatures at the HHH to reach 108 degrees. Yesterday's temperatures peaked in the low 90's. The temperature was the talk of the day, and even the most masochistic riders didn't seem to be complaining.
• The bike. Riding a proper road bike put my body in a low position, which allowed me to ride much faster than I would have on my hybrid Cannondale. The bike has been kept in impeccable shape, and performed marvelously.
• The setting. The HHH is truly a standout event. Armies of volunteers, interaction with the men and women from the local Air Force base, and the 14,000 riders make you push beyond your normal limits.

I'd planned on biking 50 miles. I wound up biking 100K, which is approximately 63 miles. I took frequent breaks, probably more than I needed, but I wasn't trying to break a record, I was just trying to finish. The bathroom lines were long. I probably spent about 30 minutes off my bike, taking breaks. I finished biking 100K at high noon, which meant I was on the course for five hours.

I know I could have biked 100 miles, but that would have been foolish, given my age and lack of serious preparation. I felt very tired driving home last night, and my legs feel heavy today. Despite slathering sunscreen all over my body, I'm still burned and still slightly dehydrated.

Next year, who knows?

Brent W. Crossing the Finish Line

2009-08-30T10:36:00.000-07:00

After 8.5 hours plus in the saddle, Brent finished the 100 mile course in Wichita Falls, TX.

Hotter 'N Hell Hundred

2009-08-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

The challenge begins at 7:00 am sharp, just as the sun is rising. Temperatures were slightly cool, but we all knew we'd be baking in the heat in just a few hours. Over 14,000 riders waited at the starting line, and it was impossible to even mount your bike for the first 1/8th of a mile.

Brent readies himself for the start. We still hadn't decided how far to ride. I'd committed to 50 miles, but was willing to try for 100K (63 miles) if I was feeling good. Brent completed 100 miles last year at the HHH, but was willing to hang back with me for 100K.

The HHH is legendary for well-staffed rest areas spaced frequently along the course. In this shot, little cups of pickle juice (yes, pickle juice) are set out for sampling.

At the first rest station outside of the city, bikers line up to use the Port-A-Potty.

When you decide to pull over at a rest stop, you must find a place to "park" your bike. Invariably, the only place for your bike is laid flat on a field. These shots look a mess, and they are, but you're actually looking at very expensive, state-of-the-art lightweight bikes strewn around randomly. No one worries about theft, even if it's a $10,000 bike you've left in the grass.

I managed to prop up my borrowed (thanks, Mike Agan) vintage Schwinn Paramount against a barbed wire fence during one of my rest stops. Several riders took note of this bike. One older guy told me it was exactly like the very first road bike he ever raced, and marveled at its fantastic condition. I heard other riders murmur things like "Cool bike, dude" as I passed them. The biking community is notorious for burning money on expensive gear, and events like the HHH are full of ostentatious displays of wealth. When a rider sees a vintage bike like this, they don't think, "That guy must be poor," they think "That guy must be making a statement."

A group of riders smile as they cross the finish line. The HHH certainly makes you feel like a superstar athlete, even if you're just a weekend warrior like myself.

After crossing the finish line, many riders make a beeline for the hoses spraying cool water all over the street.

Please Memorize

2009-08-27T23:13:00.000-07:00

It would really be nice if you could memorize the Seoul, South Korea Metro System map by this Monday. It's fairly straightforward, and shouldn't pose a problem.

Scare-port: Tegucigalpa

2009-08-27T22:53:00.000-07:00

Landing in the capital city of Honduras is a hair-raising affair. A single, short runway with mountains all around (and frequently stormy weather) make arriving in Tegucigalpa pretty dramatic. It's considered one of the world's most dangerous runways.

Despite all this, the word "Tegucigalpa" is very cool, and just saying it makes you feel cosmopolitan.

News You Can Use: They're On Your Side, With Coverage You Can Count On

2009-08-27T20:58:00.001-07:00

Dull.
Duller.
Boring.
Lame.
Pedestrian.
Yawn.
Snooze.
Safe.
Pathetic.
Sigh...
Homogeny.
Where's the remote?
Kill me now.
When the chips are down, isn't it reassuring to know that you've got a team of fresh-faced local newsreaders "On Your Side?"

Local TV News is about as predictable as a visit to Taco Bell. There are several general patterns:
• Male anchorman is permitted to be older than female anchor. He must wear dark suits, power ties, and should appear to be virile and heterosexual. Ideally, he should resemble a corporate CEO. White hair is a plus.
• Female anchor must be slim, young, and wholesomely sexy. Her hair should be longish and styled just like every other anchor woman in the country. Glasses are not permitted. She must be seated on the right side of the screen. She shall not be larger than a size 8, and must always wear jewelry and solid-print clothing. Fake tits are a plus.
• Weatherman is permitted to be wacky and outrageous, and is encouraged to speak with the region's local accent. He is permitted to be gay, as long as his sexual preference is never mentioned on-air. He must entertain us, because weather is incredibly dull. Loud ties are a plus.
• Sports Director is usually an out of shape ex-athlete, and is always a man. He must be a man's man, with a hearty laugh. He is only permitted to talk about football, baseball and basketball. Cleft chins are a plus.

Naturally, when reporting stories, If It Bleeds, It Leads. Next to bloody double-murder suicides, local news usually trumpets stories aimed at Keeping Your Family Safe. Just before the first commercial break, the anchors will tease you to stay tuned for a story that might prevent your children from dying a horrible death.

The beat reporters are all under age 30, all with identical haircuts, suits and speaking voices. They don't appear to be artistic, bohemian, or interesting; they all look like college Republicans. They usually disappear from your TV screen after a year or two, with nary a word of explanation. It's understood that their jobs are so horrible that only the most desperate journalism grad will sign on for the 80 hour weeks at low pay. Attractive female beat reporters will typically retire to marry a local doctor or attorney; male reporters will often move into auto sales or corporate human resources positions. Local websites will debate how "hot" these young beat reporters are, and speculate on why they're no longer on air, until the next crop of young reporters arrive to fill their positions. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's an unglamorous glamour job.

Heavy Rotation: Musics I'm Loving

2009-08-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

Here are a few songs I'm listening to nearly constantly. With one exception (Everlast), all are either British, or part of a British collaboration. What gives? Well, I'll tell you. The Italians gave us opera, the Russians, ballet. The Germans make great cars, and the British? They make the best pop/rock music in the world, full stop. Rue Britannia!

Why is this? Well, from my experience, the British are the coolest, funniest people in the world. They've always been a class-driven society, but with the advent of rock and roll, common Britons could suddenly find themselves richer than The Royal Family. Detached from racial politics, the Brits were quicker to embrace black American music, and they've always represented the leading edge of studio experimentation. This combination has captivated the world, and firmly thrust the Brits to the pop fore, going on 50 years now.

"The Golden Path" - The Chemical Brothers featuring The Flaming Lips
What a great marriage of styles! The Chemical Brothers, with their post-psychedelic electronica, and the Flaming Lips, with their ramshackle organic psychedelica are a perfect fit on this track. The song bubbles and percolates like a video game soundtrack, which is appropriate, considering the existential "life is a game" lyrics. Interesting stuff, even after multiple listens. Not bad for a bunch of forty-somethings trying navigating the world of modern rock.

"LDN" - Lily Allen
I resisted Lily Allen for years (she was way overexposed in the British press) but a chance encounter with Wookies remix of "LDN" completely floored me. Here's "LDN" performed with only an acoustic guitar. She's a compelling performer, with Susanna Hoffs eyes, and a demure facade that she seems all too willing to dismantle. She's the face of young British pop, and she's the real deal.

"Up the Hill Backwards" - David Bowie
From the 1979 Scary Monsters LP, this song sounds as if it was released yesterday. It's creative and clever, with an unexpected arrangement of acoustic and electric guitars churning underneath multi-tracked Bowie vocals. Great stuff, from a classic album.

"Black Cherry" - Goldfrapp
I played this song once while DJ'ing at the OKC Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School. During a break a young art chick walked over to my booth and asked, "Who did that song you played about "Black Cherry?" I wasn't surprised. Artisticly-minded young folk can't resist this song's slow, seductive groove, and Alison Goldfrapp's vocals beautifully communicate the pain of a lost love.

"Ends" - Everlast
White-boy soft rap with a low-key groove and a self-assured delivery. This could sound laughable in someone else's hands, but Everlast pulls it off.

"Rain" - The Beatles
While this song isn't as well-known as Beatles hits, it's got a great proto-psychedelic arrangement and energetic rhythm playing. Paul McCartney's bass lines are intuitive and creative, and are prominent in the mix. Meanwhile, Ringo Starr's drums add an element of surprise to the song, sung by John Lennon at his world-weary best. The outro, beginning at 2:27, is a fantastic piece of bass and drum interaction. The Beatles managed to make the avant-garde accessible, and the accessible avant-garde. Why does anyone else even bother to form a band? The Beatles did it all 45 years ago, better than anyone can ever hope to equal. All in all, this is one of The Beatles most under-appreciated classics, and I never tire of it.

"Valerie" - Mark Ronson, featuring Amy Winehouse
Producer du jour Ronson, brother of Samantha (Lindsay Lohan's ex-girlfriend) and stepson of Foreigner's Mick Jones, has perfected a Phil Spector-redux sound. His work with Amy Winehouse is self-assured and memorable, and "Valerie" is no exception. Winehouse is a once-in-a-generation talent, a fragile creature born to make music. Her performance here is extraordinary. Listening note: check out the out-of-key horns, a Ronson trademark. It shatters the computerized perfection of modern music, reminding us that human beings make music, not machines. It's pure New Orleans jazz funeral, targeted at kids who've never heard of New Orleans jazz.

Pyongyang Is For Lovers

2009-08-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

I spend a fair amount of time thinking about life in the North Korean capital city of Pyongyang. You know how some cities make you think of romance and adventure? Pyongyang makes me think of toil and strife. And isolation.

But what is it really like? Since I've never met someone who's visited, I try to read about it and look at photographs of the city. Here's an interesting collections of photos from Kernbeisser, who toured the least visited country on Earth.

It's sort of like an ancient, forbidden city, frozen in the past.

I picture it as lonely place, with few people walking on the streets.

Department store windows are a far cry from Fifth Avenue. The signage still seems to be made by hand, not computer.

Here's a lovely entree of dog meat.

One of the tallest buildings in the world, Ryugyong Hotel, has never been completed.

North Korean monumental architecture.

A seaweed vendor completes a transaction.

Summer Reading

2009-08-19T21:38:00.000-07:00

It's always relaxing to head to the beach with a good book. Here are a few page-turners you might enjoy:

Remember to wear sunscreen!

The German Press on American Health Care

2009-08-19T20:54:00.000-07:00

The German press weighs in:

"America's mistrust of government is refreshing in some areas, but not when it comes to health care. Health coverage for the average citizen in the US against illness and its consequences is worse than in Germany, and they have to pay significantly more for it."

"Freedom as the Americans see it also includes the freedom to pay too much for health care that is inferior by comparison with other systems." - from Der Tagesspiegel.

"The entire reform debate suffers from the problematic conviction that has never been questioned, namely that health is an asset from which it's OK to make money." - from Die Tageszeitung.

Americans have heard a lot about shortcomings in the healthcare systems of both Canada and the U.K. Right-wing media outlets like The Drudge Report feature daily stories about British women delivering babies on the sidewalk, or Canadian fears that healthcare is bankrupting their country.

But why should we compare the U.S. to Canada and Britain? Yes, both are wealthy nations, but their economies are no where near the scale of the United States. Wouldn't it be more honest to analyze healthcare in the world's second-largest economy (Japan) and Germany, the third-largest economy?

As it turns out, both nations provide their citizens with excellent universal health coverage, no matter what ability you have to pay, and regardless of pre-existing conditions.

In Germany and Japan, the idea that the poor should be left to fend for themselves is considered morally unconscionable.

How ironic: Japan isn't a "Christian" nation, in fact, they're famously non-religious. Yet the Japanese believe all citizens should be covered, anywhere, anytime, for any reason. It stems from a basic belief in human dignity, and frankly, it should shame those American Christians angrily shouting during town hall meetings.Yes, please, no government in my healthcare. When it's time for my first Medicare check, I'd rather not have it. You keep it. It's much preferable to fend for yourself when you're in your late sixties."

Free healthcare will take away your freedom. It will take away your freedom to worry about losing your job because you'll also lose your health insurance. It will take away your freedom to avoid routine medical tests because you can't afford them. It will take away your fear of being turned down by your insurance company because of a "pre-existing" condition. It will take away your freedom to live out your golden years with this worry: "Can I afford to keep living? Does anyone even care?"

Conservative whites demonstrate against something that will actually benefit them, without a sniff of irony.

Hollywood Renaissance Woman #1: Geena Davis

2009-08-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

Hollywood is full of beautiful women, but Geena Davis has always stood out. Here are a few reasons why:

• She is six feet tall.
• Was voted "Most Talented" in high school.
• Graduated from Boston University in 1979.
• Is a member of the high-IQ society, Mensa.
• Was assistant organist for her church in Wareham, Massachusetts.
• Speaks Swedish.
• Is an expert archer and tried out for the 1996 Summer Olympics.
• Works as a gender activist.
• Has won an Oscar.
• Worked as a department store mannequin in New York.
• Is married to a man 15 years younger than she.

Only In Russia

2009-08-17T20:14:00.001-07:00

via izismile.com

Ha Ha Ha

2009-08-17T20:00:00.001-07:00

Digital Servitude

2009-08-14T20:10:00.000-07:00

Congratulations! Like it or not, you're a part of the wireless revolution. What wonders can you now look forward to?

• You'll probably be involved in a cell phone-related car accident. The roads are now jammed with teenagers, grandmothers and average working stiffs merrily multitasking at 65 mph. Yet attempts to ban talking on a cell phone, or texting while driving are (amazingly) being met with opposition by many, including Republican lawmakers in my home state of Oklahoma.

Republican majority floor leader Tad Jones, in an interview, said he and his colleagues needed more evidence of the dangers before they considered restricting the freedom to talk while driving. “We’re concerned about going into the cellphone realm at this point,” he said, adding that he was not lobbied by any companies that make money from the use of devices in cars.

Republican Carl Wimmer, a state representative in Utah, has said “To me, the death of freedom is far worse than the risk of talking on the phone while driving. Why pick on cellphones?”

While we're at it, why pick on seatbelts? Or cigarettes? Or heroin? Or, (brace yourselves, Republicans) a-a-a-abortion?

• If you're dating, you'll need to accept the fact that your date's mobile phone is more important than you. I've seen countless young couples out on a dinner date, oblivious to each other while busily texting God knows who. It's a sad spectacle, and it only proves my theory that dating is not about love or affection — it's about properly fulfilling social mores and expectations to win the Grand Prize, a loveless contractual arrangement we fondly call "marriage." These "he-texts, she-texts" dates are the perfect setting for establishing compatibility with a spouse who will spend all your married days resenting you.

• Hooray – your clients now expect to reach you at all hours of the day / night / weekend. "Accessibility" has become a prerequisite for professional success. Not responding to emails in a timely fashion is now considered an grievous insult, tantamount to stealing from the till. Need some time away from it all? Take your next vacation at your peril. The wall that once separated your work life from your private life is now gone. What? Are you against progress? Enjoy!

• Working = reading through dozens and dozens of emails each day, searching for some lostl nugget of important information. Have you forgotten what your boss asked you to do about the Penske account? If you ask the question again, you'll appear stupid and lazy. No problem. Just spend the next 30 minutes shuffling through a backlog of old emails. May God help you if you've deleted an important message. Ask yourself: does this make us more productive?

The great and ironic meme of the post-Industrial age has been the notion of Progress Begets Regress. Picture life during the time of your great-grandparents. Are we happier today? Is our air cleaner? Do we eat healthier foods? Do we sleep more soundly?

Will some wise young people, not yet born, eventually question the folly of Digital Servitude? Will they eschew Blackberrys, refuse email, and cultivate a simple life, free from people texting "Wot R U doing?" while barreling down the road at 75 mph? Who will write the post-digital Foxfire Book?

We'll all gaze enviously at these enlightened souls who refuse to use a cell phone, ignore emails and take long walks in the woods. They breathe deeply. They don't respond to your text messages. They're not taking your calls. And you know what? They're far, far happier than you are.

Baseball Cap Failure

2009-08-14T20:02:00.001-07:00

From Kuvaton.com

Braun vs. Apple: Inspiration Or Peculation?

2009-08-06T19:58:00.000-07:00

Top: Braun products, designed by Dieter Rams. Bottom: Apple products, designed by Jonathan Ive.

Apple, the Cupertino computing powerhouse, has long been synonymous with elegant industrial design. Co-founder Steve Jobs insists on an austere, spare approach to each new product, and lead industrial designer Jonathan Ive has become a fair-haired boy in international design circles.

iPhone calculator design by Ive (left), and Braun calculator design by Rams (right). Note how Ive's buttons are shaded to simulate the look of a rounded, three-dimensional button. An unnecessary detail such as this reassures the user that, despite infinite technological leaps forward, the new product is as familiar as the old.

But how much do Jobs and Ive owe to Braun, another design-centric company? Many observers have noted the similarity between Ives' designs and the mid-1960's work of Braun's lead designer, Dieter Rams.

Designing 40 years apart, both Rams and Ive encased their products in a nearly identical perforated aluminum finish.

My verdict? Certainly Ive is aware of Rams' work. Any serious student of industrial design is familiar with Rams. But I believe when two industrial designers approach similar projects with a simple, reductive functionalism, they're bound to arrive at a similar result.

Carry on, Jonathan Ive! You're doing beautiful work. And pat yourself on the back, Dieter Rams. Imitation = Sincerest form of flattery.

For a more in-depth assessment, read this post by Jesus Diaz.

C.E.O. Preschool: Things NOT To Say

2009-08-05T21:04:00.000-07:00

From Whole Foods prez John Mackey:

"We sell a bunch of junk."

For context, read the Whole Article about Whole Foods here, in its Wholly Unexpurgated Form.

Rock Band… Or Law Firm?

2009-08-05T20:15:00.001-07:00

Hagar Schon Aaronson Shrieve. This early 80's supergroup was led by Bay Area stalwarts Sammy Hagar and Neil Schon, of Journey. They released one album (which was recorded live, but mixed to sound like a studio project) and scored a moderate hit with their cover of "Whiter Shade of Pale."

HSAS takes top honors in our survey (which is sponsored by the good people at Mutual of Omaha). Their name is so blue-chip Park Avenue firm that when I bought their album, I half-expected to find a "cease and desist" letter where the vinyl should have been.

Emerson Lake & Palmer. Progressive-rock superstars, ELP recorded works by simple folk like Béla Bartók and Sergei Prokofiev. Their raison d'etre? Classical music just wasn't loud enough.

Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds. These west coast soft-rockers scored hits with "Don't Pull Your Love," and "Fallin' in Love".

Wilson Philllips. Scions of legendary El Lay rockers Brian Wilson and John Phillips, these California girls hit the charts in 1990 with "Hold On." Their name sounds like an old-line London law firm, the kind with mahogany walls and cigar stains on the ceiling.

Anderson Bruford Wakeman & Howe. These friends used to play in a band with a simple name (Yes), until they got together and formed a law firm. Er... rock band. Sadly, their music wasn't much more exciting than reading through a tall stack of property contracts.

Extra Credit: OK, peoples, who did I miss? Martin, Medeski & Wood? Nah, they're too jazzy to be on this list. C'mon, help a brother out!

The 10 Manliest Names Ever

2009-07-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

Actor Rip Torn, steward of one of The 10 Manliest Names Ever.

Found at oddee.com (a great site, by the way):

Here are 10 strong contenders for Manliest Name in The World. These names are so over-the-top, even Tom Clancy would reject them. Yet, they're all real.

(Read all about them, with pictures, here.)

1. Staff Sgt. Max Fightmaster
2. Col. Manley Power
3. Lance Corporal Rad Heroman
4. Magnus Ver Magnusson
5. Rockland Steel
6. Lt. Commander. Flex Plexico
7. Elliott Bonebrake
8. Batman Bin Suparman
9. Optimus Prime
10. Rip Torn

honorable mention:
Rockford Stone

Lunch, DInner, Supper

2009-07-28T21:20:00.001-07:00

Photographed in Holdenville, Oklahoma, July 2009.

In smaller towns in the south, the middle meal of the day is still called "dinner." This is typically the largest meal of the day.

In bigger cities, like where I grew up (back east), the middle meal of the day is called "lunch," which is the shortened form of "luncheon." "Dinner" was served in the early to mid-evening, and was the biggest meal of the day. The words "supper" and "dinner" seemed interchangeable.

So why the difference? Not surprisingly, these mealtime distinctions arose from economic circumstances, not personal preference.

Before the Industrial Revolution, working classes arose early, and ate a big meal around noon. Since staying up past sunset was unusual (who had the money to waste burning candles?), the last meal of the day was usually a quicker, smaller reheating of dinner leftovers. They went to bed not long after dark.

Wealthy types sleep late, and ate large meals after dark. Burning candles and oil lamps wasn't a problem for them.

As electric lighting became widespread, the poorer classes shifted their eating habits to match the rich. In the space of a few generations, dining traditions that had persisted for hundreds of years simply vanished.

[Electric lighting, office work and bigger evening meals explains we we've gotten fatter in America. The working class once ate their largest meal after 6 - 7 hours of physical labor, and ate a much smaller evening meal. When modern Americans retire to bed not long after a heavy meal, our bodies don't have a chance to break down the calories, hence, we get fat.]

For an interesting article on the origin of English and American mealtimes, click here.

Happy 97th Birthday, Dottie!

2009-07-28T21:10:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Agan celebrated her 97th birthday recently, Holdenville, USA.

She was born in 1912, the same year as my Grandmother Logan, and has experienced extraordinary longevity. Very few people living today can remember the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918, WWI, Lindbergh's Trans-Atlantic flight, and Bonnie & Clyde. Huzzah!

Why?

2009-07-23T23:15:00.000-07:00

Why was I born in America?

Why was I born white? Why was I born Christian, and not Muslim?

What if I was born in a different place, of a different color? Would my loved ones hate me? Would they think me damned?

Why are the things I believe considered to be holy, and the things you believe, blasphemy?

How can I possibly judge my neighbor who follows his tribe, when I follow my own tribe?

When my days are over, will friends say I was one who disputed my teachers, or one who obeyed them?

Had I been born 10,000 miles away, would I still be who I am? Would I be sacred, or profane?

Why are divine voices imparted by feeble men? Why should they be trusted? Is the divine voice meek? Why are we so quick to believe our masters?

Am I wealthy, or am I poor?

Why do we believe what we are taught about eternity? Isn't it all speculation, passed down from the dead to the dead?

If, when we die, everything fades to black, what do we care? We have no memory before birth; why should we care of life after death? Because a man of our tribe, now dead, once told us so?

Is the world still ruled by those resting in graveyards?

Why All White Folk Should Visit Africa

2009-07-23T22:34:00.001-07:00

Years ago, I traveled alone in Africa. I spent a few days in Nairobi, a city where my white face stuck out like a sore thumb. Everywhere I went, I felt the eyes upon me. For someone accustomed to being part of the majority, this was strange. I didn't feel like a person, I felt like a "thing." Everyone seemed to think I was wealthy (and by their standards, honestly, I was). Everyone wanted to do something for me. Drive me to some lame tourist attraction. Take me to the nightclubs. Show this white boy an exotic African experience. I felt everyone looking at me with a combination of dollar signs and mild disdain. I was a white face, an imperialist, a rich meddler in their country. I was there to take what I could take from Nairobi, and then move on. It didn't really bother me, though. I understood why.

I crossed the border into Tanzania. On the way to the passport office, I was besieged by poor tribal women. They all looked like they were 100 years old. Quickly, they were tugging at my clothes, grabbing on to me, desperately trying to sell me their trinkets for a few coins. I had to fight them off. I was tired. I was weak. I felt terrible.

Poor tribal women: I am sorry I didn't help you that day. I hope you have found peace.

Safely inside the passport office, every face I saw was black. They all wore serious expressions, and official-looking uniforms. If they wanted to make my life difficult, they certainly could have. The passport stamper looked blankly at my face. We were about the same age. I was white. I was American. I was rich. He wasn't, and he never would be. But in this instance, he had the power, not me.

I was no longer David Grizzard. I was Whiteface McWhiteface. Rich. Privileged. Far from my own people.

"This is how a black man in America feels," I realized. No matter what you achieve, they'll still look at you with those eyes. Why even bother to try?

To all the white folk, who pontificate about how "the blacks" should behave themselves: have you ever spent time in a country where you were part of an ethnic minority? Perhaps you should. It's quite revealing.

It was the most wonderful experience of my life. But in the end, I came home and became part of the majority again.

Black Scholar vs. White Cop

2009-07-23T21:23:00.000-07:00

Cambridge has witnessed quite a brouhaha this week with the controversial arrest of Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. Barack Obama weighed in during his press conference last evening, calling out the arresting officer, a white man named James Crowley, for behaving "stupidly." Ouch!

Why I empathize with Gates:
• He had just returned home after a long flight from China.
• There aren't a lot of black men in China. I'm sure he stuck out like a sore thumb.
• After landing at the airport he had to deal with (a) the international arrivals line. (B) Then the customs line. (C) The baggage carousel. Arriving home after an international flight sucks.
• There was no loved one to pick him up at the airport. He was brought home by a hired driver (also a black man).
• When he gets home, he can't get his door open, so he's forced to bust in. How frustrating is this?
• Within minutes, he's confronted by cops, who force him to prove he's not a common criminal.
• He never physically struck any member of the investigating force.
• It's not a crime to express anger and frustration at a false accusation.

Why I empathize with Sgt. Crowley:
• He's been a police officer for many years, with a stellar record.
• He knows that most breaking-and-entering cases occur during daylight hours.
• He's received a call reporting two black men trying to break open a door in Cambridge – he's got to take this seriously.
• He questions Gates, who claims to live in the house, in order to ascertain if he's telling the truth.
• Gates is incredibly belligerent during the entire incident.
• Crowley is presumably a proud man, and doesn't feel the need to apologize for doing his job.
• Crowley has spent his entire professional life being screamed at, harassed, beaten, kicked, and spat upon, simply for being a cop, and he completely lost his cool.

In reality, both men exercised racial profiling during this incident. Crowley was all-to-ready to believe a black man had broken into a nice house in Cambridge. Gates was all-to-ready to believe a white cop was an innate racist, hell-bent on harassing an innocent black man. Both men have ample reason to believe what they each believed. But the way they behaved doesn't advance us as Americans.

Racial profiling is unavoidable; it's human nature. It's a two-edged sword: it can serve us well, but it can reveal our worst demons.

It would be good for Gates and Crowley to hold a joint press conference to apologize to one another. Crowley could apologize for making a brilliant black scholar feel like a criminal in his own home, and then arresting the stressed, jet-lagged professor for losing his cool. And Gates could apologize for branding a white cop as a racist, and aggressively taunting and provoking an overworked, underpaid who was only trying to do his job. How inspiring would it be to see each of these men get to know one another on a personal level?

It would also be good for budding white police officers to put their butts on a plane, and spend some time in Africa. Walk around for a little while. Feel the stares. Avert your eyes from the hustlers trying to size you up. Imagine what it would feel like to get arrested. It might help you understand black folk trying to live in America a little bit better.

The Wretched Life Of A Lonely Heart

2009-07-20T22:57:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me closely knows: I never cry.

However, for some reason, this song ("Back On The Chain Gang," by The Pretenders) makes me cry every time I hear it.

It's not a slow ballad; it's not a tear-jerker. It's a straightforward, mid-tempo rocker. It shouldn't make me feel sad.But somehow, whenever I hear that opening wash of Telecaster chords, my eyes moisten. By the end of the song, I'm a wreck.

This video proves that Chrissie Hynde (maybe the most unexpectedly sexy woman in rock and roll) knew it was sad song. Watch her performance from the middle of the bridge, at the 2:16 mark, until the end. She's almost weeping. Her vocals are transplendent - plaintive, raw, orgasmic... It's clear – this song is very special to her.

It's special to me, too, but I'm still not sure why. I think I'll watch it again and cry some more.

[Ohio native Chrissie Hynde was attending Kent State during the tragic shootings. She moved to London, started a band, fell in love with Kinks frontman Ray Davies, but eventually divorced. She's now considered one of the hippest, most important female voices in rock history, and is clearly a major influence for Karen O., lead singer of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, among others.]

Chris Brown: "I Wooda Said Sumpin', But For My Lawyer."

2009-07-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

Pugilistic pop star Chris Brown today finally broke his silence about his beating of Rihanna.

"Since February my attorney has advised me not to speak out even though ever since the incident I wanted to publicly express my deepest regret and accept full responsibility. I felt it was time you hear directly from me that I am sorry."

His attorney previously didn't want him to say he was sorry?

Aren't young hip-hop stars supposed to be independent, "Get outta my face" types of individuals? Isn't this their entire appeal? So why is Chris Brown suddenly listening to his tie-wearing attorney?

Even Bernie Madoff ignored his attorneys. (Madoff's lawyers advised him to implicate others, but he didn't.)

Could it be that Bernie Madoff, an old Jewish financier, lives life with more recklessness than Chris Brown, a young black hip-hop artist? Why are we downloading this guy's music, YOA?* (*Youth of America)?

When a guy like Brown tells us he kept his mouth shut under advice from his lawyer, what kind of street cred does he have?

Is he going to stop cussing because his preacher told him to? Will he stop jaywalking for fear of a citizens arrest? Is he going to tuck in his shirt and wear a tie so he can have lunch at the country club?

Why does he want us to believe he's such an obedient kind of guy? This guy is all, "I'll smack you" with Rihanna, but with his attorney, he's all, "Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir." If he's so sorry, we didn't he beat up his lawyer for not letting him apologize?

Brown is a weak, weak child of a man. Madoff is more honorable. At least he's doing his time.

Design Firm Critique: The Republik®

2009-07-20T20:48:00.000-07:00

I stumbled upon the website for "The Republik®," a graphic design/advertising/marketing firm based in North Carolina.

Their design work isn't half-bad; they've been featured in the quasi-prestigious Print Regional Design Annual. Some of their graphic design has a bit of wit. I like the way they use type. They think about things before they design. But the way they present themselves on their website makes me want to puke.

I don't know anything about this firm, but based on the first 3 screens of their site, I've concluded that they're:

(a). pretentious (Silly German spellings were lame when Mötley Crüe did it back in 1982).
(b). Republican (get it, "Republik?").
(c). Conservative white dudes who shave their heads and wear goatees. And listen to Korn. While burping their lame, ugly babies.

Witness:
Screen 1. What's the first thing we see? "CHANGE OR DIE™" Who are these guys? Charles Darwin? What kind of preachy, all-caps (with a trademark, no less) bit of pretentiousness is this? The Republik® wants you to believe that if you don't hire them to change around your "brand," you will die. In reality, you won't die. You will live. Your brand might die, but all brands die eventually (except Zildjian). You should be glad if your brand dies. Brands are lame. If your brand dies, you'll be free to live the life you're supposed to live. The sun will rise tomorrow. The birds will sing. Everything will be fine.

Why do I want to hang out with these fear-mongers?

Screen 2. Oy vey... They want me to fill out some kind of survey... I have to declare whether I wish to do this, or not. This is obnoxious. If I don't want to "personalize my experience," they try imply that I'm really missing out on something awesome.

Screen 3. Fortunately, there's a programming bug, and I'm able to click on "WORK" to see their portfolio. The portfolio is all anyone cares about, anyway, right? Right! So how do these guys handle it? Yikes, they turn it into some kind of game! Yes, when you click on "WORK," instead of seeing "WORK," you see all these bubbles, and then you see little boxes with the names of their clients. But, wait (how kool is this) the client boxes are constantly moving! Yeah, that's right! You have to chase them around, like in a video game! These guys are so cool, they think you'll spend your valuable time chasing around the little icons representing our client work! They're more fun than Pac-Man! Aren't these guys the coolest, most creative dudes in the entire Research Triangle?

When I finally see me some portfolio, it's for some kind of lame fishing boat client. Yawn.

Love, it, dudes, rock on!

Big D vs. The ATL

2009-07-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

So, you've always wanted to live in a sprawling Megalopolis? I know about two of them: Dallas and Atlanta. I've lived in neither, but travel to both regularly for business, so turn off the TV, put on your slippers, and read this outsider's comparison of these two weirdly similar American cities:

THE BASICS
• Both cities barely existed before the Civil War. Atlanta was incorporated in 1847, Dallas in 1856.
• Both cities are southern, with temperate winters.
• You'll need an air conditioner most of the year in both cities.
• Dallas and Atlanta are both landlocked. This has allowed suburban expansion in all directions, which makes for cheaper homes further from the city center (and subsequently, longer commutes).
• Both cities have separatist history: Dallas is in Texas (once part of Mexico), a cocky, obnoxious state with an ad campaign that brags about being a different country; Atlanta is part of Georgia, which was part of the Confederate States of America, which fought to break free of an Lincoln's oppressive United States of America, so they could maintain their "way of life" (i.e. whipping black folk while sipping mint juleps).This slave never learned how to obey.

…Or we'll secede from the Union. We're like a whole other country.

ARCHITECTURE
• Both cities have glassy, postmodern skylines, with a similar number of tall buildings.
• Atlanta has 32 buildings over 400 feet tall. The tallest building is just over 1,000 feet, and 4 others are taller than 700 feet.
• Dallas has 28 buildings over 400 feet tall. The tallest building is 921 feet, and 4 others are taller than 700 feet.
• Both cities have clusters of tall buildings dotting their metro areas. Some of these areas (Buckhead in Atlanta, and Las Colinas in Dallas) boast more tall buildings than many American states.

There are a few architectural points of difference, though. The Atlanta skyline doesn't really have an iconic "vanity" tower, like the Reunion Tower in Dallas (that big, sparkly ball thang west of downtown).

Reunion Tower, Dallas, 1978.

Atlanta architecture, while postmodern, pays a bit more homage to the past. Witness these retro-inspired gems:

The Four Seasons Hotel, 1992. The only 5 star hotel in Atlanta.

191 Peachtree in Atlanta, 1990. This building really impresses me as I travel through the city. It looks like something you might find in one of Thomas Jefferson's long-lost sketchbooks.

Look at that neo-Classical gorgeousness. This is a tower that screams "Hey, Dallas, we're one of the Original 13 Colonies. Top that!!!" It's Monticello on stilts, y'all.

Meanwhile, I've always compared Dallas' architecture to its women: unsubtle, glitzy, and with a big 'ole "check out these boobs" factor. Like Houston, much of the skyline is a Johnson/Burgee-inspired collection of glass-encased monoliths, but there are a few gems worth a second (or third) look:
The 738-foot JPMorgan Chase Tower (1978) is probably my favorite postmodern skyscraper.

I keep saying "postmodern." What does that mean?

I guess I'd put it like this: modern architecture said "let's build a simple box of a building with no unnecessary details, because details are silly." Think Mies van der Rohe.

Postmodern architecture said "the simple box is nice, but it's been done. Let's add some witty detail." Think Michael Graves.

The JPMorganChase Tower has the witty detail of a keyhole opening at the top. Why? Who cares? It's fun! Modernism was the big idea. Postmodernism was the reaction to the big idea. It's much less important, academically speaking, but still figures heavily in the skylines of our two cities under discussion.

The Bank of America Plaza (1985) is my guilty pleasure. By day, it's the tallest building in Dallas. But by night, it's that building with the green argon outline. This simple element makes the building a Dallas icon. It somehow says, "look, everybody, we've got so much energy down here that we're gonna burn a green argon light all night long until Jesus comes again."

CHARACTER & VALUES
• Think fake-churchy. Both are outwardly religious, conservative cities. Dallas is a way more Catholic (due to a large Hispanic population) than Atlanta. Both are full of corporate-style megachurches that seem to spend most of their tax-free contributions paying their ministers and improving their campuses (as opposed to helping the poor).
• Don't forget: Martin Luther King, Jr. was a prominent Baptist minister. TD Jakes is based in Dallas. It seems everybody in both cities goes to church, and they tend to mix church with business. Care to meet at Denny's for an executive men's prayer breakfast? No? OK, then, you can forget about that promotion...
• Despite the outward show of religion, Dallas loves her strip clubs, which are everywhere. Remember, the infamous Jack Ruby operated a Dallas strip club, catering to the dudes who went wild on Saturday night, but turned pious on Sunday morning. Atlanta has her fair share of "gentlemens" clubs, but they're not quite as in-your-face as the clubs in Dallas.
• Dallasites tend to be married (50%), while Atlantans tend to be single (64%). 45% of Atlantans have never been married, while only 34% of Dallasites have never experience marital bliss. I suspect this statistic owes to the racial makeup of the city: Atlanta has a large African-American population (a demographic currently disinclined to walk down the aisle).

RACE
• Basically, Atlanta is way-Black, and Dallas is way-Hispanic.

It's wonderful to visit Atlanta and see a thriving African-American middle and upper class. While the city has a long way to go toward achieving perfect racial harmony, I generally detect a positive vibe between the races in Atlanta.

In Dallas, I sense that whites rule, Hispanics clean the hotels and mow the white folks' lawns, and I'm not sure what the black folk do.

This leads to my next comparison:

ARTS
• Both cities are business cities, not arts cities. Both cities seem to donate corporate dollars to the arts (and by "arts," I mean "white arts") in order to seem more interesting and less dry and business-y.
• Still, Atlanta has a major hip-hop scene, and is the home of many super-famous rappers and hip-hop artists. (Don't you just love you some "crunk?")
Outkast, a creative force from Atlanta, with the ever-dapper genius André Benjamin (at right).

• Dallas has a small hip-hop scene, a large country scene, and a respectable indie-rock scene.
• Both have slick, second-tier art museums (though Dallas neighbor Ft. Worth's Kimball is a top-tier institution, IMHO).
• Both have respectable, second-tier symphony orchestras and ballets.
• Conservatism rules these cities, and creative folk are a distinct, somewhat dubious minority, trotted out by the Chambers of Commerce when convenient.

TERRAIN
• Both cities weep for large bodies of water. Don't pack your snorkel, my friend.
• Dallas has a little baby trickle of a river, the Trinity, and a big lake halfway up the road to Oklahoma. Atlanta: I didn't see much water.
• Dallas is as flat as a pre-op male tranny; Atlanta is maybe a little bit hilly?
• Dallas: dry and not green; Atlanta: wet-ish and green, with those tall pine trees.

I could go on and on and on... what's the bottom line?

BOTTOM-LINE IT FOR ME, GRIZZARD
• You'll never confuse these cities with Chicago, Seattle or San Francisco, but hey, for regional corporate dystopias, they're not half-bad.
• Both Dallas and Atlanta are dynamic southern cities with a large concentration of Fortune 500 companies. This = large numbers of uptight white folk text-messaging the office while driving their SUV's.
• Both are landlocked cities that seem to have been "planted" in place. Shipping harbors? Huh?
• Both cities are "pro-business." This also means "anti-union." It's why both cities have seen such explosive growth. Atlanta and Dallas are basically scab-labor towns flaunting their low wages and taxes to attract parasitical American corporations. They're corporate Shangri-Las, sucking growth away from established, pro-human northern cities like Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Chicago.

Which city do I prefer? Wow, that's a tough one.

Here's why I like Atlanta:
• Deep South history (but, hey, let's forget about that whole slavery thing)
• African-American dynamism.
• Phoenix-like rebirth (Atlanta remains the only large American city ever destroyed by a war)
• Trees
• The women are refined
• The men are gentlemanly
• CNN, Cartoon Network, and Tru TV
• Urban ghosts from the 1996 Olympics
• The brown gravy / church choir / hip hop Queen / golfing white dude / Confederate daughter vibe
• It has a great city park (Piedmont Park)
• Little Five Points, a weird little hippie-enclave
• Buttered grits
• Gone With The Wind
• The Fabulous Fox Theatre
• Mike Malloy
• Gorgeous urban landscaping
• The showy, southern-Beverly Hills town of Buckhead
• The Varsity
• The Sweet Auburn Curb Market
• It's a completely manufactured media behemoth (think CNN)
• The suburb of Decatur, slow-paced, yet hip and charming
• Jimmy Carter (a beleaguered, but FAR better president than Dallas' George W. Bush)
• Martin Luther King, Jr. and Sr.
• Ted Turner• Lewis Grizzard
• Lower summer temperatures
• Gently rolling hills
• MARTA

Here's why I like Dallas:
• Unbridled optimism & ambition
• Barbeque and Tex-Mex
• Big, blue skies, and gorgeous sunsets
• The charming cosmopolitan aspirations centered on scrubby prairie land
• The clear, searing heat
• That southwestern oilman/rancher vibe
• 80-year old men still called "Billy Chuck"
• The Granada Theatre, a great place to catch the best bands
• The schizophrenic, megachurch / fake tits / dry town / bible banging / blonde cheerleader / strip club / family suburban vibe
• Bottle-blondes on the escalator at Neiman-Marcus
• The Knox-Henderson District
• The 300 plus days of intense sunshine
• There are only a handful of big cities where cowboy hats are appropriate. This is one of them.
• The welcoming, "come join us" atmosphere (as opposed to Atlanta's "who was your Grandaddy and where do you live?" thing)
• The art deco Fair Park area, with the Cotton Bowl and museums
• The 6th Floor Museum, perhaps the most chillling museum in the US
• Owen Wilson
• Edie Brickell
• Lisa Loeb
• Stevie Ray Vaughan• Lance Armstrong
• The sophisticated graphic design and advertising community
• The shopping
• The Metroplex, including Ft. Worth (sorry, Ft. Worthians, but your city only improves Dallas. Old joke: What does Dallas have that Ft. Worth doesn't? A nice city 30 miles away.)
• The Ft. Worth Botanical Gardens, especially the Japanese Garden
• The Ft. Worth Kimball Museum of Art

For me, it's Dallas by a nose. Ft. Worth is Dallas' trump card.

Venice: A Familiar Name

2009-06-02T22:03:00.000-07:00

At the Hotel Serenissima, the framed signature of Robert Rauschenberg.

Though many assume he was Jewish, Rauschenberg, who died not very long ago, grew up in Texas, and was raised in the Church of Christ. As a teenager, he considered becoming a preacher, but was dismayed by the church's stance against dancing. He went on to become one of the greatest artists of the 20th century, and judging by this signature, once stayed at the Hotel Serenissima.