sweet dreams and flying machines

When I was a child, I used to have this recurring dream that I would awaken in the middle of the night and look out my window. There in the late night sky were many unusual flying machines that were being tested by the air force in a top secret manner.

The flying machines were magical and unconventional and hovered and darted like hummingbirds. Sometimes in my dream, one of the machines would crash. I could always tell when one of these machines would be in trouble, but could not help but look on in horrified amazement. There would be a terrible explosion with flames bursting forth from the crash sight and when that would happen, it would always be nearby, within running distance. I could feel the intense heat emanating from the wreckage as I approached to render assistance. This dream recurred so often, I began to believe the sky was filled at night somewhere with these machines. For me, the flying machines represented the possibilities that existed, that still exist, while the ones that crashed were the cautionary tales of the potential failures or tragedies that can occur in life. The fact that these wondrous machines flew in the darkness of night when the world was asleep, well, I believe this was a manifestation of the secrecy of my own special dream and the magical pleasure that was mine alone at discovery. Interestingly, this dream recently resurfaced; a reminder that perhaps we never outgrow them.

mochi

As a third-generation in America, Japanese-American (Sensei) citizen, I've been a little distanced from my Japanese ancestral roots. Still, I did experience much of the culture mainly through the blessings of my grandparents and the childhood I spent inhabiting the space that was once called Japan town (now defunct due to the Salt Palace complex).

One of the traditions I miss now that my grandparents and parents are gone, was the New Year's celebration. Obviously this was more important than the western-culture oriented Christmas celebration. My grandmother (my mother's mother) would always prepare a large feast for our family. I remember vividly the cooked lobster that always stood as the centerpiece of the table (although I have no memories of ever eating that lobster). We would eat sushi (and yes, since I was introduced to sushi early in my childhood, I could never understand what the big deal was when it gained popularity some years ago), specially prepared vegetables, shrimp, crab, rice cakes and a special soup made from pork stock (the name of which now eludes me sadly) that was always one of my favorite annual treats. Mochi was a key ingredient of that pork stock soup.

Mochi is a sort of patty made of a sweet rice paste; rice that has been cooked then put through a grinder several times. Once it has been molded into the patty it "sets up" slightly and retains that shape. (Mochi is not to be confused with Manju, which is often a sweet rice patty covering a sweet bean paste center.) My grandmother used to display three of these mochi stacked upon one another in varying sizes with the largest on the bottom (much like a snowman, but instead of round snow balls, picture flattened disks) and the smallest on top. Capping off the little pile of mochi was a tangerine. I've seen this same arrangement in other Japanese households, and I have a vague memory of it serving as an offering that is placed in front of the little altars (Buddhist?) many Japanese families had on display in their homes.

Mochi can be served in the soup I described or in a bowl of tea or with a combination of sugar and soy sauce (my personal favorite). The mochi is heated in the microwave (it used to be cooked in a frying pan to get it warm) and dipped in the sugar and soy sauce mixture like fries in fry sauce. And yes, I know, I'm eating starch dipped in sugar and liquid salt. There is absolutely no nutritive value whatsoever in this mix, but to me, it is the sweet taste of my childhood. I've even passed my penchant for this treat onto my daughter, who has embraced her Japanese heritage much to the dismay of my blond-haired, blue-eyed wife. She just looks on with bewilderment as we happily devour our mochi (much as she does when we eat anything with curry in it). This year I have fallen behind in my holiday preparations. I have not gone foraging for my annual supply of mochi. I'm hopeful that there is still some available at one of the local Japanese grocery stores. If some of the other traditions of Christmas lag behind or are suspended this year, well that's fine. But I have to have my mochi. This is one aspect of the holidays that is non-negotiable.

deadly icicles

Reflecting upon on my childhood, I realize now that my mother was overprotective. I can only attribute this to the fact that I was an only child and it was important to her I be aware of all of the potential hazards and danger that lurked out there in the world. Some of her fears bordered upon the ridiculous, some were more sublime. I remember during the winter she would always warn me of icicles that hung dangerously from every building. They had after all, been known to break off without warning or reason, to plunge through the brain matter of the unaware victim beneath it. Needless to say, I winced each time I approached or left a building whose eaves were bordered by icicles. Strangers offering candy was one of the more sublime fears she shared with me.

Milk carton photos still haunt me and I remind myself not to be lured by the promise of sweets even though I am well beyond this prospect. (Although, if you think about it, in a way strangers still offer us sweets with less than good intentions.)

As I grew older, I suspected her behavior would abate. I had at some point become “aware” and capable of logical thought that one would think, would arm me to steer away from the array of mine fields that awaited me. But no, this was not the case. If anything, my mother’s fear and consequently, her warnings, only intensified. I would often find newspaper clippings (on my desk when I lived at home, and later, in the mail when I moved out) validating her worst fears. Debris from trucks in front of you on the freeway could come flying out of their beds, only to impale you. Furnaces could affixiate you in your sleep or even worse, water heaters were capable of exploding like bombs, doing double damage as they fell back to earth from their initial explosion launch. I did my best to embrace these fears and do whatever was necessary to avoid the calamities that obviously faced the uninformed (which amounted to the rest of the entire world).

But at some point, I realized this fear had overwhelmed my mother to the point that it crippled her. She had stopped living and experiencing things because of the potential danger they presented. She truly believed that death or injury awaited her at every corner. It was a startling revelation. I chose to abandon a trove of fears that had been ingrained in me (well, it’s all relative isn’t it?). I began to tease her mercilessly each time she brought up a cataclysmic scenario. “Yes, Mom, carbon monoxide poisoning in your sleep would be a senseless way to die, but hey, it doesn’t sound like a bad way to go . . .” We can choose to board the plane at the risk of it going down or instead, choose not to visit a place we’ve never been before. We can choose to attend the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics and be killed by sniper fire or a carefully placed bomb, or miss a once-in-a-life opportunity to be there when it takes place in our very own city. Yes, danger is out there, but so is opportunity and discovery and wonder and exhilaration. I personally choose to go with the promise of those good things rather than impending doom. Call me foolish. I don’t mind. Truth be told, I’m still probably more cautious than most.

Ironically, if anything “gets” me, it will probably be some affliction that stems from the years and years of second-hand smoke my mother and father exposed me to during my life with them. If this were to happen, my mother would have most likely preferred my death be by falling icicle.

early onset dementia

When I was about 5 or 6 years-old, I was something of a hypochondriac. I think it stemmed from the fact that I had newly entered the world and to my dismay, had discovered it to be a potentially hostile place, full of germs, bacteria and diseases that could cut my already short life even shorter. It didn’t help that my mother’s favorite television shows were Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey, an abundant resource for new diseases or physical afflictions that I could adopt as my disease du jour. Eventually, I grew out of it. Somehow I realized that you could attribute the slightest sensation to any potentially disastrous symptom. Yes, I felt fevered, but the body temperature runs at 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. And yes, we all get headaches once in a while for whatever reason, but that does not necessarily mean I have a tumor. And so, like many childhood traits, my hypochondria dissipated in the greater fog of adulthood, until recently.

A few weeks ago, I had lunch with my best friend from Junior High through college. He announced that he had recently been diagnosed with early onset Dementia forcing him into an early retirement. As proof of his condition, he was now drawing from the coffers of Social Security, a process that usually takes several application attempts for even the most legitimate of reasons. He bragged that he was approved upon the first attempt, external validation that his was indeed a serious condition. He detailed the worst moments of realization for him – the time he forgot something in his hotel room and as he turned, he knew that there was no possible way he would be able to retrace his steps to his room. Or the time he was being tested for his condition, and he began to sweat at the simple algebra problems, especially frightening since he taught math at a private school. He has good days and bad ones and laughed at the fact that he had always prided himself on his intelligence. He was remarkably calm and accepting as he relayed all of this to me, but I sat quietly horrified. Hadn’t I been forgetting things lately? I’ve been having problems identifying actors and actresses and their filmography at recent screenings of movies. This used to be something I could do with remarkable speed and accuracy. Now I had to Google them. And I HAVE left my cell phone at home on more than one occasion, my one essential device that keeps me accessible to the world. Perhaps I, too, have early onset Dementia!

Now, I observe myself carefully, scrutinizing every mistake I make. I’m slowly convincing myself that I’m just getting older and that these little incidents are a reflection of this and not a symptom of a greater malady. I suppose if I were really concerned, I could get tested but that however, seems to only validate how ridiculous I’m being about the whole thing. So, I’ll continue to monitor myself carefully, looking for any telltale signs. I’m still capable of algebra and every morning I’m successful at the word scrambles in the newspaper. There are larger issues to worry about anyway.

In the meantime, I worry about my friend and wish him well. His mother was supposed to be dead months ago from a severe incurable blood malady that has doctors looking at her in the way they would look at a zombie from the Walking Dead. Yet she thrives, pain-free, in what seems to be perfect health with no symptoms whatsoever. I’m hoping my friend will fare as well from his diagnosis. If attitude were any indication, I’d have to bet for the most part he will be fine. I’ve come to realize through all of this that it is essential that we all enjoy every moment and give thanks for the blessings we have. Life is a transitory thing and who knows when it will be taken from us?

the salton sea

I first became aware of the Salton Sea from a movie of the same name. Although I barely recall the details of the movie, the image of the Salton Sea remained with me. The images from the movie depicted an almost desolate landscape of sand, water and low-lying mountains in what seemed to be a remote and isolated location. Briefly, the Salton Sea is a saline, rift lake located directly on the San Andreas Fault. The lake currently rests at about 226 feet below sea level. It covers about 376 square miles, making it the largest in California, with a maximum depth of 52 feet. The lake's salinity, about 44 grams per liter, is greater than the waters of of the Pacific Ocean at about 35 grams per liter, but less than that of the Great Salt Lake (which varies greatly). The concentration is increasing by about 1 percent annually. Fertilizer runoff combined with the increasing salinity have resulted in large algal blooms and elevated bacteria levels, creating an environment in which many species of fish are no longer able to survive. Evidence of this is everywhere as skeletal remains of dead fish line the shore. Interestingly, the sea is a major bird sanctuary. Evidently, there is enough life there to attract over 400 species of birds who utilize it as a major resting stop of the Pacific Flyway. It supports 30% of the remaining population of the American White Pelican. I wonder how they are jeopardized by the conditions that do not show any promise of abating.

I had the privilege of visiting the Salton Sea a few days ago while we vacationed briefly in Palm Springs. The Salton Sea is located approximately 50 miles away, but our itinerary put us in the area and we couldn't resist the opportunity to see it for ourselves despite the advice of a park ranger to skip it. As we followed the sign that read "Salton Sea Beach," we entered the small town that surrounds it. It consisted largely of trailer homes set up in the desert sand, a sort of ghost town in the making. We turned down a dirt road that led to the sea and parked at a chain link fence that prevented us from driving any farther. At this point, the sea shore was fully visible. We were about 50 years away from the water's edge. The sun was beginning to set. We left the car and walked around the fence and suddenly became aware of the complete absence of insects. It was eerily quiet as a result and if not for the presence of flocks of birds along the shoreline, it would be unsettling.

-

As mentioned, skeletal remains of fish were everywhere, a testimony to the rising salinity and pollutants of the water. The sand beneath our feet had transitioned into what was now layers of broken tiny sea shells. We could see the polluted water as we approached, navigating around all of those dead fish. I was reminded of scenes from the old 1950 science fiction movies that warned of the dangers of tampering with radioactive materials and sinister chemicals. It was amusing (in the context of those old movies that seemed so paranoid and extreme at the time) and sobering to witness this all first hand. I was moved though by the glaring contrast of pollution and death that was present there and the violet-red light of sunset that was reflected in the still waters of the isolated sea in the desert. Even in the slow progression of the death of the Salton Sea there is beauty.

tupelo gold

Occasionally I like to share interesting little tidbits of information that I stumble upon. It's my earnest attempt to diverge from my otherwise self-indulgent entries; the ones that seem to center upon food, my ongoing weight obsession or objects of desire (but now that I think about it, this is about both food and an object of desire AND it could be about weight obsession too . . . so perhaps I've once again failed here . . . ). Last week I had lunch with a friend who shared his new hobby as a bee-keeper with me. It reminded me of a movie I saw many years ago starring Peter Fonda, entitled "Ulee's Gold." Ulee's Gold referred to the Tupelo Honey he harvested as a bee-keeper in the south. Tupelo honey is yet another of those culinary delights that is produced in limited quantities due to geographical constraints (like Chuao Chocolate). If you're not familiar with Tupelo Honey, I've taken the liberty of reprinting some of the information taken directly from the product page of L.L. Lanier and Son's Tupelo Honey website (http://www.lltupelohoney.com/). Perhaps they will forgive me for quoting from their site if this results in purchases from you. I can attest that Tupelo honey is a special product that merits tasting.

Their information follows:
"Tupelo Honey is produced from the tupelo gum tree which grows profusely along the Chipola and Apalachicola rivers of northwest Florida. Here in the river swamps, this honey is produced in a unique fashion. Bees are placed on elevated platforms along the river's edge, and they fan out through the surrounding Tupelo-blossom-laden swamps during April and May and return with their precious treasure. This river valley is the only place in the world where Tupelo Honey is produced commercially.

Real Tupelo Honey is a light golden amber color with a greenish cast. The flavor is delicious, delicate and distinctive; a choice table grade honey. Good white tupelo, unmixed with other honeys, will not granulate, and due to this high fructose low glucose ration, some diabetic patients have been permitted by their physicians to eat Tupelo Honey.

Black tupelo, ti-ti, black gum, willow and severl other honey plants bloom in advance of white tupelo and are used to build up colony strength and stores. Since these sources produce a less desirable, darker honey, which will granulate, the product is sold as bakery honey. Possibly it is just that or a blend which is a cheaper honey for which the buyer may be paying a premium price.

The important point which we wish to make here is that all honey that is being labeled Tupelo is not top quality Tupelo Honey as the bees make it and as skilled beekeepers produce it. Some honey may be very light in color and could very well have a high percentage of gall berry. Gall berry blooms right after Tupelo. It is attractive, as it is a light white honey, but it is not Tupelo and will soon granulate. Some honey is labeled Tupelo and wildflower. In this case the buyer has no guarantee of just how much real Tupelo he may be getting.

Fine Tupelo is more expensive because it costs more to produce this excellent specialty honey. To gain access to the river locations where the honey is produced requires expensive labor and equipment. In order to get fine, unmixed Tupelo Honey, colonies must be stripped of all stores just as the white Tupelo bloom begins. The bees must have clean combs in which to place the Tupelo Honey. Then the new crop must be removed before it can be mixed with additional honey sources. The timing of these operations are critical and years of experience are needed to produce a fine product that will certify as Tupelo Honey.

Nutrition Facts

The black particles on the top of the honey jar are beeswax and pollen. This occurs because the honey is not heated or processed; it's in its natural state the way honey should be. When honey is heated and processed it takes all the living enzymes, nutrients and pollen out of the honey; therefore, creating just another sugar not a nutritious product. Honey in its natural state is a health food. Tupelo Honey is made primarily of fructose sugar which has been called the queen of sugars. The reason being is that it's the easiest sugar for the body to use and absorb. It does not tax the body or its digestive system like white cane or granulated sugar. Honey should be kept at room temperature with a tightly closed lid. The only thing that will make the honey go bad is moisture, so keep the lid on tight. In addition to its sugars, honey contains as its minor components a consdierable number of mineral constituents, seven members of the B-vitamin complex, ascorbic acid (vitamin C), dextirn's, plant pigments, amino acids and other organic acids, traces of protein, esters and other aromatic compounds, and several enzymes."

Also (and this is me again), most store bought honeys are laced with corn syrup. In fact, some "honeys" are primarily corn syrup, so buyer beware.

comfort food

I'm a nervous eater. Give me something to worry about, anything, and BAM! something's immediately in my mouth. AND 99% of the time, I can guarantee you it's not going to be a carrot stick. No sir, carrot sticks do not a pacifier make. I need real comfort and real relief. Bugs Bunny food does not cut it. Give me something that soothes me like a mother's caress. Chocolate cake for instance. Or chocolate chip cookies (newly baked in the oven and still hot) or an entire Amano Chuao Chocolate bar (yes, I've become a snob). As I write this, I see a common theme emerging. Chocolate does reign, but I am not so close-minded as to exclude other flavors as I seek instant solace. Pizza is equally effective at vanquishing the discomfort of anxiety as is a good hamburger or hot dog (with fries please). I cannot imagine how others cope with their anxieties, but if it does not entail food, well, I just feel sorry for them. These lesser strategies will undoubtedly leave vestiges of PTSD.

As we approach Thanksgiving, it occurs to me this annual ritual is the ultimate close-looped system of anxiety and anxiety relief. The stress induced from cooking for relatives (don't get me started about the in-laws!) and hoping it passes muster is way up there on the Richter Scale of anxiety. But how poetic and beautiful that at that moment, when everybody sits down at the table (the silent scream moment), there is all of that food laid out in front of you to gently appease you with its fattening grace. Ah, turkey, ah, mashed potatoes, ah, gravy . . . where have you been all year?

So (as you probably surmise from this small rant), I am once again gaining weight. Chalk that up to the bathroom remodel. No matter. Give me comfort any day over a trim build. It is a good thing I'm writing this. If I were speaking to you at this very moment, you would find it difficult to understand me with all of the food that is in my mouth. Oh, and could you pass the gravy please?

the best camera and the hipstamatic

With the advent of cell phones, and more specifically the iPhone, an increasing number of people are using these sophisticated devices as their primary cameras. One photographer, Chase Jarvis, popularized the idea on his website, http://www.thebestcamera.com/, named for the concept that the best camera is the one you have with you. Jarvis created an iPhone app that enables photos taken with the iPhone to be manipulated and shared easily with others. Another pair of photographers developed a similar app for the iPhone called Hipstamatic. The Hipstamatic app mimics the appearance of toy cameras on the iPhone and offers (for a cost over and above the initial $1.99 investment) the look of different films, lenses and flash attachments. The Hipstamatic folks have also developed a website where iPhone images (based upon monthly themes) can be uploaded to a gallery, but in this instance, to be judged for prizes by the public.

At the suggestion of one of the artists represented by Phillips Gallery here in Salt Lake City, the gallery is hosting an open invitation for iPhone photographers to submit some of their best images (on a juried basis) to be displayed and sold at the annual holiday show. Although I don't own an iPhone, I was able to borrow one for a day from one of my co-workers to play with the Hipstamatic app for a possible submission to the forthcoming show. The primary problem with the Hipstamatic app is that want you see is not what you get. In other words, the final image is different than the image viewed on the screen as you are composing. Ironically, one encounters this very same problem with a real toy camera. Once you have familiarized yourself with the problem however, it becomes relatively simple to compensate accordingly.

Briefly, I found the Hipstamatic app to be quite fun. I re-discovered the joy of shooting anything and everything just for the fun of it and can see why the sites are becoming increasingly popular. I will not be abandoning my more traditional photography utilizing a full-fledged camera, any time soon, but for a diversion (and perhaps down the road when I finally succumb to an iPhone), I'm happy I tried it. Someday in the not too distant future when the resolution of a cell phone, will be high enough to merit serious consideration (they are currently up to the five to eight megapixel range), I might make the ultimate switch. Until that time, I'm content to borrow my co-worker's cell phone for a few moments here and there to play with on an occasional basis. As for my serious work, I'm sticking with my "old" digital cameras.

different worlds

My co-worker, Kim, and I inhibit entirely different worlds. Admittedly, our age difference is one factor, but it goes beyond that. Kim is a hipster, a burner, a designer, an actor, a clubber (is that even the term for somebody who goes "clubbing?"), a performer (by this I mean somebody who dances in front of audiences while twirling a lit ball of fire on the end of a rope. I suppose the term is "fire dancer"). I am none of these things.

Our worlds collide only briefly at work and through our mutual love of photography. She moves in a world whose existence I am barely aware of; one that exists simultaneously in the very same city, on the very same streets that I inhabit yet never visit. I've seem images of her world on Facebook and on her website and on the computer monitor as she shares them with other co-workers more closely aligned to her age and lifestyle (although I suspect they rarely visit Kim's world as well). Kim's world seems to hold "glitz" and "glamour," and begins as night falls.

She ventures forth in the cover of night (when I am sequestered safely at home, doors locked, dinner cooked, with some time ahead of me perhaps allotted to some channel surfing in front of the TV before retiring to bed) as the city lights ignite, exactly the time vampires begin prowling for their nightly blood feast, if they truly exist. And if they do exist, well, I'm sure Kim has met a few along the way. She gathers with friends (who, I imagine, are disguised during the day to look like you and me) who share her interests and travel the same paths; some who have undoubtedly made the annual trek to Burning Man with her. Sometimes I suppose she practices her fire dancing with some of them, sometimes she simply drinks and chats with them (punctuated intermittently with peals of laughter). Sometimes she probably just hangs out with them. Whatever she does, I am sure she does it with more flare and style and edginess than I could ever hope to bring to the same circumstances.

Nonetheless, I consider us friends. It's interesting how the workplace and proximity can make the strangest of bedfellows. Many of us live entirely different lifestyles and travel in entirely different circles, yet we co-exist, brought together in a sort of community by some commonality (be it work, our shared hobbies, our shared place of worship). People we would normally never conceive of forming bonds with become our friends. How marvelous is that? The world is an interesting place, full of diversity and possibilities. Although I may never attend Burning Man, I feel I know it, all because of my association with Kim and our annual ritual of show-and-tell upon her return. And, should I be out there in the city at night, and should a vampire or two choose to descend upon me as their evening's prey, I am confident that if Kim is anywhere nearby, she will vouch for me and divert those vampires elsewhere.

the facebook phenomenon revisited

Last year I blogged about my first experience with Facebook. At the time, I declared it to be an impersonal way of getting personal with friends. I also suggested that it made me feel like a socially-challenged hermit as it validated my dearth of friends (at present, I’m at 38 versus another friend who has 400, although at the time of the original posting, I only had 19 friends)! And as previously mentioned, one of my more active friends, is the seventeen year-old who mows my lawn (Hey again, Taylor!).

Since that time, I’ve become a little more accustomed to the social network and on Friday, for the first time ever, I had a chat session on Facebook with one of my Facebook friends. Interestingly, my friend, Sarah, and I have never met. We began our on-line friendship when Sarah’s mother, Susan, a good friend of mine, provided the “connection.” My friend knew Sarah and I shared a number of interests and since that time, Sarah and I have communicated exclusively via the internet. We share an odd combination of interests ranging from our support of CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), our love of all things sci-fi (particular Star Trek), and our mutual respect and awe for the wonderful recipes originating from the Cooks Illustrated folks.

It surprises me how friendships can form without ever actually meeting a person face-to-face (For a cautionary tale of the downside of establishing a friendship via Facebook, I suggest you see the documentary “Catfish”). Our conversation flowed as easily as it would have if we had met via conventional means. So thank you, Susan, for the introduction, thank you, Sarah, for the friendship and thank you, (albeit a still wary one from a novice user), Mark Zuckerberg, for establishing Facebook, a cultural phenomenon of our times.

lotus

One of the many (or few) "guy" things I can lay claim to is my fascination with fast automobiles. I first became acquainted with the Lotus marque in high school as I devotedly watched "The Prisoner" television series. In the title sequence, Patrick McGoohan, the protagonist of the show, drives a Lotus Super Seven into the tunnel entrance that leads into British Secret Services headquarters. I immediately fell in love with that automobile and still dream of someday possessing one. Although the genuine Lotus Super Seven is officially out of production by Lotus, several manufacturers continue to produce very accurate reproductions of the vehicle. Colin Chapman founded Lotus and is a legendary figure in racing and sports car circles. I even know a gentleman who named his son, Colin, in honor of Colin Chapman. But I digress.

Colin Chapman's main philosophy of building fast cars dealt with a high power to weight ratio. He would employ any means possible to reduce the weight of each model to generate the fastest acceleration and top speeds possible for a given engine output. Some of his powerplants were quite modest, but because the automobiles they were installed in were so light, the resulting vehicles performance numbers were incredible.

Last week at the Paris Auto Show, Lotus unveiled its new product line. Amazingly, they introduced 5 new models; the Elite, Esprit,

Elan,

Elise,and Eterne.
All are beautifully designed automobiles. I share them with you here as another testimony to the spirit of Colin Chapman.

america the plentiful

The other day, Joni asked if I would make her my special sandwich, a concoction I learned from an old girl friend's mother. It consists of english muffins, paper thin slices of ham (which are easily purchased these days courtesy of Hillshire Farms), tomatoes, and paper thin slices of onion topped with muenster cheese (don't forget the butter and mayo) melted in the broiler. When I ran down to the local supermarket to purchase the requisite ingredients, I was very annoyed to find that there was a sale on Wonder Bread traditional english muffins, resulting in an empty shelf of my preferred sandwich substrate (a word utilized to excess by my daughter's former and annoying boy friend). I was thus forced to purchase the Sara Lee english muffins that were on the shelf below in ample supply. If you're like me (and I know you are), you've come to develop deeply ingrained loyalties to specific products. As an example, Best Foods mayonnaise is the only brand of mayonnaise worth purchasing. Likewise Heinz ketchup (although over the years I swear it has become more watery).

(Several years ago when the Lost Boys were brought to the United States to allow them the opportunity to literally "live" they were overwhelmed by many aspects of our vastly different lifestyle. Upon visiting a supermarket for the first time, one of them commented in exasperation, "Why do you have so many varieties of the same thing?" He could not fathom from his experience, how we could possibly have so many choices of so many products when he was just thankful to eat anything each day.) His frame of reference could not embrace our overabundant and market-driven economy.

I was immediately reminded (all this from the outage of Wonder Bread english muffins) of how blessed we truly are. I find annoyance at not being able to purchase my preferred english muffin (in itself a luxury item, really) when people are starving in the world. Yes, yes, I know this is not a profound revelation, but a certain dose of reality, guilt and awareness is always an important thing to carry if we are to remember our humanity and to motivate us to do something, anything to contribute to alleviating the suffering of the world. I suppose this is why so many Americans have contributed to many of the funds to help re-build the devastation of the recent catastrophes in Haiti, the flooding in Pakistan, and in our own backyard (some years ago now) of New Orleans.

Several (actually, now many) years ago, when we lived in Connecticut, there was a threat of a bad Nor'Easter. The news outlets warned residents to stock up on vital supplies as we might be stranded in our homes for several days. Since we were new to such things, we were immediately overcome with fear and uncertainty and dutifully drove to our local supermarket. The scene there only contributed to our now mounting terror as people were frantically running to and fro, shopping carts in tow as they emptied the remaining stock of groceries on the picked over shelves. It looked like the store had gone out of business long ago and somebody had forgotten to remove a few items here and there as they packed up. We managed to cobble together some essentials from what remained (as well as from other stores we visited by way of preparation). Luckily, as things turned out, the cold front took a last-minute turn away from us and the dreaded Nor-Easter never arrived.

It did leave an indelible mark on my psyche however. It taught me that we should not necessarily take for granted those things that we have accepted as "givens" in our life. Store stocks are replenished weekly, with items brought out daily from their storage space in the back when necessary. But, in the event that distribution is disrupted due to a force majeure event, it is easy to see from my experience in Connecticut that a supermarket can be depleted of its stock in just one day. I cannot convey how vulnerable I felt that day in the Stop and Shop with all of those empty shelves. Similarly, a few years ago, we suffered a power outage here in Salt Lake City in the dead of winter that knocked out our electricity for five days. It was almost incomprehensible to us to imagine that we would be without power for that long. It was the reason we remained in our home for three days before moving in with my parents. We thought the infrastructure of the power company was such that it would rally to restore power in a timely fashion as it always had.

No wonder then, that residents in New Orleans were bewildered by the lack of support and rescue they received during their catastrophe. My own brother-in-law, a doctor at the Tulane Hospital was caught in the chaos. He brought his family to the hospital, figuring there were generators and supplies available to help them be comfortable and cared for during the interim until rescue arrived. Sadly, rescue only came after days of fear and danger. An armed gang tried to storm the hospital for its coffer of drugs. Shots were fired. My brother-in-law called his father at one point, the only time he ever betrayed fear and panic, pleading to be rescued somehow. One family member tried to purchase the services of mercenaries ($50,000) to stage a rescue attempt. During the negotiation process, helicopters from the National Guard ultimately landed (after taking direct fire from the armed gang below and firing back, thereby repelling them). Patients and the remaining hospital staff (my brother-in-law and his family included) where ultimately rescued intact.

So what is the take-away from all of this? I'm not sure. I would recommend a 72-hour survival pack for each member of your family, hopefully portable enough to take with you. Keep the essentials of food and water in your home; flashlights, a radio, a supply of batteries, some essential toiletries. I know some of you are much better prepared than I am and already have these in your possession. I applaud you for this. For those of you who may not have yet considered this, I urge you to invest some time and thought into getting this done. We are truly blessed to be living in this wonderful country, but although it is America the plentiful, it is important to be aware of contingencies should something happen.

And oh, yeah, contribute some of your earnings to a charitable cause, or better yet, donate some of your time in the service of your community.

commercial break

This is a photo of the painters we recently hired, Ed and Deb, a married couple. As you can see, they are a colorful pair and interestingly, this photo does not fully convey their larger-than-life personalities. They are very good at what they do and come at a reasonable price. If you're in need of good painters, feel free to e-mail me and I'll be happy to shoot you their contact information. I just wanted to give them a plug since they were so great to work with. You can be assured of an honest, hard-working and professional team.

design - the mercedes sls amg

Here is another example of an object of desire arising from good design. Nothing quite comes close to the sculptural beauty of a well-designed car.

naked mole rats, termites and us

In an article published August 7, 2010 in the NY Times, regarding our shifting paradigm of happiness, it states, "the creation of complex, sophisticated relationships is a rare thing in the world." It goes on to say that "only termites, naked mole rats and certain insects like ants and bees construct social networks as complex as human beings. "

The article incidentally, was entitled, "But Will It Make You Happy?" In essence, the article covered the strategies people are employing to "buy" happiness in this economically turbulent time. "If Money Doesn't Make You Happy, Then You Aren't Spending It Right" is a forthcoming paper that will soon be published in The Journal of Consumer Psychology. It encapsulates the basic premise of the article: that we are shifting our spending to "experiences" rather than things. This includes things like vacations, sports and equipment and entertainment. We're happier spending on leisure and services that typically strengthens social bonds, which in turn helps amplify happiness. " . . . there is a strong correlation between the quality of people's relationships and their happiness; hence, anything that promotes stronger social bonds has a good chance of making us feel all warm and fuzzy."

Oh, and speaking of social bonds, the happiness boost one gets from marriage is roughly equivalent to a $20,000 increase in spending on leisure. So if you are presently single, well you may want to make a commitment to reap the psychological benefits of happiness at a cheap price.

hormone replacement therapy - a brief update

It's been over a month since I began HRT. According to the literature, the effects/benefits of HRT truly begin to manifest themselves at about the one month mark. Interestingly, whenever I institute a change in my health regiment, I typically go all out attacking it from multiple angles. This "fervor" usually results in confusion about what factors impact the resulting changes. So in this instance, not only did I begin the HRT, but I also resumed weight training, regular cardio workouts AND a carefully monitored caloric intake (of mostly good stuff). So how I am feeling may or may not be directly attributed to the HRT, but worst case, I suspect SOME of my "symptoms" are due to the HRT.

And how am I feeling?

Well, overall I feel stronger physically AND mentally. I feel like my senses have been elevated. It is almost like a "haze" has been lifted from my overall quality of life. I feel more content, self-assured and happier. (Again, all of this could be just the benefits of renewed exercise and a healthier diet.) I'm trying a new weight routine, so once again, I'm not sure if it's the routine or the HRT, but I'm gaining muscle strength and it seems at a more rapid rate than previous sessions. All of this may be psychological mind you, but even so, if it IS psychological, well, that's OK too. In another week, I'll be taking another blood test to compare against my baseline test to determine the actual dosages I should be taking to optimize the benefits of the HRT. Just as a reminder, this includes Melatonin, DHEA, Thyroid and Testosterone (the Big "T"). This should prove interesting. I have a sense I could use a little more boost of all of them. I'll keep you posted of any changes I notice in the test subject (namely, moi, the lab rat).

new image

I received some new PX100 film immediately after the Impossible Project supposedly fixed their loose lamination problem (LLP). The LLP problem caused an odd thumbprint size anomaly at the center top portion of the image area. I was dismayed to find that my latest order still suffered from this defect. The Impossible Project offered a credit for each defective image that was returned to them, but limited this policy to a certain time frame which had since expired. I immediately shot off an e-mail to their customer service department, launching into a Mel Gibson-like tirade (well, not quite, but you get the idea). I requested a similar credit extension and hoped for a quick response. A month had passed before I remembered my request. When I referenced my customer support request number, I discovered that the ticket had been closed with no apparent notification or response. This prompted me to write another e-mail, this time threatening to share the utter lack of responsiveness of the Impossible Project's customer support department with my fellow photographer's, dissuading them from any future purchases.

I received a response the next day chiding me for my unnecessary threats. The e-mail continued that, had I looked in the right fields of the customer support ticket, I would have seen that they had in fact, agreed to an extension of the credit policy to me. Needless to say, I felt properly rebuked and repentant about my behavior. I immediately sent an apology for my errant behavior. The response began with a "No worries" statement and ended with the P.S., "Mel Gibson, hah!"

The net of all of this is that I've resumed shooting the remainder of my Impossible Project film stock to "cash-in" on my credits. I've compensated for the horrible "blemish" on the film by shooting two shots of every image and "grafting" them together to eliminate the mark via the magic of Photoshop. Here's an image from a pair of shots I took today.

the world's best chocolate

Last Saturday, I had the opportunity to see Audra McDonald perform at a small theater in the round in Orem, Utah. The theater was so intimate that I was never more than 15 feet away from her AND when she entered the stage, I could have reached over and tripped her or grabbed her depending upon my level of inappropriateness (I did neither). While this was a memorable event, perhaps even more memorable was the trip we took afterwords to visit the Amano Chocolate factory store not too far down the road.

For those of you unfamiliar with Amano Chocolates, this three-year local start-up has gained international prominence in the world of chocolate for its amazing dedication to producing the finest quality product possible from some of the best cacao beans in the world. In 2008, they stunned the chocolate world by winning a third-place finish for their Madagascar Chocolate Bar at the Academy of Chocolate Awards in London. Up until that time, nobody had really heard about Amano Chocolates. To put this honor in perspective, many chocolatiers in the past have submitted their own chocolates for years, never attaining even a mention, let alone a third-place finish. Since that time, many awards have followed.

This year, Amano became the first U.S. based chocolatier to win the rights to receive Chuao chocolate. Every chocolate maker worth its sugar hopes to one day use the Chuao beans. For the past several decades, Amedei, an Italian chocolate company, had exclusive rights to all of the Chuao beans produced. Last year, those exclusivity agreements expired and weren't renewed, making the revered bean available on the open market. Just what makes the Chuao bean so special? First of all, it can only be produced in one very small region of Venezuela in very limited quantities. The Chuao bean exhibits a wonderful complexity unmatched by other cacao bean. It is both fruity (with tones of plums, blueberries and blackberries) and smoky (molasses, coffee and almonds).

Art Pollard, the owner of Amanos, spent several weeks carefully roasting, grinding and making small test batches to better understand the Chuao bean's unique flavors before producing a pure and wonderful chocolate bar. Incidentally, a 2-ounce bar goes for $10, a bargain in the world of exclusive chocolates.

If you're hoping to become a true connoisseur of chocolate, below is a guide to tasting chocolate, courtesy of Amano's website. I must warn you, it is a little long and very detailed, but if you're like me, you'll find the entire process fascinating and will eventually incorporate it into your repertoire of snobbish behavior.

"Enjoying high-quality chocolate is an experience like no other. The flavors are rich and complex, and there is a large variation in flavors among various chocolates. In fact, the flavor compounds found in dark chocolate exceed those in red wine. For this reason, we have put together this tasting guide to assist people new to the world of chocolate tasting.

Chocolate tasting is not unlike wine tasting. Each type of chocolate bar contains its own set of unique flavor profiles. Since the cacao bean is the source of all chocolate (as grapes are the primary source of wine), its flavors can be imparted by a multitude of variables, such as topography, weather (e.g. drainage properties, etc.), post-harvesting processing (e.g. fermenting, roasting, etc.) and of course genotypic properties. With so many variables affecting the flavor of just one chocolate bar, it's important to taste carefully so that you can extract the fullest flavor potential.

First, it is imperative to taste chocolate in an environment free of distractions and background noise, such as television, music or conversations. Being able to concentrate as intently as possible will enhance flavor detection because your mind needs to focus on one task and one task only. It is often a good idea to have a piece of paper or notebook handy for you to take tasting notes in. Such things as smells, flavors, and textures should be noted.

Your palate should be clean. This means that your mouth should not contain residual flavors from a previous meal. If necessary, eat a wedge of apple or piece of bread, since these foods will wipe out all preexisting flavors without imparting their own. After all, chocolate should not taste like lasagna or beef burgandy. Water, especially sparkling water, also works as a palate cleanser.

Make sure that the piece of chocolate is large enough to accommodate the full evolution of the flavor profile. A piece too small may not allow you to detect every subtle nuance as the chocolate slowly melts. The important thing to remember is that flavor notes gradually evolve rather than open in one large presentation. Ideally, the beginning of the length (the time it takes for the chocolate to melt) will be different from the middle and the finish, so it is important to discern how the flavor evolves from beginning to end. 10g should me a minimum starting point.

Never taste cold chocolate. If it is stored in a wine cooler, allow the chocolate to rest at room temperature before tasting. Why? Cold temperatures will hinder your ability to detect the flavor. Some advise even rubbing the chocolate briefly between your fingers to coax out the flavor.

Look at the chocolate. The surface should be free of blemishes, such as white marks (called bloom). Observe the manufacturer's job at molding and tempering. Is the chocolate afflicted with air bubbles, swirling or an uneven surface (results of settling after molding), or is it clear of such defects? Also, the bar should have a radiant sheen. A matte surface is usually an indication of poor molding but will not affect the flavor. Next, note the color. Chocolate comes in a brown rainbow of multifarious tints, such as pinks, purples, reds and oranges. Some chocolates may even look black or so dark that at first glance a tint may be indiscernible. But probe further and hold the chocolate at different angles. What do you see?

Smell the chocolate. The aroma is an important component of flavor. Inhaling the fragrance and noting its profile will prime the tongue for the incoming chocolate. It further engages the senses and gives you a chance to compare how similar or different aroma and flavor are.

Break the piece in half. It should resonate with a resounding "SNAP!" and exhibit a fine gradient along with the broken edge. If you hear a "THUD" chances are good that either the chocolate was too warm or it was improperly tempered.

Place the chocolate on the tongue and allow it to arrive at body temperature. Let it melt slowly. This step is crucial, for it allows the cocoa butter to distribute evenly in the mouth, thereby muting any astringencies or bitterness of the chocolate. Chewing immediately will release these properties and might offend the palate.

Study the taste and texture. As the chocolate melts, concentrate on the flavors that unfold on the tongue. It is important to notice how the flavor evolves from beginning, middle, to end, and how the flavor exists in the finish (after the chocolate has melted).

Chewing is optional, but do not chew more than three times. Since the cocoa butter has had time to coat the mouth, chewing just may release even more flavor components. Remember, we're tasting and not eating.

Now the chocolate is nearing its finish. How has the flavor evolved? Is the chocolate bitter? Heavy? Light? Was the texture smooth, creamy, dry or grainy? Do any changes in texture and flavor occur? Take note of how the chocolate leaves the palate and slips into its finish. Does a strong reminder linger in your mouth, or does it quickly vanish?"

So, should you desire to enter the rarefied world of the very best chocolate available, you need not look further than your own backyard (for those of you located here in SLC). Amano chocolates are available at Tony Caputo's and Liberty Heights Market. For the rest of you, there's always the web. I encourage all of you to indulge just once to sample what the world's best chocolate tastes like. You may never be the same.

bio-identical hormone replacement therapy and MORE than you wanted to know . . .

Last Friday, Joni and I began a regiment of the controversial bio-identical hormone replacement therapy. For the uninitiated, this basically entails a daily dosage of hormones taken orally and topically to restore the level of hormones to an “optimal” level versus what is considered a “normal” level for a given age group. The theory behind HRT is that as we grow older, the production of certain hormones decreases to essentially “nothing.” In men and women the key hormones are thyroid, DHEA, melatonin and testosterone (yes, women produce a certain amount of this hormone), while in women, the additional hormones are estrogen and progesterone. These hormones control such things as our sexual drive, breakdown of fat and cholesterol, muscle mass, immunity regulation, metabolism and vitality among others.

The controversial component of this therapy originates from studies that indicate hormone replacement therapy contributes to the onset of cancer and cardiovascular problems. While this is true and fully supported by the scientific community, the findings pertain to synthetic formulations of hormones that approximate the molecular structure of the hormones that are produced by our bodies. Bio-identical hormones are pharmaceutically compounded hormones that are identical to those processed by our bodies. Because these hormones are identical to that which occurs naturally, they cannot be patented. Thus the drug industry does not fully acknowledge or promote the use of bio-identical hormones. They cannot profit from the production and sale of bio-identical drugs to the extent afforded by their proprietary formulations. Premarin is an example of one of these synthetic (Estrogen) hormones that is widely promoted in hormone replacement therapy. Studies indicate that long-term use of Premarin may increase the risk of strokes, heart attacks, blood clots, and breast cancer.

The effects of bio-identical HRT are supposed to manifest themselves sometime around the first month of therapy depending upon the individual. I’m only on my 5th day at the time of this blog entry. While I cannot fully report any noticeable differences, I can fully attest to the effectiveness of the melatonin. Over-the-counter melatonin had absolutely no impact on my ability to sleep. The melatonin I began taking on Friday is pharmaceutical grade, meaning it is produced to stricter standards with regards to dosages and quality control, plus it has been micronized to produce a steady, measured absorption by the body rather than a one-time burst. The onset of sleep is almost immediate as my head hits my pillow. I also notice I am dreaming more, which seems to indicate I am in a state of REM to a larger extent. When I do awaken, say to hit the bathroom, I fall asleep almost immediately upon my return to bed.

As for the testosterone, well, thus far it has been interesting. Testosterone is applied topically to the inner thighs. The instructions explicitly state that it should not be placed on the area of the inner thighs that touch the scrotum. (What would result from the interaction of the two coming in contact with one another, the instructions do not state. Could it be that the ensuing reaction is so horrifying, the pharmaceutical company did not dare mention the consequences?) Testosterone taken orally can impact the production of cholesterol and could potentially damage the liver.

While I cannot attest to this for certain, it FEELS like my “man-parts” are running hotter than the rest of my body. The temperature down there seems higher. Also there seems to be a tingling thing going on in those nether regions. (If you’re laughing now, well actually, so am I). More importantly (and to usher you hurriedly away from that last train of thought), today I felt a little “lighter,” less surly and pessimistic. There seem to exist “possibilities” once more: things can be done, actions can be taken, dragons can be slain. It’s totally feasible that all of these feelings originate simply from the bright, summer day and beautiful weather; so the jury is really still out. But, as music plays in the background, I notice myself swaying to the rhythm, a smile on my face. I’ll keep you posted. In a month, I’ll take another blood test to compare against the benchmark of the first blood test (sans HRT). Perhaps by then, I can report more definitively on how I’m feeling. And hopefully, in a "tasteful" and restrained way . . .

the stuff of spies

I have to admit I’m a little more than intrigued by the latest news that Russian spies posing as families here in the U S of A were recently apprehended. A neighbor of one of the “spy” couples told reporters how the teenage son of the one of the pairs mowed the lawn for them. Another responded incredulously, “How can she be a spy? Look at those hydrangeas!” What sort of life is it to settle somewhere on an indefinite basis and lead a seemingly “normal” life (complete with a regular job and routine) while having an altogether different “agenda?” “Work” is your daily life. It does not end after the normal 8 to 5 day is over.

How, one wonders, can you help but assimilate into the very community you are tasked with infiltrating? Other neighbors for instance, recounted conversations about baby sitters, the price of groceries, topics we discuss regularly with our own non-spy neighbors. I’m sure these conversations were totally sincere, motivated by the same concerns and daily issues we all confront. And why wouldn’t they be? Even if they were normal U.S. grade spies working for the C.I.A., at the end of the day, the price of groceries does seem to be creeping up far more than any of us would like to admit. And baby sitters? Good ones ARE hard to come by . . .

So what is it about this operation that has me so fascinated? I suppose when it comes right down to it, I am more accustomed to the images of spies depicted in movies: covert operatives skilled in the martial arts, sporting Minox cameras and lock-picking tools in their pockets, not suburban housewives or university professors. I’d love to delve into their minds to see how they reconciled their feigned lives of normality with their more sinister assignment (which was to position themselves with individuals who were policy makers and to engage in recruitment activities).

It has been suggested that the children of the exposed spies were most likely unaware of their parents’ covert operations. Indeed, the neighbors of these families expressed the most concern over the welfare of the children. I’m sure more and more will be uncovered as time goes on. Already some of the real names of some of the operatives are surfacing. Initially, it has been speculated that the damage done by these operatives is minimal at best and that no real threat was posed to our national welfare.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep a closer eye on my neighbor from the former Republic of Czechoslovakia. We’ve been neighbors for years, but he DOES keep a garden of edibles along with the rabbits he occasionally kills for dinner. And lest I forget, he does keep beehives in his backyard. He’s even given me a bottle or two of honey over the years. In short, he is far too self-reliant and industrious. It's . . . well, just plain un-American. And we HAVE discussed many mundane things like city zoning ordinances and the change of ownership of our neighborhood supermarket. Wouldn’t YOU be suspicious too?

the world we create

I was visiting one of my friend's blogs the other day and marveled at how different it was from my own. It is obvious we are at entirely different stages in our life; she has three young children in the process of experiencing everything for the first time, while Marissa, my one and only, has long since flown the coop as she moves to establish her own life.

What struck me about my friend's images, photos of a wide variety of activities and places, is the range of experiences she is offering to her children. In a sense, the lives our children lead as they grow and develop under our wing, are formed to a large extent by the world we create for them. We expose them to as much or as little as we deem worthy (or at least TRY) to provide a vision of their world as a relatively safe, but challenging place where the wonders and possibilities are limited only by their curiosity and imagination. Hopefully they mature with their own vision of the world (that incorporates a little of the optimism and promise you had striven so hard to imbue). And also you hope they do not become too disillusioned or discouraged by what they witness as they strike out on their own.

I know Marissa was exposed to things at a young age we did not want her to witness; a crazy lady shouting profanities as she stepped into our subway car on a visit to NYC, a barely dressed and in-your-face gay guy on his way to the Gay Pride Parade on a crowded BART car (with his "junk" firmly planted in front of my daughter's face while his partner looked apologetically at my wife and Marissa) in San Francisco. (I'm all for the spirit of the Gay Pride Parade mind you, but please, could you be a little more "tasteful" in your pride?) I'm sure I can remember worse things if I delve into the recesses of my mind some more, but these are memories that conjure up the look of fear and confusion that clouded her otherwise happy countenance in a way that summoned my protective instincts. I know she's none the worse for wear from these encounters and she has not suffered permanent psychological damage by any of this. In fact, I suspect it prepared her for her two-year stint in NYC to the extent that she was not surprised by anything she saw there, nor unduly intimidated or frightened by it. I had just hoped to shield her from such things until she grew a little older. I suppose this was totally unrealistic in this age of communication where everything is in front of us (like that gay guy on BART). If it's not on TV, well there's radio, the movies, the web, you name it. (And after all, you do have to venture forth into the world every so often to show them what's out there.) You can only create the world in the image you want for so long.

Perhaps the important lesson here is to focus on teaching your children the WAY they should process the encounters they have with the unknown and unfamiliar; provide them with a sense of structure and confidence within themselves that allows them to know they can handle whatever comes their way. Let them know they are responsible for the world they create.

a long-awaited excuse

An article entitled, "Secondhand Smoke and Mental Health" appeared in the June 14, 2010 issue of the New York Times. The article states that smokers "are known to suffer from high rates of depression and other mental health problems." It goes on to state that a study now finds "that even people exposed to secondhand smoke are at significantly increased risk - and more likely to be hospitalized for mental illness."

My mother and father and aunts and uncles were notorious smokers. I grew up in a cloud of cigarette smoke. It wasn't until I visited some of my friends' homes that I realized that the air inside could be clear, with an unobstructed view.

The article goes on to state, "Nonsmokers exposed to secondhand smoke were 1.5 times as likely to suffer from symptoms of psychological distress as unexposed nonsmokers. The risk increased with greater exposure. And though psychiatric hospitalizations were rare over all, they were almost three times as common for the exposed nonsmokers, according to the study."

So, if I begin manifesting strange behavior or seem unusually depressed, well, you can figure it out . . .

MoonPies

The other day at the check-out counter of my local supermarket there was a display of the day's deals strategically placed to inspire impulse buying. In this instance, the tantalizing deal was for MoonPies for $ .50. Needless to say, I could not resist. MoonPies in and of themselves are a guilty pleasure of mine. At half the normal price, I wondered how it was possible there were still ANY left.

For the unititiated, MoonPies were born in 1917, a creation of Earl Mitchell Sr., who came up with the idea of sandwiching a marshmallow filling between two graham cookies and then dipping the entire confection in chocolate. The "moon" in the MoonPie came from a mine worker who told Mr. Mitchell he wanted something filling and solid and "about that big" as he framed the moon with his hands. The rest is junk food history.

MoonPies contain a whopping 300 calories and have virtually no nutritive value whatsoever. BUT, let us not discount the happiness they can provoke at each delightful bite. I must confess my latest attempt at dieting has overtaken my normally gluttonous behavior. That very same MoonPie that I purchased without a moment's hesitation, presently sits quietly in my kitchen cupboard where occasionally it will beckon to me in its characteristically seductive way. Thus far I have not succumbed, but as any devoted trekkie can tell you, "resistance is futile."

lost love

Like so many other "fans," I've followed "Lost" over the course of its six-year run. The first two marked the honeymoon period for me with the following two transitioning into the disillusionment and irritation phase of the relationship. I mistakenly thought season five was to be the last and hung in there, only to find to my massive disappointment, that I had to continue one more year before the final chapter was to air. Although the last four years were not a TOTAL waste of time (actually, the fact that it is TV implies that yes, it really was a total waste of time . . . ) with some moments of entertainment and enjoyment, I couldn't help but feel like I was being "played." (Let me be the first to admit that I'm often challenged by the obvious.) I had to wait for the series finale last Sunday night to confirm whether this was the case or not. My conclusion? Yes, I was being played, but due to some of the emotionally fulfilling moments (particularly the revelations of Sawyer and Juliet and Jin and Sun) , I didn't mind so much.

I remain a little baffled about the sideways universe story line and its conclusion in the church especially because I hate the idea that all of the characters have died somewhere along the way (regardless of "when") and are there because they have essentially "willed" themselves into this place before moving on to the light. I can accept it as readily as any other ending though. If you consider all of the machinations and meanderings the writers of "Lost" have subjected us to throughout the six years, this ending will suffice. It seems to me the series ended as something quite different than what it had started out as. In the end though, good triumphs over evil, relationships that were formed culminated in a happily-ever-after, people we mourned returned to reunite with their loved ones and in a nicely-wrapped piece of writing, the show ended with a shot of Jack closing his eyes as he dies (not alone, I am compelled to mention, but in the soothing company of Vincent, Walt's dog), the perfect counterpart to the very first scene of the beginning episode where we see Jack opening his eyes immediately following the crash of Oceanic 815.

I've read several blogs and critiques of the final episode, but enjoyed Todd VanDerWerff's review in the Los Angeles Times the most. In his first review (he wrote a second follow-up article a few days after his initial reactions to the finale), he suggests that Lindelof and Cuse, the show's producers, threw a lot of different elements into "Lost" to appeal to a large and varied audience. There was the science fiction aspect of the show, certainly mysticism was at play, and philosophy (hell, one of the main characters was named John Locke!), etc. VanDerWerff suggests that this cornucopia of underlying and interlacing themes allowed the viewers to embrace whatever aspect appealed to them most.

In my case, I was always captivated by the love portrayed in "Lost," and I'm not just referring to the obvious coupling that transpired between the various men and women. Let's not forget the friendship that existed between Charlie and Hugo as an example. The moments I anxiously awaited throughout the years were those glimpses into the blooming love between characters - Kate and Jack, Kate and Sawyer, Jack and Juliet, Sawyer and Juliet, Jin and Sun, Charlie and Claire, Rose and Bernard and not in the least, Desmond and Penny. Somehow their story lines resonated with me and brought the humanity back into the otherwise perplexing trappings that first attracted my attention. They reminded us of what serves as our anchor in the face of uncertainty, potential danger and adversity. They showed us that love is a precious thing and that we are somehow made more noble by it and that our life has more purpose when we love somebody and in turn are loved. Even Vincent the dog demonstrated this (yes, yes, I know, it is just a conceit of the writers and not an actual event, but still . . . ) when he appeared to comfort Jack and usher him out of this world. And so it ends; a six-year relationship full of its own ups and downs. I suppose now I'll have to look for love elsewhere since there will no longer be my "Lost" love.

gf1 images

Following are two versions of the same image shot with the GF1. It's a little cliche, but it's a start. I apologize up front for posting too many entries related to my photography. I infinitely prefer writing about the Loch Ness Monster or the Large Hadron Collider, etc., but alas, inspiration has not been forthcoming lately. Hopefully something will be coming my way soon.

opposing views - photographically speaking

I've been experiencing an inner conflict with my photography recently. Not long ago, I purchased a new camera to serve as my primary "brush" to capture new images. When selecting the proper camera it is essential to choose one that provides the proper combination of resolution, image quality and low-light capability (as well as handling and for me, aesthetic appeal). Also there is the issue of buying the most technologically advanced camera available so it has some product life before newer, shinier technology is unveiled. Unfortunately, around the same time that I had received my new camera (a normally inspiring acquisition that sends me into a photographic frenzy), the Impossible Project began shipping its new PX100 film. As mentioned, technically the PX100 is a bad film. It lacks contrast and suffers from a lack of resolution. Used to its full advantage this film can produce some remarkably beautiful, dream-like images. So my new camera has languished as I have been extensively (and expensively) shooting with my 1972 Polaroid SX70 camera.

(Below is the same subject shot with PX100 film and my digital GF1 camera for comparison)


This week, as I await a credit from the Impossible Project for defective film, I have once again taken up my new camera. This has given rise to the inner conflict I opened with. I have been deliberately shooting "bad" images with the PX100 film for a few weeks and now must focus (forgive the bad pun) on producing images that do justice to the latest technology. While PX100 film images "suggest" the essence of the subject matter captured on its flawed photographic emulsion, the GF1 images should "pop" with the hyper-realistic resolution and color made possible by the newest generation of digital sensors. In shooting with the new camera, I have gone from the dream-like images of sleep to the harsh reality of the waking world. I'm not implying that beauty can't be found in reality (well, maybe I am when I use the word "harsh"), but it is a little more problematic. Honestly, I do become a little weary of seeing too many "dream-like" images and sometimes yearn for an identifiable "clean" crisp image. In the meantime, I grapple with myself as I try to move between both sets of photography. As Oscar Wilde once said, "Art is not a thing, it is a way."

defective film

As mentioned in my earlier post, Impossible Project had problems with their manufacturing process. They actually had an acronym for their problem, the LLP which translates to the "loose lamination problem." Here is an example of the problem and my Photoshop "fix."

more Impossible Project PX100 images

I discovered there are manufacturing problems with the PX100 film that has been adversely impacting the images produced with this latest batch of film. An irregular shape appears at the top center of each sheet of film looking roughly like a chocolate thumbprint. I've taken the liberty of "cleaning" this up with Photoshop, but the latest pack of film was by far the worst. The chocolate thumbprint looks more like an oil spill on the top of each image, making the cleanup even more problematic. Thankfully, the Impossible Project team has accommodated its customers by offering a $2.50 credit for each returned sheet. This accelerated my use of the film since it provided almost "free" reign to shoot images without having to worry about the expense. The Impossible Project will not return the submitted images, but I can still scan them and retain the digital files for future use. As a result of my profligate shooting, I produced three images I was pleased with. I share them here with you.

more px100 images

I managed to hold off for a few weeks (thanks to my visit to Austin) before ordering more of the Impossible Project's px100 film. The shipping charge is $11.00 regardless if you order 1 or more packs. This time, I ordered 4 packs. I suspect I'm at the tipping point before shipping charges go up to the next increment. I feel somewhat stupid in retrospect for ordering only two packs the first go around. Live and learn.



I wanted to share the latest images with all of you. I'm having a lot of fun (albeit cautious fun, since the film is so expensive) experimenting. It HAS rekindled my creativity somewhat, reminding me of the nourishment such activities bring to my soul. I have of late become a grumpy old man. Perhaps this will help stave off the grumpiness for a while.

travelin' man . . .

Two weeks ago I had the opportunity to explore Austin, Texas for just over a week. Joni's conferences for work have afforded us many opportunities to visit locales in the United States that we would otherwise not even consider. I'm beginning to feel well-traveled and can often identify cities in the opening scenes of movies because of the privilege of having been to so many places (relatively).

Joni began the tradition of extensively researching the locales we visit, utilizing at least three travel guides (typically, Fodor's, Frommer's, and Mobil or Moon) as well as the internet. She would create itineraries that would make the most experienced travel agent weep. Her itineraries would be based upon those sites deemed most noteworthy by at least two of the three guides and would include a timetable that took into account the proximity of the desired destinations. In other words, she would map out the locations to efficiently minimize travel time each day. In some of the bigger cities, the itinerary would include parking garages and prior to the purchase of our portable GPS, she would have mapquest printouts attached. Since work has proven to be increasingly demanding for her, I have taken over the planning responsibilities of our trips. Thus far, I have successfully matched her itinerary planning skills to a level that has not drawn any criticism (and sometimes even appreciative praise).

My priorities always gravitate towards the best places to eat in each city. I'm sort of a foodie. Although Joni's itinerary always included the best restaurants, I'm not sure that she BEGAN her planning with the restaurants. This is always where I begin. Plan on where to eat. Everything else is secondary. Some places are so highly recommended and popular, it is important to make reservations as far in advance as possible. As an example, on our last visit to San Francisco, one restaurant, Gary Danko's is such a hotspot that it is recommended you make reservations three months in advance. Needless to say, we missed the opportunity to go there, although we did have a callback from them after being wait-listed. Sadly, the opening was at 10:00 PM one evening, a little late for even us. We're heading back there next year, so you can be sure I'll be calling them three months in advance. Incidentally, Open Table is the way to go to book reservations, even locally. We've had amazing meals throughout the years. If you're really into food, I recommend Portland, Maine as THE spot for the greatest concentration of absolutely amazing restaurants. The NY Times and the now defunct Gourmet Magazine also concur, so you don't have to take my word for it. But as always, I digress . . .

One of THE must see tourist attractions in Austin is the Congress Avenue Bridge bats. The Congress Avenue Bridge spans Town Lake in downtown Austin and is home to the largest urban bat colony in North America. The colony is estimated at 1.5 million Mexican free-tail bats. Each night from mid-March to November, the bats emerge from under the bridge at dusk to blanket the sky as they head out to forage for food. This event has become one of the most spectacular and unusual tourist attractions in Texas. The most spectacular bat flights are during hot, dry August nights, when multiple columns of bats emerge.


Naturally, we positioned ourselves for this event on the first day we were in Austin. Some of my most spiritual and moving experiences in life have involved encounters with nature, specifically some of the wonderful creatures that populate our planet. I've chased whales in a zephyr in the waters of Alaska, been swimming with a sea turtle in Hawaii, kayaked past alligators in the Florida Everglades, etc. There is something to be said for encountering creatures unexpectedly in their natural habitat that still elicits a sense of wonder in me that I once thought was reserved exclusively for my childhood. You can imagine my sense of anticipation and excitement at the prospect of witnessing the nightly flight of 1.5 million bats at dusk.

The day we were there the crowd lined the Congress Street bridge. Prime viewing space was difficult to come by, but we managed to position ourselves so that we could see the bats emerge. Several boats loaded with tourists started patrolling the waters beneath the bridge. Occasionally, they would shine a red spotlight under the bridge where the bats roosted. From our position, we could not see where the light pointed, but no need, the bats would still emerge . . .

Dusk arrived. It grew darker as night descended. We strained against the darkness, confident that if the bats emerged we could still see their shadows against the reflection of the lights in the water below. People stirred impatiently as the dusk surrendered totally to the night. A woman nearby pointed to a small portion of the bridge near our location. "Can you see that?" she asked. And indeed, I could. I saw a lone bat flit out from beneath the bridge and quickly return. Then, after a few minutes, I saw another (or perhaps it was the same bat). And then finally, another. People were leaving now. The boats cruised lazily away. The bat feeding had evidently reached its full frenzy with the three bats I spotted. No clouds, no waves. No spectacular awe-inspiring encounter with nature. Reluctantly, we departed.

The next day, I asked an employee of the Austin Visitor Center if there were occasions when the bats did not emerge from the bridge. "Oh, my, yes," she replied. "Sometimes, the night before, they have a particularly successful feeding. Since they have happily gorged themselves, there is no need for them to even leave the bridge the following night." Apparently this was the case last night.

I suppose in life we will always encounter our share of disappointments. 1.5 million expected bats actually turns out to be three. The nest egg you have accumulated for retirement that promises a comfortable life is dashed by the downturn in the economy. That job you were uniquely qualified for is given to somebody younger and prettier. You know the story. I'm sure you've experienced your own share of such things.

Conversely though, there are those special unexpected moments that infuse us with joy, wonder and hope. Honestly, those moments, even though they may occur less frequently and perhaps with less magnitude than the disappointments, still outweigh everything else. Occasionally I lose track of this, but lately I've been reflecting upon the small miracles and marvel at those still to come (even at my advanced age). I'm anxious to see what happens next. Maybe 1.5 million bats WILL emerge the next time I'm there. (Which is of course, predicated on the assumption that I will return someday.) And even if they don't, did I mention I've swum with a sea turtle in Hawaii and kayaked past an alligator in the Everglades?