when it clicked (finding godot)

the lost city of atlantis

2012-02-07T11:27:00.000-08:00

Today an article appeared in Wired magazine's on-line blog detailing how the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) create maps of the ocean floor. Some years ago, the data they collected was integrated into the data utilized by Google Earth. Some observant aficionados of this app noticed a grid of regular lines in a portion of the undersea floor northwest of the Canary Islands. They immediately proclaimed these grids to be an indication of civilization in the form of streets. It was not long before they speculated this to be the streets of the sunken city of Atlantis.

Purportedly, as reported by Plato in 360 BC, the city of Atlantis sunk into the ocean "in a single day and night of misfortune" as a result of earthquakes and floods.

Sadly, Google Earth was displaying an error that resulted from the sonar method that oceanographers used to map the ocean floor and the way various maps and data were integrated. As NOAA cited, "the lines show the paths traveled by the ships that gathered these higher-resolution sonar readings." This week Google updated their maps with the corrected images.

As I've stated in a previous post, I sincerely want to believe in such mysteries. I still hold out hope for the discovery of the Loch Ness Monster, Yeti and the Abominable Snowman. I would like to think that there are such things that remain undiscovered even though modern technology seems to continually and brutally advance solely to dispel the romantic notions of mythical creatures and legends of yore.

And yet, there are after all, new species that have been discovered and continue to be discovered (which I celebrate). And even more importantly, the discovery of heretofore previously thought extinct species. Why then, is it not possible for the Loch Ness Monster to be swimming happily in the murky waters of the Loch? Or for the Lost City of Atlantis to be a historical fact rather than a mythical tale? Regardless, I will continue to believe in the possibility of such wondrous and awe-inspiring things.

memory loss

2011-12-20T15:45:00.000-08:00

My memory isn't what it used to be. In fact, I'm afraid the electrical connections that once lit up my internal thought processes have lost their brightness. Before, entire storage spaces in my mind were brightly lit allowing me to access the most obscure information you could imagine. Now, those spaces are dark, occasionally lit by the flickering of a soon-to-be extinguished bulb.

I'm not as bold in conversations with friends and less so with strangers as a result. I fear for the stalled silences that immediately accompany a lost thread of knowledge or train of thought. Before, I could summon up the names of books, movies, authors, actors, plot lines, artists, etc. at the drop of a hat. Often one small association would trigger a string of thematically connected ideas that could dazzle even the most adept of cocktail conversationalists. Now I'm reduced to something like, "you know, the actor who played the general in that Sylvester Stallone movie where he went ballistic." Such are the ravages of age upon the cognitive process.

I try to keep my mind sharp with little exercises. I do the word scramble each day in the newspaper. I string together meaningful phrases out of the letters on license plates in front of me (e.g. GSC could equate to "girl scout cookies" or "go shoot coyotes"). I exercise every day (well, almost). I systematically go through the alphabet in my mind whenever I forget something, like the actor example above. ("Abraham? No. Bob? No. Collin?" etc.) Sometimes this methodology yields results but even when it does, it is often minutes sometimes hours after the initial thought should have been completed - a far cry from my "sharper" days.

I saw this phenomena creep up with my parents which does nothing to quell the internal terror. The only solace I can derive from all of this is that my older friends all seem to be suffering from the same malady. Our conversations no longer run smoothly as they sputter and stall upon those lost associations and references we used to grab readily. An astute onlooker could undoubtedly identify those moments of silence and stupor where both parties look at the ground in embarrassment (and in the vain hope that there might be some clue as to what we are looking for there on the ground). It all goes down easier when I know I am not alone.

In the meantime, in a real pinch, I can always go to my iPod. At least I can Google enough of my memory fragment to find the component I had forgotten. I try not to rely upon it too much though. I'm convinced that the iPod, like the calculator, has become a crutch that discourages us from more active mental participation. I suppose I'll know I'm in real trouble when I forget how to use the iPod or forget what the iPod in my hand is entirely. I do hate this memory loss thing. But then, by that time, I won't remember what it was that was troubling me.

rangefinder cameras revisited

2011-12-13T15:31:00.000-08:00

Seriously, if you're not into cameras or have little patience with other's obsessions, be forewarned, you may want to skip this post.

It's been quite a while since I've posted anything and wouldn't you know that inspiration would be found in my penchant for conspicuous consumerism? Way back in March of 2010, I praised (in more detail than any but the most rabid of photographers would appreciate) the joys of rangefinder cameras. I won't bore you with a re-hash of that post, but am compelled to say that in retrospect, my purchase of the Panasonic GF1 while motivated by the similarities (at least in appearance) to the rangefinders of old, was totally misguided. In truth, the GF1 is a digital camera with a similar body style that offers interchangeable lenses, but in action, it does not possess enough of the rangefinder's DNA to qualify as a modern-day substitute.

I refer you once again to the photo below to clarify.

The key feature of a rangefinder camera is the optical viewfinder in the upper right-hand corner of the camera (a Leica M3) displayed above. While single-lens-reflex cameras became the eventual standard for news photographers, sports photographers and consumers in the late 60s and early 70s, the blessing and curse of this design is that at the precise moment of exposure, the mirror that allows the photographer to see through the lens that is capturing the image, flips up to totally obscure the viewfinder.

The rangefinder on the other hand, offers a clear view of the framed subject at all times since the viewfinder is simply a "window," clear glass if you will. In a sense, with SLR cameras, the decisive moment becomes the indecisive moment as you may or may not have captured what you intended. True, the digital cameras of today offer almost instantaneous feedback, but to the PURIST, in the spirit of a rangefinder camera, the decisive moment is still the moment when you depress the shutter release button as you compose through the viewfinder. (OK, OK, some of today's digital cameras offer electronic viewfinders eliminating the blackout problem, but the view is propagated by a micro-miniature television screen which makes it somehow offensive to technophobes such as myself). And so in an attempt to right my past wrong, I have recently purchased the new Fujifilm X10.

The first thing you should notice, now that you've been trained to spot rangefinder cameras, is the optical viewfinder just to the right and above the lens. It is this one key important feature that qualifies the X10 as a modern-day rangefinder and one that is lacking on almost every digital camera today. Sadly, the display on the back of these cameras has become de riguer these days. Cameras should not be held away from you, they should be snuggled against your face(which incidentally, helps steady the camera in a way not achieved otherwise).

And similar to the classic rangefinders, this camera sports a vast array of manual controls, those things called knobs and dials that have somehow been eliminated with touchscreens. You actually have to twist the lens to zoom in and out rather than push a lever that actuates a motorized zoom lens. How innovative is that? I suppose I'm betraying my reactionary ways here, but you should know I was "classically trained" as a photographer. Cameras were mechanical marvels back then, operated by gears and intricate internal mechanisms that coalesced in a perfect symphony of movement to adjust the lens opening, the shutter speed and align the film in the proper spot to capture a moment of time. Somehow the decisive click and tactile feedback of the shutter mechanism of those cameras proved to be immensely satisfying, unlike the electronic beep or simulated shutter sounds of today's devices. Yes there are more electronic parts than mechanical ones in the Fuji X10, and yes, it is a digital camera. But, Fuji has incorporated the interface and operation of those old rangefinder cameras in its latest model. There is a reassuring feel and look of a camera once more versus the evolving face of digital image capture devices (have you seen the Lytro?) I can return to my roots with this camera, back when I was first inspired to create images. Remarkably, I've found the "fun" again in shooting photos.

supernova

2011-09-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

Just this past week, astronomers in California discovered the closest, brightest supernova in 25 years. In essence, it is believed to be the sighting of the first hours of a super-dense white dwarf star (containing more mass than our own sun), exploding. This blast hurls matter in all directions at nearly one-tenth the speed of light - matter that ultimately will form the building blocks of other stars and planets.

Last night, around midnight I went outside to see if I could witness the supernova. Supposedly, the zenith of the supernova's brilliance was to occur sometime between last night and this weekend. I looked patiently around, trying to find the Big Dipper, the landmark via which the supernova could be located. I utilized my Planets app on my iPod Touch to mark the position of the Big Dipper in the night sky, but to no avail. Either the clouds were obscuring it or the brightness of the moon was creating too much glare off of the atmosphere. I was of course disappointed, but realized as I stood there for what seemed an extended period of time that just being out there was beautiful. I paused at that moment to absorb it all, the cool summer breeze that hinted of the arrival of Fall, the quiet of the night, the vastness of the universe that lay outstretched above me and the silent, distant stars that flickered against the darkness. I didn't care that I couldn't see the supernova at that moment. Although it is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, there is something to be valued about what exists out there for us everyday.

new profile photo

2011-09-04T00:50:00.000-07:00

After approximately 5 months, I've successfully lost 20 pounds. Prior to this time, I've avoided posting any photos due to the vanity of an older man. Now that I've regained a thinner version of myself, above is a new profile photo.

Celeste of the Desert

2011-09-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

Celeste is one of my oldest and dearest friends from college It seems we were always destined to be apart. Each summer, she would depart for El Paso, a place near and dear to her heart where she once lived and many of her friends continued to reside. We would write each other occasionally during her summer escapades or whatever she was doing back there in the hot desert climes of Texas. When fall brought her back to the U. we would resume our friendship once more.

Looking back, I've concluded friends are the ones who can tell you when you're full of crap, which Celeste did quite often. Believe me, people who don't tell you when you're full of crap aren't doing you any favors. Celeste could point this out to me in a way that caused me to pause and reflect upon my behavior rather than defend it blindly. (Wives replace friends in your later life. They are the ones who remind you about the crap except they are not so delicate about it. Men are never really in a position to tell their wives they are full of crap because they simply never are. Crap seems to be specifically gender-tied to men. But I digress . . . )

As was foretold by our early separations during college, our adult lives have followed the same path. Currently, Celeste has settled in the isolated desert of Arizona somewhere near Kingman. She is building her dream house there, but has met with some of the realities of the harsh environment there. She recently wrote me about some of the pitfalls of desert life. Without her permission I include it here:

My morning routine was interrupted when my peripheral vision caught Jack and Buddy, our dogs, quietly roaming through the side yard. I watched them for a moment and then saw Twilight, one of our cats, stretched out across his favorite nap spot. The sadness was almost immediate. I knew he was dead. Still, I walked out to him. He was on his side, his eyes half closed and his tail extended behind him as if pulled straight by a playful child. He would have jumped and sprinted had he been alive. I didn't touch him.

Cats are necessary on our ten acres surrounded by miles of desert. The cute, cup-eared, kangaroo rats ubiquitous in our area, draw Mohave rattlesnakes. The cats keep the scurrying mouse-like kangaroos in check. This is not to say we and our animals live a Mohave-free life. The tell-tale puncture wounds on Twilight's lip and nose confirmed one of the snakes got him. Green hued, Mohaves kill with one of the most lethal venoms of U.S. snakes.

The snake that killed Twilight is resting between garlic chicken and Lean Cuisines in the freezer waiting to be turned into a hat band or such. We aren't always able to get the perpetrator, but it helps a bit when we can. Coyotes and rattlesnakes are the prime predators. Gone are cats Sheba, Tom, Mama Cat, Sunny, and others. Sage, our beloved dog was lost to a mountain lion, and Buddy, who came after, both were bitten. Chickens Bandit, Samantha Jane, Sunny Skies, and Little Red, succumbed and chicks disappear before they can be named.

Their deaths are inevitable in this unyielding environment where coyotes and snakes must kill to live . We know this, but each is missed and mourned and a small tragedy.

the man and the donut reunited

2011-08-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

Monday I ordered two dozen apple cider donuts from Cold Hollow Cider Mill. They arrived via Priority Mail on Wednesday, neatly packed in airtight plastic bags, a little squarer for having been packed snugly in the box. Amazingly, all of the donuts were intact and appeared to be quite fresh. The enclosed instructions suggested that the donuts tasted best when served warm. Specifically, they suggested they be placed in the oven at 200 degrees for 3-5 minutes. Since I had the donuts delivered to my work address, I immediately placed one in our toaster oven. To my delight, they tasted every bit as good as I had remembered! The room was filled with the scent of apples and cinnamon.

That night, at home, I warmed up one for Joni. Sadly, it was warm enough but the surface had not re-crisped up like it had for me at work. At work, the exterior regained its crunchy hardness while the inner portion remained soft and airy. I was a little perplexed and disappointed. Perhaps the smaller area of a toaster oven was more efficient than the standard in-home unit. Regardless, I was a little discouraged. Without the crunch, the donut could not achieve its former glory.

The next day I tried heating a donut at work for a morning snack and realized that I had misread the setting dial on the toaster oven. I had set the heat to 200 degrees Celsius which translates to about 350 degrees Fahrenheit! As I had experienced the day before, the donut was crispy on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. Mystery solved! Tonight you can be sure I will be heating more donuts at the 350 degrees setting. And yes, I will be in donut heaven.

addendum to the best doughnut

2011-08-04T14:35:00.000-07:00

After reading my latest blog entry, a co-worker Googled "apple donut in Vermont" and actually located the apple orchard/bakery detailed in the post below. It not only still exists, but appears to have thrived and expanded. It is the Cold Hollow Apple Cider Mill located in Stowe, Vermont.

They offer their donuts (their spelling, not mine) in dozen batches and can be shipped anywhere. Circumstances preclude me from immediately ordering my first couple of dozen donuts, but you can be assured, I will faithfully report upon the experience once it has transpired. (Or, are some things best left to memory, like the first girl you had a crush on?)

Check out their website at: http://www.coldhollow.com.

Sadly, I can see my memory had embellished the Rube Goldberg donut machine. It appears thusly,

the best doughnut

2011-07-31T17:11:00.000-07:00

As a result of stern advice from my doctor (not to mention the recent diagnosis of prostate cancer), I have endeavored to lose weight over the past 4 months. Through a regiment of regular cardio, weight training and a strict and reduced caloric intake (documented religiously on a weight-loss app loaded onto my iPod), I have successfully lost somewhere between a fluctuating eighteen to twenty pounds.

During this time, I have only succumbed to one of my favorite guilty pleasures of doughnuts (or donuts), only three times. Fundamentally, there is no good thing health-wise that can be derived from doughnuts. They are essentially ring-shaped carbohydrates that have been fried. (Have you noticed that some of the best tasting things seem to be fried?) However, in spite of the nutritional deficiencies inherent in doughnuts, I would be remiss in not mentioning the pure gastronomic delight derived from these cardiac time bombs. I'm sorry but I cannot help but smile involuntarily upon my first bite into a newly cooked (yes, fried) doughnut. In my mind, doughnuts were the forbidden fruit growing on that tree in the Garden of Eden. It was no apple that Eve proffered Adam. It was a doughnut. It was the doughnut that gave Adam insight into the sins of the world and revealed to him his own nakedness as well as Eve's. But, I digress.

Abstinence often triggers memories of past experiences, and as I reminisce I can vividly recall the best doughnut I ever gobbled down. Flashback to 1996, during our family's three-year stint in Connecticut to support Joni's attendance at Yale Law School. We often tried to take advantage of the surrounding locale to explore an area we had not previously visited. One of our forays took us into Vermont where we toured the headquarters of Ben and Jerry's and visited the lodge of the Von Trapp Family (of Sound of Music fame). It was on our loop homeward that we spotted a barn on the side of the rural Vermont road that advertised "Apple Pie, Apple Cider, Apple Doughnuts" and invited us to "Come On In." There are many apple orchards in New England with structures adjoining the orchards that featured homemade delights made from apples. Honestly, we had not visited one that did not prove to be a joyful discovery. And so, with anticipation, we pulled into the dirt parking lot to visit the barn that housed the bakery and store.

As I crossed the threshold of the open barn door, I was overcome by the smell of apples and cinnamon. In front of me, loomed a Rube Goldberg contraption that occupied the entire central area of the main room. It featured a snake like switchback of conveyer belts, a central housing for the motor that powered the belts and a stream of hot, bubbling oil. At the far end, the conveyer fed O-shaped forms of lightly brown dough that ended in the bubbling stream where the raw doughnuts were delicately plopped. From there, the doughnuts drifted downstream slowly as they cooked. Finally, through with their little swim, the apple-infused doughnuts were picked-up by a final conveyor belt to be deposited into a bin where they were scooped up by the grandfatherly purveyor, put into a sheet of wax paper and placed in my outstretched hands. I could only look down at my hands in silent awe as I felt the warmth of the just cooked doughnuts radiate through the wax paper and the napkins beneath. As I looked up at Grandfather Doughnut, he smiled knowingly as if to say, "Yes, I know, it's a miracle isn't it? Wait until you taste it!"

The interior of that barn and everything else faded into black as my taste buds overwhelmed all other senses. My endorphins obviously exploded as the warm, fresh, apple and cinnamon infused doughnut hit my tongue. The texture was perfect. Crunchy on the outside with a velvety-smooth interior that melted like butter in my mouth. I must have eaten six in a row without pause. I think Marissa and Joni did the same. I had been transformed at that moment to a new level of doughnut spirituality and worship. Ultimately, we returned to our car, clutching another dozen of the doughnuts in a brown paper bag, the oil blotting the exterior as it soaked through. We resumed our trip home as the barn disappeared behind the bends of the road and the hilly green landscape.

I will never be able to return to that barn. I have no memory of what route we took as we returned from our trip to Vermont. It was over fifteen years ago now. Perhaps that orchard no longer exists or it was taken over by somebody else who dismantled that doughnut-making machine. Or, perhaps I'm just being pessimistic. Perhaps it is still there, run by the next generation of a family devoted to the family orchards and business. Whatever the case, I will never forget the best doughnut I ever tasted.

class reunion ruminations

2011-07-19T12:03:00.000-07:00

I’ve recently participated in organizing my 40^th high school reunion. Interestingly, this activity has conjured up many memories of that past life, reviving all of the insecurities, conflicts, crushes and friendships that had overwhelmed me at that time.

I’m sure, as is common, I view myself internally as being much younger than I appear externally. Inside, in large part thrives a young man just stepping into maturity, outside, captured in the harsh reality of a mirror, is the aging man (albeit with a rather bewildered look on his face,) who has weathered many experiences and lessons that sometimes seem too easily forgotten. It is much easier to look outward at my former classmates of the reunion committee than inward to gauge how much progress or wisdom has been accumulated over the years.

I can still envision them all as they appeared in high school. Some have changed more than others. And I remember my encounters with them back then, impressions readily recounted, emotions re-lived - but gone are any harsh judgments or categorizations. Although they are not as attractive (i.e. "youthful") as they were in high school (and I include myself here without hesitation), there is a patina of beauty that surrounds them, borne from their years of struggling, loving, raising children and experiencing all of the triumphs and disappointments that life has to offer. They have all achieved a manner of dignity and grace that makes me want to embrace them and declare, “Look how far we’ve come!” from that same starting point of our humble high school.

death of a sparrow

2011-06-17T19:09:00.000-07:00

This morning as I departed for work I discovered a dead sparrow on my steps. Initially, I thought it was a sad thing, then my mind wandered to the idea of the universality of death and finally, the thought that in some cultures or in other times this may have been taken as an omen of bad things to come. Was this an omen I wondered? I know I have taken comfort in the past at discovering a praying mantis in my yard, actually often perched atop my door way as if monitoring my comings and goings. In the oriental culture, the presence of a praying mantis portends good fortune. No, I decided, the dead sparrow on my steps was not a bad omen. But yes, the praying mantis was a good sign. Basically, I chose to reject the negative notion but accept the favorable one.

I grabbed a shovel to pick up the bird and place it gently into my garbage can. Perhaps I should have buried it in the yard, but the garbage can was a more expedient option and I didn't want Joni to discover the bird for herself for fear that she would find it upsetting. The bird seemed remarkably, silently at rest. I could easily imagine its skittish and rapid movements in life as I have witnessed these birds almost daily throughout the years. I could see the way it would tilt its head from side to side to look at you, how it would hop on the ground and how its wings would flutter just prior to taking flight.

The contrast between this vision of the bird in life and the still body on my shovel was a revelation to me. Earlier this week I had heard a quote by John Muir, "Death is as beautiful as life." That statement has lingered in my mind since that time. There is a truth to it that I hadn't considered before. I had never really thought of death in those terms. And now, before me, lay this fragile little bird, eyes closed in a peaceful, quiet and still oblivion. It was oddly beautiful. We all pass through this world like visitors, vast numbers of us sharing the same time and place on this earth. We overlap. Some of us pass early in our visit, others pass during other times. Some are born during our visit and linger beyond our own time. Everybody who has ever lived on this planet has and will cease to exist in this realm. As a child, death would frighten me. Now, as I grow older, I see it is the way of all things and there is a beauty in the cycle and universality of the process. "Death is as beautiful as life."

Class Reunion

2011-06-09T09:32:00.000-07:00

Sadly, I've reached yet another milestone in my life, the 40th reunion of my graduating high school class. Yes, I'm old. This is a fact not lost on me. Whenever I encounter a former classmate, immediately after our initial surprised greeting, there is a pause, followed by an exasperated and shared simultaneous utterance, "We're old!" (But, I must admit in a vain - and I mean this in both definitions of the word - way, I still look pretty damn good for an old guy!)

Interestingly, nobody in my graduating class, specifically the class officers, wanted to take on the responsibility of organizing a reunion. Former classmates asked me if I had heard anything about an upcoming event. No, I had not nor had they. Ultimately, I decided if nobody was going to do it, then I would rise to the occasion. After all, it is our 40th. I reasoned that this way I would have the power to fashion the event to my "vision" of a successful reunion.

I had participated in the planning of my 30th and part of the criticism of that reunion was attributed directly to my influence. I had been told by somebody in the class before mine that they had held their reunion at our old school. The school provided catering at a reasonable price and he claimed it was a big success affording everybody the opportunity to see the old school, have a nice meal and mingle. I campaigned for our reunion to be held at our school. In short the food was mediocre even for the price, the setting was a little depressing (being held in the cafeteria area where no amount of decorations could enhance the dismal room. True, it was our old school, so what more could you expect by way of a lavish room? Nonetheless . . . ) and overall, perhaps the school was best left in our "enriched" memory rather than presented to us in its stark present-day reality. So perhaps part of my motivation in assuming command of our reunion was as a means of atonement.

Luckily, I had been in discussion with two of my former classmates regarding our reunion. Both were on the 30-year planning committee with me so I was not alone. We reasoned that although we could enlist the aid of others, perhaps it would be better to keep our number small. This would enable us to make decisions swiftly without a large group consensus and we could justifiably organize a simple, uncomplicated reunion that could be executed nimbly since we didn't have much time. After all of these years, you'd think my cynicism would have kicked in to warn me, but almost immediately after announcing that I was taking on the reunion, criticism (and offers to help) ensued. How word of my efforts spread so quickly I'll never know. Classmates emerged from the woodwork. Admittedly, I was offended and angered by the criticism and suggestions from the once silent, non-existent contingent. My initial reaction was to ignore my classmates and proceed accordingly, but later I decided to allow them a forum to provide their input to ultimately diffuse their post-reunion criticisms.

I extended an invitation to all interested parties to meet to discuss their ideas, argue for my original concept and gain some sort of consensus going forward. In the end, nine people attended. At the conclusion of the meeting, my ideas were supported and embraced overall with the added benefit of additional support in implementing the reunion. We will be having a reception at Phillips Gallery in Salt Lake City on a Friday night in August. There will be hors d'oeuvres, drinks and an open bar. My main conceit is that nobody likes a sit-down dinner with an exorbitant price as a venue for a reunion. Primarily, people just want to visit, move about freely and re-connect with old friends. A reception in a nice setting provides just such an opportunity. Classmates need only show-up, pay the admission price and visit to their heart's content.

I did have difficulties during the initial planning session. Everybody wanted to catch-up and as mentioned, some had opposing views regarding the reunion. It was aggravating for me. When I complained to a friend, she asked me why I would volunteer to spearhead the reunion. I wasn't particularly popular. Truth be told, I was pretty much under the radar. I didn't form a lot of friendships and those friendships that I did form have not particularly endured over the years.

I suppose my motivations are numerous. As mentioned above, there is the atonement thing. I feel badly that the main criticism for the last reunion was directly attributable to me. Perhaps another motivation is to attempt a "do-over" of my time in high school. I never felt like I took full advantage of the social and enjoyable possibilities back then, hampered by my massive insecurities and shyness. Perhaps it is a nice distraction from my recent diagnosis of prostate cancer while I decide upon what course of treatment to ultimately undergo. Perhaps it is just the enjoyment of planning a social event. It is oddly stimulating, amusing and fulfilling to me. (Somehow working on the reunion has brought me back to that scrawny, shy high school kid. I LIKE that kid even though he may not have liked himself very much back then. I feel more complete, more whole - myself re-invented. I am the product of all of my experiences and I have re-animated that more vulnerable, insecure part of me that also possessed more hope, more optimism and wonder. I am younger, less cynical, more joyful.)

Whatever the reason for engaging in the planning of my reunion though, I AM having a good time and I'm confident that a good time will be had by all.

conspicuous consumerism: my single-handed attempt to buoy the U.S. economy

2011-06-09T08:01:00.000-07:00

"What do you want for Father's Day?" Joni asked me a few days ago. I'm not sure how this tradition of giving presents to each other on Mother's Day and Father's Day began between us. This ritual continually perplexes me. Joni is not my mother, nor am I her father. Logically, it may have begun when Joni was pregnant with Marissa, our daughter, but I vaguely recall it began earlier than that. Who am I to argue with an opportunity for a gift though? Joni knows I always want SOMETHING and that the path of least resistance is to just ask. We're both much happier that way. I have to interject though that she rarely reciprocates. When I ask her what she wants, she shrugs, "Surprise me," she inevitably responds, which puts tremendous pressure upon me until the ceremonial unwrapping. Usually she's pleased with my efforts, but believe me, if she is not, she cannot disguise her disappointment . . . But I digress.

As always, I make a mental note of our financial circumstances and gauge how much I feel we can afford to spend this time around. Father's Day is a more trivial "holiday" so I never go for the big ticket items. No, such things are best requested around Christmas. But, I always covet items in a broad price range for just such occasions. This year I have opted for a Flash USB Swiss Army Knife. This handy little device sports the small blade, the scissors, the fingernail file, LED flashlight, pen and a USB flash drive (8GB. It also comes in 4GB and 16GB sizes). It comes in around $75 on Amazon.com, my go-to shopping mall in cyberspace.

I recognize that there is something unseemly about my acquisitiveness and believe me, I have tried for many years to curtail it. I was extremely successful when I was laid off from AT&T (after 23 years, but don't get me started!). Necessity is a wonderful motivator. As an example, my doctor recently ordered me to lose weight due to issues that could escalate. Nothing serious, your usual pre-diabetes potential, high blood pressure, elevating cholesterol, etc. Yes, I'm a mess! Thank you very much! Vanity used to serve as a motivator to keep my weight down to some extent, but conspicuous consumption is my disease of choice and it extends into all aspects of my life. So I was losing (which means gaining weight) on that front as well. Now, happily, I am trimmer than I have been in years. Necessity is a cruel but effective master. But again, I digress.

Some years have passed since my layoff from AT&T and we have equalized our income to a relatively stable point (thanks, primarily to Joni. God bless her Yale Law School education). So needless to say, my bad habits have returned. I can attest that my purchases occur less often and at a much scaled-down rate, so I suppose I am making some progress. I recognize I have a problem and they say recognition is the beginning of the road to recovery. I often joke that I am simply trying to do my share to stimulate the U.S. economy through my purchases, but let's face it, I often feel guilty at any indulgences.

The two indulgences I don't regret in my life however (and these are big ones, mind you), are my Audi TT and my Steinway Grand Piano. I have coveted the TT from the moment it was unveiled to the public in 1999. To me, it is the standard of automobile design excellence, maintaining an integrity of design that is evident in every detail down to the door handles. I have the privilege of driving this design masterpiece to and from work every day.

And the Steinway, well it was not my idea to purchase it so I can plead a certain amount of innocence in ultimately becoming a proud owner. Joni had a friend who was encountering some financial setbacks and thus offered her the piano at a very reasonable price. The piano was in desperate need of rehabilitation, but even with those costs factored in, it was a bargain. Just as I smile contentedly driving my TT, so too, do I smile whenever I sit down to play a tune on my piano.

Yes, I have mixed feelings about my capitalistic ways. I suppose I should just get over those feelings of guilt. We spend our money how we choose to spend it. Some opt for drugs, some for lavish homes. Some, many, are not as fortunate. Overall, I guess I should just be thankful that I do have disposable income available. I am grateful that I have a roof over my head, that I don't have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. Yes, there are many people who are far more fortunate than I am, but there are many who are far less fortunate as well. Even more importantly, I have to conclude (as I process this through this writing) we have to be thankful for all of our blessings and not for just the material things. The idea that our possessions can be taken from us in an instant is evident in the news photos of events like the various tsunamis, and tornadoes that have recently transpired. "Things" wear out, are destroyed, become obsolete.

The truly important aspects of our life are not the material objects. They are the relationships we form, the way we live our life, the manner in which we share our journey. I am blessed with a wife who loves me, a beautiful, intelligent daughter, and an overall happy life. The TT and the Steinway are nice little embellishments, but in a fire, they can burn. It would be my wife and daughter I would be saving.

quantum computing: the means to prove "alternate universes"

2011-05-06T14:10:00.000-07:00

In this week's issue of The New Yorker, an article by Rivka Galchen, entitled "Dream Machine," chronicles the theories of David Deutsch, a quantum physicist. Deutsch believes that, and this is important as it lays the foundation of quantum mechanics, "particles can be in two places at once, a quality called superposition; that two particles can be related, or 'entangled,' such that they can instantly coordinate their properties, regardless of their distance in space and time; and that when we look at particles, we unavoidably alter them." Incidentally, Albert "Einstein found entanglement particularly troubling, denigrating it as a 'spooky action at a distance.'"

Bear with me here as I backtrack a little. In 1957, Hugh Everett, another physicist, postulated that "every time there is more than one possible outcome, all of them occur. So if a radioactive atom might or might not decay at any given second, it both does and doesn't; in one universe it does, and in another it doesn't. These small branchings of possibility then ripple out until everything that is possible in fact is. According to Many Worlds (the name given to the alternate universe) theory, instead of a single history there are in-numerable branchings. In one universe your cat has died, in another he hasn't, in a third you died in a sledding accident at age seven and never put your cat in the box in the first place, and so on."

In Many Worlds theory, the strangeness of superposition is simply "the phenomenon of physical variables having different values in different universes." Thus the entanglement (also referred to as superposition) that bothered Einstein, is resolved. Information between two particles separated by space and time "still spreads through direct contact - the 'ordinary' way; it's just we need to adjust to that contact being via the tangencies of abutting universes. As a further bonus, in Many Words theory randomness goes away, too. A ten-percent chance of an atom decaying is not arbitrary at all, but rather refers to the certainty that the atom will decay in ten-percent of the universes branched from that point."

Deutsch postulates that a quantum computer, fundamentally different from the ones we presently employ, could help prove the existence of Many Worlds. "A quantum computer is in many ways like a regular computer, but instead of bits it uses qubits. Each qubit can be zero or one, like a bit, but a qubit can also be zero AND one - the quantum-mechanical quirk known as superposition." "Superposition is like Freud's description of true amblivalence: not feeling unsure, but feeling opposing extremes of conviction at once. And, just as ambivalence holds more information than any single emotion, a qubit holds more information than a bit."

"Entangled particles have a kind of E.S.P.: regardless of distance, they can instantly share information that an observer cannot even perceive is there. Input into a quantum computer can thus be dispersed among entangled qubits, which lets the processing of that information be spread out as well; tell one particle something, and it can instantly spread the word among all the other particles with which it's entangled."

Ultimately, "entangled particles would function as paths of communication among different universes, sharing information and gathering the results. " While it is technically difficult to produce a quantum computer (for reasons too technical for me to even begin to understand, let alone explain), attempts ARE being made. A Yale team has constructed one that is built on a two-qubit architecture. Qubits chips are incredibly difficult to manufacture but once techniques are developed, more and more qubits can be incorporated, ultimately leading to a computer dreamed of by Deutsch. The present computer can calculate with 80% accuracy, which of four randomly dealt cards has the queen. Such is the potential power of a quantum computer.

Personally, without the solid background of quantum physics in my repertoire, I BELIEVE in the Many Worlds theory. Call it intuitive or just a leap of faith, I just KNOW there are infinite possibilities that exist out there and that my multiple selves are pursuing each and every one of them.

the "C" word

2011-04-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

Last month I received the disheartening news that I had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Due to my regular visits to the doctor, thankfully, I am in the very early stages. Statistically this bodes well. Based on a biopsy, my doctor estimates the cancer resides in less than 5% of my prostate, confined presently to one side. It is presumed to be a very slow growing malignancy based upon the degree of cell differentiation (usually a fairly good indicator) identified in my biopsy sample. There is approximately a 20% chance (depending upon the books you read) that the cancer is more pervasive and/or has migrated outside of the prostate, which could be bad. Typically prostate cancer spreads first to the lymph nodes, then to the bones. This is of course the worst case scenario. I'm still in denial so I'm feeling relatively calm about the whole thing, but the full realization is slowly taking hold and thus this post which is allowing me to process all of this information. Thus far my research has pointed to one of two possible options (I've pretty much ruled out any radiation therapy): surgery to remove my prostate (which offers two options of its own) or a strategy called watchful waiting.

The surgical option is fairly straightforward. I can have the doctor cut me open and remove the prostate or he can perform this operation via a robotic arm known as the DaVinci method (a nice sounding name undoubtedly chosen for the implication that it is a combination of science and art). Or instead, I can opt to wait. This option entails monitoring the growth (or lack thereof since it is typically a slow growing cancer) every 3 months via a blood test, augmented by a biopsy at the year mark. The reason to employ the watchful waiting strategy is to forestall surgery until the cancer "needs" to be addressed. Why wait? Well, the possible side-effects of surgery are incontinence and/or impotence, both quality of life issues, BIG quality of life issues for most, if not ALL men, I daresay. HOWEVER, quality of life issues don't count for much if you're dead (really, a minimal prospect at this point).

A number of factors need to be considered in making the decision over which course of action to pursue. Age (and this is a big one for me), the presumed aggressiveness of the cancer, the present (again presumed) extent of the cancer and other mitigating circumstances such as physical health, previous surgical history, etc. If the diagnosed patient is older, say in his 70s or 80s, odds are that other factors will intervene to kill the patient before the prostate cancer does. Plus, at this age, surgery becomes less viable due to the body's diminished ability to recover, etc.

However, if the cancer is diagnosed in a younger man such as myself (well, it's all relative - at my age, I'm on the "younger" side of the spectrum) the prospect of surgery becomes much more viable. It's important to remove the cancer before it has the chance to spread in this instance. Also, a younger man has a better prospect of recovery (especially as it pertains to the potential incontinence complication, and a somewhat positive hopeful outcome with that "other" issue).

At this point, I'm heavily leaning towards the surgical option most likely employing the DaVinci method. I continue to read all of the literature available to me, primarily to educate myself about all of the pros and cons and to equip myself with the knowledge to ask the right questions as I seek the right surgeon for the job. In the meantime, I'm eating better, exercising regularly and working at losing some of my excess weight. All of the books I've read thus far have recommended these steps as an overall strategy to prevent and minimize the risks of cancer. Perhaps with this as a motivation versus the old one of just plain vanity, I can maintain a healthier lifestyle. After all, I do plan on sticking around for a long time.

fireflies

2011-03-29T17:24:00.000-07:00

I had never seen a firefly until I was about thirty years-old. I was in Tennessee to attend the wedding of my brother-in-law and we were having a barbecue in the backyard of a fine Southern home that overlooked a lake. It was dusk when the dancing, magical lights appeared around us, little flickers of light that glowed briefly, disappeared, then reappeared in a delightful display of playfulness inspired by the courtship behavior of these beetle-related insects. It was like a Disney movie come to life. Sadly, more than ten years passed before I was to see them again.

My next encounter with these creatures transpired when we moved to Connecticut for Joni to attend Yale Law School. I had rented a condominium for us in the small blue-collar town of Wallingford, ideally positioned between New Haven, where Yale is located and Farmington, where my new office was based. The condominium complex bordered a golf course that was on the outskirts of the town proper. From the freeway exit, we had to traverse largely undeveloped land to get to our condo. There was a small wooded area where the road bisected a pond filled with peepers and of course, fireflies. At night, the pond area looked as though it had been strung with hundreds of tiny blinking lights. The water of the pond reflected those lights doubling the effect, creating the illusion of floating inside a small universe of animated stars.

Another amazing firefly sighting occurred as we drove to Spartanburg, So. Carolina one night. The fireflies hovered above car level on the unlit freeway. They appeared as streams of light much like the depiction of jumping into hyperspace in the Star Wars movies. Their contrails surrounded us as we sped quietly through the night.

in memories or dreams

2011-03-29T13:33:00.001-07:00

I've had some rare experiences that now remain but are somewhat faded or obscured by my previously mentioned failing memory casting doubts on whether these experiences were really memories or just dreams. One such instance occurred while on a trip in Colorado. Although based in Denver, I recall we had wandered miles from the city to sample some of the more remote outlying areas. It was late in the day and I had a terrible headache. We had miles to go to return to Denver and we were heading through a mountainous area. Joni, my wife, had fallen asleep next to me. The car labored perceptibly as it climbed the ascending grade of the road. A fog had somehow risen almost in perfect rhythm to the setting sun. And then it happened. Suddenly, in the middle of the road was a wild burro. I had to step on the brake and swerve to avoid hitting it. It had just appeared from the swirling fog. I continued down the road, now creeping slowly and there on my left was another, then two. More appeared to my right and I could suddenly see I was amidst a herd of wild burros who stood calmly like statues placed randomly for some kind of quirky exhibition. They were neither disturbed nor remotely interested in the presence of the car moving among them. We could have been invisible to them for the total lack of reaction we elicited. I followed the road as the almost mythical creatures surrounded us in that swatch of billowing fog. And then it was over. I had passed through them and the road began to descend, the fog disappearing slowly as it thinned out into first wisps, then nothing.

Recently I asked Joni if she remembered that incident, but of course she did not. She had remained in a peaceful state of sleep throughout that portion of the drive home. She could not validate whether that magical moment had actually occurred or whether it was just a dream. I'm almost sure it had happened. I would not have dreamed of wild burros appearing in the midst of a mysterious fog on a lonely mountain road in Colorado at dusk. It does not seem like something that my subconscious would ever conjure up . . . or would it?

design - the aston martin one-77

2011-03-08T14:02:00.000-08:00

The limited edition (to 77) Aston Martin One-77. Need I say more?

lost in translation - an update

2011-03-01T11:12:00.000-08:00

I successfully received my Digital Holga from my friend in Japan, one week after the confirmation of shipment notification. The camera is befitting the Digital Holga moniker as it is constructed of cheap plastic and exhibits the same featherweight heft (or lack thereof) of the original Holga. It is much more compact however, and boasts an impressive array of features comparable to most of the digital point and shoots on the market. Primarily, it has the LCD viewing screen on the back with a respectable amount of adjustable settings accessed via the menu function. Regrettably, the image quality is quite good for a plastic lens. Damn technology! Evidently, gone are the days of mediocrity (at least, as far as cheap optics are concerned). Below is the first image taken with the Digital Holga.

Besides adjusting the color rendition (everything seems to have a greenish-cast), the image is pretty much intact. I did create a sepia version of the image which looks pretty nice, but again, the quality is superior to that of a Holga.

The camera thus falls in a perplexing twilight zone between "acceptable quality" digital and "excessively high quality" plastic camera imagery. I'll have to assess how to utilize my new toy to its maximum creative potential. I may either degrade the quality of the image with an application of Vaseline to the lens, which would not be a problem but for the beautiful reddish lens coating that screams "don't mess with me!" or instead, apply some trickery during the post processing stage. I'm leaning towards the former solution. If successful, I'll of course share the resulting images with all of you. After all, there's nothing better than a poor quality image.

faded photographs

2011-02-22T21:34:00.001-08:00

I caught a snippet of an interview with Nora Ephron on NPR recently, discussing her book I Remember Nothing, in which she humorously shared the middle-aged phenomenon of a failing memory. She joked how grateful she was that we had the internet and Google to help us remember things we had forgotten. Don't laugh. I almost had to Google, "Sleepless in Seattle" to recapture Nora Ephron's name for this entry. Thankfully, some of the old synapses are still firing, so I was able to summon her name before heading for the iMac.

I can attest that Nora's experience is not isolated. Many of my friends have lapses during our conversations as they struggle to remember a name, a phrase, whatever. I, too have my lapses and an eavesdropper nearby would laugh at the stuttering silence that punctuates, no dominates many of our exchanges.

This reality was no more evident than during an encounter I had a while ago with an old girlfriend. She held memories of our past that I honestly had no memory of. Either she had fabricated them from a mixture of past events that did not involve me, or worse yet, that DID involve me but had slipped through the ever deteriorating neural net of my aging brain. Facing the choices, regardless of what the truth might be, I prefer to think the fault was hers. "Do you remember when . . . " she began many times during that encounter. I would suppress any outward manifestations of the wince that would invariably accompany this opening phrase. "Yes," I agreed much too quickly, far in advance of the memories she would relate. She would continue with her story, ignoring my ill-timed response. I would listen in horror to yet another unfamiliar story. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed for her or for me. When she completed her latest story, she looked at me expectantly, prompting me for a reassuring response of shared memories. "I remember everything that happened between us." I responded.

communion

2011-02-22T10:18:00.000-08:00

In Austin, Texas, Amy's Ice Cream is the local favorite for enjoying a good old-fashioned ice cream cone, boasting a selection of over 100 flavors. Naturally this was a designated stop in our carefully planned itinerary when we recently visited this city for the first time.

We had arrived at dusk and began our wait in the small line, anxious for a sampling of the local culinary favorite. Behind me was a boy of about 5 or 6 years-old with his father. "Look," the boy said to me as I glanced at him. He proudly held up a twenty-dollar bill that his father had obviously given him to enable the boy to conduct the entire transaction on his own. "Do you have one of these?" He asked me. I produced a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet. "Yes, I have one too!" I exclaimed as I held it out stretched between both hands in the very same prideful way he displayed his. It matched his in its crispness and pristine condition. Two Andrew Jacksons stared warily at each other. He leaned forward to carefully assess my bill. "Hey, I have an idea," I said as I knelt down to face him Mano-a-Mano. "why don't we trade?" He looked pensive for a moment weighing whether this was a good idea or not. He evidently decided it was an acceptable proposition. "OK!" he said nodding. He slowly wrapped his fingers around my bill, allowing me to do the same so we could execute the exchange simultaneously. As we both released our original bills, the boy's father laughed aloud. The boy and I smiled at each other with delight.

As we looked at our newly-acquired bills, we both recognized that something more significant than a mere transaction had just transpired. Monetarily, we had neither lost nor gained anything, but psychologically we had both benefitted. A communion had occurred. We had made a connection, symbolically offering ourselves to each other and accepting this "gift," this token of our commonality and humanity, celebrating the shared experience we had jointly created at that particular time and place . And then, just as quickly as it had happened, the moment passed, and we waved goodbye to each other, licking our ice cream cones as we parted.

lost in translation

2011-02-17T16:46:00.000-08:00

I recently discovered a new website www.thefancy.com. It features products ranging from automobiles to clothing, all selected for their innovative designs and unique esthetics. In short, it is the perfect vehicle to fuel my passion for conspicuous consumerism. Every day I anxiously visit the site to discover what new item I don't necessarily need but must have. I am Imelda Marcos in a shoe store. Thanks to fancy.com I came to realize that I had a long buried desire for watchmaker vials filled with tiny animal bones. And how could I know I wanted a miniature replica of the human heart cast in glass in a tiny bottle had I not seen it on thefancy website?

But, and here's the entree into the crux of this blog, my latest object of desire found on thefancy is a camera dubbed as the "Digital Holga." For those of you unfamiliar with the Holga, it is a plastic camera that replaced yet another plastic camera, famously known as the Diana. These cameras were prized for their mediocrity. Both sported plastic lenses that produced inferior images due to the poor optical quality of plastic versus glass. Both were notorious for their light leaks, often causing unwanted and unpredictable streaks of light across the final photographic images. Plastic cameras enjoyed (and still do) a cult following. The theory of shooting with a plastic camera is that any photographer can take exceptional photos with today's cameras.

Technologically, these cameras are capable of focusing and calculating the proper exposure settings (even recognizing when a person is smiling to trigger the shutter at that precise moment) for the photographer, essentially requiring him or her to simply point and shoot. Is it any wonder then, that the proliferation of images on the web on sites like Flickr continues to flourish exponentially? And, as a self-proclaimed discerning photographer, most of these images are "commonplace" lacking any artistic merit. But I digress.

The challenge and allure of plastic cameras is that only very skilled photographers can produce spectacular results with these crude and unpredictable tools. The concept is that abandoning a certain amount of control to the happenstance nature of cheap plastic cameras and concentrating on composition and the choice of subject matter is what distinguishes the true photographic artist from the rest of the pack. With today's digital technology and the gradual demise of film, many photographers have hoped for a digital alternative to the plastic cameras. As a result, a market for odd products targeted at this niche has emerged. Plastic lenses are now available to mount on digital SLRs as are specially constructed lenses like the Lensbaby, to produce out-of-focus, dream-like images that closely replicate the images of plastic cameras.

And thus my latest thefancy.com find. A camera produced under the Yashica name (an established brand-name that was abandoned when the company shut down, but was recently resurrected by another company that essentially bought the name) has recently been dubbed the "Digital Holga." The camera boasts a plastic lens and a plastic body like the Holga, while incorporating digital technology. Also, similar to the Holga, it offers a limited focus range, allowing you to set the lens to close-up or normal. But, sadly, it does not produce images akin to the Holga (which even though mediocre, was also a disappointment to me over the Diana as it produced relatively sharp photos, requiring an occasional smear of Vaseline in the lens to degrade its optical qualities).

The Yashica appears to produce better images than the Holga in spite of its plastic lens. The contrast is good (which is bad), the resolution is respectable (5 megapixels, which admittedly is small compared to the latest batch of digital point and shoots, but hey, the iPhone 4 is currently a 5 megapixel camera) and the build of the camera, though plastic appears to be relatively solid. So why my desire to possess this baby? It LOOKS like cameras produced in the 1960s and 70s (a la the Canon Canonet featured in John Water's move "Pecker," and yes, I have not one but three of these).

Specifically, it has an optical viewfinder, you know, those little windows you used to look through to take a photo versus the screens on the back. It is relatively compact and it does seem to lack a lot of the sophistication of today's cameras. At a cost of $75, with an insatiable desire to augment my already too large collection, I simply had to have it. Complicating matters however, is the fact that this camera is only available for purchase in Japan. Thanks to the power of Google though, this is an obstacle easily overcome.

I located a vendor that sells the camera, ordered it via the website and anxiously awaited my order confirmation and shipping confirmation. Interestingly, I thought all Japanese citizens had adopted English as their second language. This is not the case. Following is my e-mail correspondence with the store owner in Japan:

Thank you indeed for using our shop at this time. Because the carriage was paid, I will report the product ordered though much more rough price. Please continue your favors toward "order continuance" and reported externals when the carriage is confirmed and consented though is time. Whether sending out is possible by our shop on that will be examined and I will obtain it from the manufacturer. Please let me cancel the order when indeed I am sorry, there is no report. Until February 15.

My response:

I'm sorry. I don't understand. You must check with the manufacturer to see if it is available? Are you saying if it is not, you will cancel the order? Is the price firm or are you saying it is an estimate at this time? And what happens on February 15th? Thank you for contacting me. Is there anything I can do to make our e-mails easier for both of us to understand?

His response:

Having reported becomes the following content. Confirmation of carriage. Please contact me, saying that "Approval" when you can get to acknowledgement.

My response: OK. I will send approval when I receive the acknowledgement. I assume the acknowledgement will be via e-mail through the confirmation message.

So, I THINK I'm getting the camera sometime soon. It remains to be seen. I later discovered I could have ordered the camera through Amazon.com of Japan, which would have been much easier overall as I assume somebody with a command of the English language would have contacted me with the necessary details, etc. But, in retrospect, where is the fun in that? I figure if I DO receive the camera, I'll have earned it in way that goes beyond just charging it to my credit card. I've now had the opportunity to attempt to communicate with a man from my ancestral homeland with one of the most fundamental of interactions, the business transaction. Perhaps when I receive my camera, I can send him a thank you, encourage continued dialogue and who knows, maybe we can even become penpals?

joan

2011-01-26T09:43:00.000-08:00

My mother-in-law cried the first time she met me. As I extended my hand to shake hers, she dropped her head into her cupped hands and cried. I had started to say, “It’s nice to . . .” but didn’t bother to finish my salutation at her reaction. Honestly, my first inclination in response to this behavior was to laugh, but I suppressed it in view of her obvious pain. Why did she react this way? Simply put, my mother-in-law is a bigot. She threatened to disown my wife upon hearing that I was of Japanese descent. She ranted that while she would welcome my wife’s visits to her home at any time, she would not allow me in the house. She would not share any of her prized recipes with my wife because she did not want me eating her favorite foods. Nobody would sell us a house because of our “mixed-marriage” status. Our only option would be to move to Hawaii, the ONLY place we could buy a home. Our marriage would ultimately end in failure due to our cultural differences. (Mind you, my family had been true-blood American for three generations) She continued that after all, the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, further validation of our duplicitous and evil ways. We were obviously a race undeserving of trust or consideration.

Yet, I love my mother-in-law. I’m not being facetious or ironic here. Over the years, I’ve come to understand her and in some ways, respect her. While she is horribly racist (she voted for a Republican presidential candidate for the first time in her life because President Obama is black), she is unashamedly open about it. (Contrast that to my father-in-law, who feels the same way, but knows it is politically incorrect to openly state this.) Yes, it is appalling, but as Joni (bless her heart, she married me in spite of all the protestations and rantings of her parents) has often stated, no arguments or rational discourse will ever change that. She will go to her grave clutching her beliefs steadfastly to her heart. My mother-in-law is, like all of us, multi-layered. We all have our own flaws, our own demons, but we also share the need to be respected and loved (ideally unconditionally).

Since our marriage, my mother-in-law has gone on to alienate the spouses of all of her other six children and indeed, some of her own children along the way. She called the wife of one of her sons a “hoar” (we presume she meant “whore”) in a letter she wrote to that daughter-in-law. She directly accused one of her granddaughters of being a thief and a liar on the telephone when one of my mother-in-law’s possessions in her Park City condo went missing immediately after a visit by that branch of our family. Such stories continue to circulate and are recounted many times whenever any of us congregate.

But, my mother-in-law is in the twilight of her years. She recently told me she did not anticipate being around for another year, a statement that surprised and saddened me. She is in a combative relationship with her husband who holds little sympathy for her failing health and treats her with open disdain. This has gone on since and even before that memorable first encounter I had with her in the Denver Stapleton Airport. She seems largely ignored by her own children who all live conveniently in other states, except one who is kept busy and inattentive by the demands of his own business. She is in constant pain, has little mobility and has become increasingly dependent upon her husband in the isolation of their Colorado environs. She is lonely, isolated and unable to enjoy what few pleasures are left, in particular, her fondness for good food as it has become next to impossible for her to cook. Hence the bridge that has allowed us to form our special mother-in-law/son-in-law bond.

I KNOW she enjoys her food. She is a discerning judge of what is good and what is not. She has become the external validation to my escalating passion for preparing and experimenting with food. As I’ve mentioned before, for me, preparing food for somebody is the ultimate expression of love and friendship. You are nurturing and caring for somebody in the most fundamental way, by feeding them. At the completion of a meal, I anxiously await her pronouncement of the success or failure of my efforts. Typically, I don’t have to wait for this ultimate assessment as it becomes obvious at her first few bites of each dish. She will smile involuntarily as she looks down at the dish in front of her if it is an unabashed success. She will frown if it is not. If it is especially good, she cannot help but utter, “Delicious!” in an enthusiastic voice. Lately, she has offered only praise, but it seems more tempered. Joni suggests that the quality of my cooking has improved to the point that “delicious” is the norm and my mother-in-law has become accustomed to this level of preparation. I’m not sure that this is accurate, but if it is, I still hang on for the “delicious” pronouncement which seems to occur with less frequency (even though I’ve taken to impressing myself a lot lately with the quality of my dishes).

I can tell you though, that upon departing from one of our meals, my mother-in-law often tears up and hugs me with some statement like, “You’re a good man.” This is not to be taken lightly. She has not manifested similar behavior with any of the other in-laws. After that day in the airport so many years ago, I have elevated myself to the unrivalled status of favorite in-law, in spite of my racial roots. I like that. I’m happy to be accorded this status. I care about this woman and worry about her welfare. I hope she does not leave this world with sadness or isolation. I hope she is wrong and that this will not be her last year here. I want to cook her yet another Thanksgiving dinner, which is easily her favorite meal each year. For many years now, Thanksgiving is a given between us. She has an open invitation to come to Salt Lake City to share in this family tradition. I can honestly say, Thanksgiving would not be the same without her presence. Oh, and did I mention that each year, our Thanksgiving dinner consists of food prepared according to her most prized recipes?

in the comfort of a Christmas Tree

2011-01-05T13:26:00.000-08:00

Today I had lunch with a friend I had lost contact with. He had just been laid off ("surplused" is the corporate term) from his job of 15 years. He was given ample warning to enable him to use the company's resources to seek another job within the corporate ranks or if necessary, elsewhere. During this process, he was diagnosed with cancer. Luckily, it was diagnosed at Stage 1. He was given several options, but his best choice was to undergo surgery to have the cancerous area removed. He opted for the surgery in November and has since recovered and is now fine. (A side note, he recovered in time to work for two weeks before he was forced out the doors.) As he recounted this experience with me, I asked him casually if he had gained a new perspective on life. In response, he began crying. I felt horrible, but he told me the entire experience was still a little close to him. He told me he cried when he and his partner were taking down their Christmas tree a few days ago. His partner was surprised by his outburst of emotion and asked him what was WRONG with him. My friend responded, "While I was recovering, I spent a lot of time lying on the couch watching Judge Judy and staring at that Christmas Tree. That tree with all of its ornaments and twinkling lights gave me solace and comfort. To dismantle it makes me very sad."

new year's resolutions - 2011

2011-01-04T15:36:00.001-08:00

Damn! See "new year's resolutions" January 2010.

sweet dreams and flying machines

2010-12-24T11:09:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-23T12:48:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-16T14:20:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-16T10:30:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-11T17:30:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-04T11:24:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-24T15:03:00.001-07:00

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

2010-10-19T13:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-13T10:49:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-03T12:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-12T15:42:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-24T11:32:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-20T15:37:00.001-07:00

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

2010-08-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-22T12:10:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-14T09:01:00.000-07:00

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 . . .

2010-07-06T15:03:00.001-07:00

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

2010-07-02T13:29:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-26T22:48:00.001-07:00

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

2010-06-17T09:55:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-08T14:17:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-27T16:30:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-25T15:49:00.001-07:00

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

2010-05-25T14:10:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-21T08:10:00.001-07:00

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

2010-05-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-27T15:19:00.001-07:00

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 . . .

2010-04-26T09:46:00.000-07:00

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?

favorite image

2010-04-07T15:47:00.000-07:00

I've been extensively experimenting (as much as is possible with only 16 available images) with the new PX100 film. The most surprising finding is that I can "pull" images out of overexposed frames. To the naked eye, the overexposed images appear very bleached out with little hope for anything salvagable. However, when I play with the levels control in Photoshop, an amazing amount of detail emerges as the light brown tonality shifts to sienna. On the negative side, pools of swirling rainbows (like oil drops on water) also emerge during the process. I'm sure this is attributable to the "petroleum-like" surface coating the film emulsion. Under normal conditions, the scanner does not reveal the refraction generated by the coating. It is only when the contrast is increased dramatically do these pools appear. The net of all of this is that I had to perform a fair amount of manipulation to eliminate these unslightly blemishes from the final image. As you can see from the image above however, it is well worth the effort. I consider this one of my best images thus far, even if it was a happy accident. My first order of film has now been depleted. Although I love the qualities of this film, the high cost makes me somewhat reticent to order my second shipment. How soon before I order the next batch will be entirely up to my virtually non-existent sense of self-discipline. It is after all about the pursuit of my art . . .

impossible project images

2010-04-06T16:32:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in the previous post, I promised I would share some of my images taken with the new PX100 film developed (no pun intended) by the Impossible Project. Technically, it's really kind of a crummy film. There's a definite lack of contrast and resolution to the film and the black and white rendition is more like black and cream. Artistically though, it's a fun film to shoot with. As in anything, the best results are achieved by capitalizing upon the strengths (or in this case, the weaknesses) of the film. There is a very "quiet" dream-like quality to the images. I have yet to try some of the "odd" manipulations of the original SX70 film (such as subjecting it to boiling hot water, then dipping it into an ice-water bath to separate the emulsion from the backing or separating out the backing and scratching the emulsion with steel wool, etc.), but stay tuned. I may resort to some of this experimentation after I'm suitably satisfied with mastering the basic photographic qualities of the film. At $3.25 a shot, one is reticent to do anything that might jeopardize a successful outcome (based upon the purchase price of two packs of film at $21 each with the addition of an $11 shipping charge. And the price of the film will be going up shortly)! Still, fans of the endeavor undertaken by the Impossible Project to create a new medium of expression utilizing our old SX70 cameras can't help but invest in order to keep the "dream" alive. I hope you like the images.

impossible project

2010-03-24T18:25:00.000-07:00

In January of 2009, I posted a blog about the demise of Polaroid film. Briefly, Polaroid had decided to discontinue its entire line of film to pursue the burgeoning digital imagery market. While I suppose they cannot be faulted for attempting to remain financially viable, this decision deprived photographers of a wonderful medium that offered many creative possibilities. Visit my January 2009 post to see some examples

Needless to say, when Polaroid announced the discontinuance of its film line (complete with a detailed product-specific timeline), many photographers purchased large batches of Polaroid film. Today, it is still possible to find certain types of Polaroid film on eBay and through other outlets on the internet, but I suspect their inventories will soon be depleted.

Enter Impossible Project. Impossible Project began (the story goes) when its founder, Florian Kaps, was drinking beer with a manager of a Polaroid factory that had just been shut down. The factory's inventory of $130 million in Polaroid film production machines was scheduled for destruction in two days. Kaps, an admirer of Polaroid film, sought to do what seemed impossible -- "rally a group of disgruntled factory workers to re-invent a nearly destroyed technology and bring Polaroid's instant film business back from the grave. To this end, Kaps and his Impossible Project have been improbably successful." (quoting from an article from Dailyfinance.com by Sarah Gilbert) This was an almost impossible project. When you consider all that goes into such an undertaking - the negotiations with Polaroid, finding sources of funding for such an improbable venture, re-engineering the film production (not to mention a re-design of the film technology itself), etc. - it is quite a remarkable achievement. Sale of the first new product PX100 commences today (March 25th). The film is designed for Polaroid SX-70 cameras of which sources claim, millions still exit. (Actually, the number was 300 million, but it seems so high I truly wonder if this could be right). I, myself, have three of these cameras.

The images I've seen taken with this new film are breathtaking. Although PX100 is a black-and-white film, the resulting images are rendered in slightly cream to sepia tones. Several factors can affect the results: temperature (the colder temps "bleach" the images making them whiter, the hotter temps increase contrast and change the tonality to a dark orange-brown color), exposure to light during the development process and its senstivity to pressure (which imparts a texture). Undoubtedly, photographers will explore all of these to their creative best.

A gallery of images can be seen at: http://www.the-impossible project.com/projects/collection/px100

As you can imagine, I'm excited at getting my hands on some of this film stock shortly. Again, stay tuned, I hope to have some examples available soon.

frogs' legs

2010-03-22T12:29:00.000-07:00

An article about the delicacy of frogs' legs appeared in one of my "foodie" magazines this month. I must admit I've NEVER consumed frogs' legs in my life (as the opportunities at even some of the most expensive restaurants I've visited seem limited in this regard). However, after reading the article, I'm prepared to order it any time the opportunity now presents itself.

I remember my first experience with escargots when I was in college. It was at a little, now defunct, French restaurant known as Le Parisienne. This was a very well-established restaurant here in Salt Lake City and helped introduce me to a number of culinary delights that up-to-that point in my life, I hadn't sampled. My first chocolate mousse was devoured with delight there as was my first Dover Sole. The Dover Sole was and continues to be one of my most vivid memories of a dish that utterly overwhelmed me. As you may recall from the film "Julie and Julia," this was the dish that awakened Julia Child's world to the possibilities of French cuisine. The escargot, incidentally, was a revelation. So, it does not surprise me that frogs' legs (which I now seem to recall were offered at Le Parisienne) have been a favored dish for thousands of years spanning the globe.

Archaeologically, fossils from the Neolithic Age suggest we've been eating frogs for more than 5,000 years. They are ingredients in stews, soups, stir-fried with lemongrass, deep-fried, and simmered with chilies, cilantro and garlic ranging from Indonesia to Mexico to the United States (where you can evidently buy them deep-fried at Nathan's hot dog stand on Coney Island).

But, nowhere in the world have frogs' legs been so revered and appreciated as they have been in France. This predominant cuisine was so widespread, it earned the French the nickname of "Frogs" back in the 16th century. The frogs of France belong to the species Rana esculenta. They are spotted green frogs that populate Europe's fenlands. Today, not only does France supply frogs' legs to the world, but other countries have joined in including, Vietnam, Bangladesh, Indonesia and China. These frogs belong to the species Rana tigrina and are essentially known as the Indian Bullfrog. The Asian suppliers farm-raise their bullfrogs, feeding them a diet of fly meal (Yum!). Arguably, the United States is better than both varieties and is much larger. Weighing in at as much as one-and-half pounds, the American Bullfrog can reach a length of eight inches. They devour bugs, fish, snakes and even small birds! (USA! USA!).

The author of the article begins by relating a bullfrog hunting expedition he joins in New Orleans with one of his chef friends. They embark on there camouflaged pontoons, armed with nets, flashlights and coolers of beer at sunset. Ultimately, they bag their prey, a "croaker sack" they call their spoils, the hunters wet and caked with river mud. The chef starts a fire and then coats the frogs' legs with buttermilk, dusts them with a cayenne-seasoned flour and throws them into a vat of boiling peanut oil. The author reports that "the meat was a little chewy, and closer in taste to fish than fowl, with a subtly pungent note that called mind the frogs' marshy home."

Bon appetit!

rangefinder cameras - a brief history

2010-03-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

I need to forewarn those of you who are not photography afficienados you need not read any further. I hope to spare you the tedium of investing your time in something that only dedicated photographer geeks would relish. And so I begin.

I just ordered myself a new Panasonic GF1 camera. My recently departed aunt left me some inheritance money. As I've mentioned in an earlier post, we were estranged. As a gesture of reconciliation, I let her buy me a nice gift post mortem (which probably reveals much more of my character flaws than any past "wrongs" inflicted upon me by my aunt. But, as always, I digress . . .)

Technology is the blessing and curse of today's consumer. No matter what and when you buy you can be sure that something better and (most likely) less expensive is just around the corner. I recently visited Pictureline, the camera store, to assess potential further purchases and asked Marcus, one of the salesmen there, which storage device he'd recommend to back up my Mac hard drive. He recommended a LaCie 500 Gig unit which he lamented he had purchased for $200 not long ago but that now goes for $139. This is typical of all things electronic. In essence such a purchase decision should be based upon what level of technology you are willing to settle for at any particular point in time and the immediate (and long-term) prospect of living with it for a while before the next "best thing" and subsequent dissatisfaction sets in. That said, I determined I was ready to leap into the Panasonic purchase.

Here's where I get into the geeky part. If you've persisted in reading beyond my initial warning, this would be another good point for you to depart dear reader. There are many reasons why I chose my latest purchase, but the overriding one is that the GF1 hearkens back to the classic rangefinder cameras. Rangefinder cameras gained widespread popularity during the 1940s and 50s when Leica began manufacturing their M series. The main reason for their success at this point was their capability of accepting interchangeable lenses The popularity of these cameras were somewhat diminished by the advent of the single-lens-reflex camera.

The new SLRs offered a primary advantage over the rangefinder cameras by allowing the photographer the ability to compose through the actual lens that was taking the picture.

A rangefinder only offered a "window" viewfinder built into the body. Although you focused through a rangefinder's viewfinder (through clever engineering) and could determine the angle of view of the different lenses (often through etched lines in the viewfinder glass), you were still not seeing exactly what would be recorded on film.

While both types of cameras offered their own advantages, the primary advantages of the rangefinder cameras were their compact size and their quiet operation. They were embraced largely for their discrete ability to go unnoticed when shooting candids or shooting in a quiet environment. This is because they did not incorporate a mirror that needed to move up and down (and thus the characteristic "slapping" sound, which is amusingly replicated in digital cameras that do not incorporate such mirrors) during an exposure like the SLRs. Surprisingly, rangefinder fans LIKED the fact that you did not see the exact scene that was recorded on film. The viewfinder was likened to a window, where you could see outside the periphery of the film frame. Thus you could see your subject approaching the center of the frame or monitor action that was not necessarily "targeted" for your final shot. Additionally, at the crucial moment of exposure, you did not experience the blackout of an SLR as the mirror flipped up to allow the film to be exposed.

After I owned a number of different SLRs, Contax developed a wonderful rangefinder camera, the G1. It differed from past rangefinder cameras by offering autofocus capabilities. Also, the Contax was elegantly designed, made of titanium with superbly placed controls and a wonderful integrated handgrip. If you know me, a product not only has to perform well, it must be aesthetically pleasing as well. This camera fit the bill. It is one of my all time favorites, and believe me, I have owned (and still do) a large number of cameras.

Interestingly, with the advent of digital cameras, in a sense, all digital cameras have become SLRs in that they offer a through-the-lens look via their digital screens. Technically, true SLRs offer a real-time, non-electronic view through the lens, but this distinction becomes blurred when the truly important factor is being able to record EXACTLY what you see. Digital SLRs up until recently, allowed photographers to see through the lens in the traditional way utilizing a mirror pentaprism like their film predecessors. Now, for those photographers who have become accustomed to viewing through a display screen on the back, a new technology called Live View has been incorporated to give them this capability. The reason point-and-shoots began with this capability and it was only recently developed in DSLRs is due primarily to the engineering architecture and sensors utilized in these cameras. I'll spare you further details about this point, but thought it important to at least mention there is a distinction. Didn't I promise you more than you wanted to know?

The latest development in digital photography is a new micro four-thirds standard developed by a small consortium of camera manufacturers, primarily Olympus and Panasonic. This standard is placed squarely between the DSLR cameras and the digital point-and-shoots. The most important factor about micro 4/3rds is that the image sensor utilized, falls in between the two aforementioned formats. The final quality of a digital image is totally dependent upon the image sensor utilized. Briefly, the larger the sensor, the better the quality of the image. A direct comparison of a 12-megapixel image shot by a DSLR versus a 12-megapixel image shot by a digital point-and-shoot is very revealing. The primary difference is the "noise" generated in a point-and-shoot.

Noise appears as multi-colored dots in large blocks of solid colors on a digital image. It becomes readily apparent in low-light situations when you crank up your ISO (translated: light sensitivity) to shoot photos without flash. It is roughly equivalent to "grain" with traditional film. The higher the light sensitivity of film, the more "grain" you will see in your final print. Since the image sensor in a digital point-and-shoot is so much smaller than that of a DSLR, the individual photo-diodes on a sensor have to be packed more tightly. Packing these photo-diodes together in this manner hinders the light reflected off of a subject from being seen or "absorbed." Larger sensors (and thus larger photo diodes) can see the light more readily, reducing the "noise" of a low-light digital image. If you've been following the specifications of digital cameras (and if you have, congratulations, you ARE a geek), you've probably noticed that at one-time the number of megapixels seemed to increase with each new model year. This trend has recently reversed as camera manufacturers have re-thought their strategy on delivering higher quality images in their cameras. Now, many are scaling back their megapixel count and developing larger sensors. Thus the advent of the micro 4/3rds standard. (Now I'm starting to bore even myself.)

So, to return to my purchase choice, the Panasonic Lumix DMC-GF1.
It is actually, a very high end digital point-and-shoot with a full array of features found on DSLRs. The technology is a synthesis of DSLRs and digital point-and-shoots. It does not incorporate the mirror mechanism of DSLRs (and thus it's resemblance to a rangefinder camera) but attempts to provide the quality of the DSLRs with its larger sensor. Unlike the point-and-shoots, it is designed to accept interchangeable lenses. And like the rangefinder cameras of old, the GF1 is more compact than its DSLR counterparts. It even accepts Leica lenses with the use of an adapter! So why this long explanation? I suppose as in any purchase, it helps to process through the factors involved in a buying decision. More importantly though, the prospect of utilizing a camera that is a new incarnation of the rangefinder design (in reality in its appearance and compact size more than in its function), has me excited to capture photographic images once more. In reading all of the reviews, a large number of reviewers actually ended up purchasing the GF1, something that is atypical of a group of people who assess many, many cameras each year. This in itself, is quite a testimonial about the camera. It was evidently so impressive and so much fun to shoot with, the critics shelled out their own hard-earned money to possess one.

I remember some years ago, Dennis Hopper (yes, the Easy Rider star), a passionate photographer himself, re-invigorated his photography when he purchased a Nikon 35Ti (a small, but very high quality fixed-lens rangefinder camera).

Like Dennis Hopper, I'm counting on the GF1 to re-invigorate my abandoned pursuit of creativity in this venue. Hopefully, I'll have some worthwhile images to share shortly.

a reconciliation of sorts between first cousins

2010-03-08T22:16:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I lost two aunts, one the younger sister of my mother, the other the older sister. They both died within 6 days of each other. The younger aunt divided her assets between my cousin and me. It was Alan, my cousin, who called me while I was on a trip to Kansas City to inform me of our aunt's passing. (Shockingly, he did not call me when his own mother died. I found this out on my own, upon my return to Salt Lake as I looked in the paper for my younger aunt's obituary)

Here's where it gets a little more interesting: Alan's father was my father's older brother. And, as mentioned, Alan's mother was my mother's older sister. In other words, two brothers married two sisters and both married couples had only one son apiece, born within 8 months of one another. I'm the older cousin.

You'd think we'd be very close and as children, we saw each other frequently and spent a lot of time together. Both sets of parents would borrow the other cousin to bring along on family trips, many of which I remember fondly. I got the better end of the deal since Alan's parents were far more lucrative than mine. And we WERE relatively close. At some point though things changed. I attribute this to our mothers playing us against each other in such a way as to instill competitiveness or resentment. "Well, you know, Alan cleans up his room every day." or "Stephen won an award in his math class." (Actually, I'm not sure what really happened. I think we just got older and developed our own sets of friends from our respective schools, but I do think a certain amount of competitiveness existed.)

But again, I digress. Our aunt charged Alan as executor of her will. I had been estranged from that aunt for a number of years, just as I was estranged from Alan's mother and Alan himself (although not as consciously as with my aunts). As a result of our shared estate, I have been more in contact with my cousin in the last few weeks than I have been since elementary school.

I kind of like it. He's really my only living relative (other than my wife and daughter of course). He calls at least once or twice a week to discuss matters of our aunt's estate. The last time he called, I happened to remember it was his birthday that day and wished him a happy birthday. He shrugged it off but I was rather proud of myself for remembering. I suspect sometimes he likes the contact too although he never betrays this sentiment during our conversations. At least we have an excuse to talk to each other. Interestingly, I've noticed subtle cues about our similarities as we talk.

For instance, I've gleaned over the years that Alan has many friends. He is very loyal and devoted to them. I always sought friendship. I thought I had many friends, but the truth of the matter is that many have moved to distant locations and really, I can count on one hand the people I can now truly classify as friends. Alan, however, has a much larger contingent. (There's my innate competitiveness kicking in again!) In any event, I believe that as only children we were highly motivated to connect with others to a larger extent than people who were raised with siblings.

Also, he's a complainer. I think it's very amusing. His mother was a complainer. My mother was a complainer. I'm a complainer. I'm gaining some insights into my own character as I observe him and the things that bother him or please him. His responses are similar to mine. Through all of the years, both of us remain products of our upbringing, which after all, is not all that different. His father was my father's brother. His mother was my mother's sister. We share DNA in a way most cousins don't. And, as mentioned earlier, we are the only family we have left.

My wife has suggested I invite Alan to have lunch with me once in a while. I'm not sure either of us are really ready for that, but I haven't discounted it totally. I'm not sure what direction our conversations would take without the necessary interactions regarding the execution of the estate, but I'm sure it would be awkward. It's been so many years.

So, for the time being, I await his next call and the opportunity to talk for a brief moment even if it is only to decide what to do with the studded snow tires in storage.

digital/analog

2010-02-17T15:09:00.000-08:00

Every year, Outside magazine features an article on “perfect things.” In the past the magazine has focused on specific products but this year expanded its list to encompass an array of more general items. As an example, “empty trail heads” is one of the 51 perfect things mentioned. Another item, number 4 on their list was “film cameras” which Outside magazine justifies thusly: “(Film cameras) instantly take you back to a time when each snap mattered, when you were more thoughtful, more deliberate, more discriminating – the way a good photographer should be.”

This reminded me of my own renewed experience with my film camera. A few years ago, my co-worker, Adrienne, asked me to shoot photos of her and her then fiance for her wedding announcement. I came armed with my digital SLR and my older film SLR as a back-up. I did not come with a set of back-up batteries for my digital SLR however, and was forced to revert to the film camera when the batteries in the DSLR became depleted.

Two things quickly became evident upon the switch: I had lost my confidence in my photographic ability without the immediate feedback of the digital image, and the feel of a traditional camera – the motor as it advanced the film, the distinctive “click” as the shutter curtain completed its path across the film plane, the solid tactile properties of the internal mechanics – was a thing of beauty I had forgotten. Another revelation: once I had reviewed the processed film, the inherent difference in a traditional photographic image versus a digital image became evident.

The film images had a warmer, smoother and more natural quality. The dynamic range captured by film is infinitely superior to that of digital, resulting in a richer, more detailed image (see above image, an outtake from that shoot). How is it I could have forgotten this so quickly? Essentially, I had become addicted to the immediacy of digital images over the quality of film. The instant gratification factor of digital is responsible for fueling the migration to digital and why film cameras are rapidly becoming the latest dinosaurs in the realm of technology.

As with any advance, certain attributes seem to be sacrificed to others. In most cases I suppose, the attributes sacrificed are acceptable trade-offs to the advantages gained. There are some older technologies like film, that make me wonder however.

As I've migrated from the older analog television (yes, yes, I know. As I've stated earlier, when it comes to making some expenditures, I'm very, very cheap)to the newer digital sets for example, I KNOW that I would prefer to receive a snowy analog signal over the stutter and pixellated breakup of a digital one. And what about the smooth fast forward and rewind images of a good old VHS tape versus the variable stutter of a DVD? Am I sounding like an old man reluctant to embrace the advances of a brave new world? Perhaps, but in my book, just because it’s digital doesn’t mean it’s better.

a lesson learned from chocolate

2010-02-17T09:34:00.000-08:00

I have a friend who recently presented me with a small gift of Godiva Chocoiste (dark chocolate pearls with mint). Immediately after opening the impressive tin container, I popped one of the pearls into my mouth and in my characteristic way devoured the little sphere of delight in seconds. My friend, in keeping with her joie de vivre, instructed me that this was in fact, NOT the way to enjoy this treat. (I suspect "vulgar" may have crossed her mind as she watched me crunch happily on the piece of chocolate.) No, the little pearls of Chocoiste need to be SAVORED. They need to be nestled on one's tongue where they can languorously dissolve into a creamy, silky liquid that bathes the taste buds in a slow but steady stream of goodness (the endorphins bursting forth) that only chocolate can deliver.

Now, each time I reward myself with this treat, I try to dutifully observe this ritual of enjoyment. There is something to be said for savoring things and maximizing and prolonging the full sensual experience they afford. In general, life offers us a full array of experiences and events that should be savored. We all need to check ourselves and the pace of our lives and live more in the moment (which I realize is a tired and overused phrase, but hopefully you'll forgive me for want of a better one). Otherwise, too many wonderful occurrences will pass without being fully appreciated. We will miss the small pearls of joy that we encounter. Like those pearls of delicious dark chocolate from Godiva, we should try to let them last as long as possible.

Martin Scorsese

2010-02-12T09:43:00.000-08:00

Terrence Rafferty of the NY Times just reviewed "Shutter Island," Martin Scorsese's latest film. As you may be aware, my brief encounter with Mr. Scorsese (note my tone of respect and awe here) in an elevator of the Waldorf Astoria, his present place of residence, was one of the highlights of my life. I had a similar encounter with Stephen Hawking once, which was also thrilling, but I digress . . .

In the review, the author describes the gifted director:

"His dress is age appropriate: dignified (neutral-color sport coat, good shoes) but casual (no tie). His rapid-fire, unmistakenly New York conversational style is slightly less manic than it once was, a tad more patient: his characteristic manner now is one of affable enthusiasm, like a hip priest."

Take my word for it, that's EXACTLY what Martin Scorsese is, a hip priest.

bad dreams

2010-01-27T09:08:00.000-08:00

I had a recurring dream that haunted me frequently. In it, I am walking on the embankment of a river at night. As I’m walking, I look into the river and can discern forms moving under the surface. The forms become clearer the longer I look. The river is teeming with life and I am amazed by the size and quantity of marine life present. Much larger forms move into view, startling for their size. They are almost frightening. They move slowly, menacingly. Then the shark forms appear. They move swiftly, purposefully among the other forms. They are indeed frightening and I can feel the quickening of my pulse as I sense their power. They are aware of my presence. They are waiting patiently for a misstep on my part that would send me into those waters. Even though I am safely on land, they still pose a very real threat. I back away from the river into the road, watching the dark silhouettes of their form circling and moving.

After a time, the dream evolved. I am in the same place at night, only it begins to rain and the shadows in the river have transitioned from sharks into alligators. Every other component of the dream is similar, only this time as I back away from the river, alligators of varying sizes prowl the road. They are not fully aware of my presence in the darkness. The pouring rain seems to obscure their senses but it is only a matter of time. I stand frozen contemplating my next move . . .

I “likes” my nightmares, although they have abated.

adrenaline rushes - the good, the bad and the ugly

2010-01-15T15:00:00.001-08:00

For some reason, I began thinking about some of my previous "adrenaline rushes." Some could be categorized as "good," some "bad" and at least one of them as "ugly." Although this list is not all inclusive, following are some that I wanted to share in roughly chronological order:

As a child, I scratched my way to victory in fights. I drew a lot of blood this way. My aunt chastised me for causing my cousin to bleed and cry and told me it was wrong and “girly” to fight this way. Guided by her words, I adjusted, changing tactics by confining my assaults to fists only. I remember being proud of myself as I drew just as much blood in my next fight without even scratching! (I know, I know – it’s “the ugly” I included in the title. Needless to say, I’m really quite the pacifist in my adulthood.)

Holding Gwen Monson’s hand through the movie Camelot. I was in the eighth grade then and had harbored a horrible crush on Gwen since the seventh grade. It was a long movie and both of our hands were sweating profusely, but I didn’t care. Gwen Monson!

My first ride on a ten-speed bike.

Receiving my first single-lens reflex camera, a Nikkormat FTN, from Japanese exchange students related to my grandparents.

Cutting classes at the University of Utah to fly to San Francisco for the day with my girlfriend.

Getting lost in the corridors connecting the SL Arts Center with Symphony Hall and ending up on the stage of Symphony Hall with a sea of empty seats before me.

Drawing the number “125” in the draft lottery during the Vietnam War. This meant I was relatively safe and unlikely to be called to duty.

Looking over a scenic vista after the first rock-climbing ascent with my friends.

Rappelling down the cliff after the first rock-climbing ascent with my friends.

Catching the sight of two gray whales below the rocky cliffs of Oregon while watching sea lions at play.

The birth of my daughter, Marissa.

Riding horses into Bryce Canyon.

Watching helplessly as Marissa’s horse went wild shortly after she mounted it during the above-mentioned ride into Bryce Canyon. She held on in spite of its bucking, long enough for the guide to catch up to her and calm the horse.

My first solo drive across the United States.

Receiving the very first call as I walked in the door of our new home in Wallingford, CT from Nikon World magazine. They called to ask if I would be willing to send them some of my photos for an article they hoped to write about me.

Chasing whales in a Zodiac in the foggy Gulf of Alaska.

Road trips with my daughter.

Kayaking past an eight-foot alligator in the Florida Everglades.

Overturning my kayak and falling into the waters of the Florida Everglades shortly after passing that eight-foot alligator.

Being surprised by the sudden appearance of a sea turtle as I swam with my daughter in the Pacific Ocean just off the coast of Honolulu.

Producing the images for my most recent show at Phillips Gallery (see http://www.phillips-gallery.com/gallery/g.html Click on Dibble Gallery and scroll to my exhibition).

My chance encounter with Martin Scorsese in an elevator of the Waldorf Astoria.

Stolen moments with special friends.

Kung-Fu, a combination of grace, ritual, expression and purpose.

My first ride on a recumbent trike.

the boy scout motto

2010-01-05T12:09:00.000-08:00

I just thought it might be interesting to share the contents of my BBP ("Bum Back Pack" – so named because when worn, it sits very, very low on your back, down to your you-know-what to distribute the weight more effectively). I’m sure it reflects a sort of crazed, misguided Boy Scout mentality, but contained within my bag are the following:

A digital voice recorder
A Swedish flint and spark tool
A signal mirror
A compass
A compact monocular/microscope combination
A digital point-and-shoot camera
A spare memory card for the camera
An SD card reader for the memory card for the digital camera
A miniature tripod
A waterproof/shockproof 8 Gig memory stick containing no useful data whatsoever
A personal journal
A notebook
A calligraphy pen
A regular pen
A slim LED pen light
An earbud/microphone combination for my iPod Touch
An emergency survival whistle
A lock-picking tool
A small Swiss Army Knife (the kind with the tweezers, toothpick, blade, scissors and nail file)

It bears mentioning that my cell phone and iPod are on my person at all times. I recognize this is an odd conglomeration of paraphernalia to carry with me, only a few of which have found any practical use during my normal business day (like the pen). However, one never knows what situation might arise to call forth any or a number of these items. I welcome, no actively solicit any suggestions for other items that might be handy to have at my disposal. One never knows . . .

new year's resolutions

2010-01-03T12:34:00.000-08:00

Along the way somewhere I've lost my sunny disposition. No, much worse than that, I've lost my joie de vivre. I think I had a vague sense of this when I posted my blog about being happy like Hugh Jackman (see May 2009). I've become a grumpy old man, reluctant to venture forth at night, disgruntled by the news of the day, disdainful of narcissistic, self-absorbed members of the younger generation(s). I am annoyed and dismayed that the synapses in my brain no longer fire with the same speed and regularity they once enjoyed. They now react like clogged, misfiring spark plugs. I have difficulty summoning up facts and information I WANT to remember, let alone the ones I used to draw upon on only an occasional basis. I wonder sometimes if some of the neural connections even exist at all anymore.

I am irritated by the technology I once embraced, surrendering to only a vague understanding of how things now work. The built-in GPS in my car has become a taunting reminder of how technology has become my tormentor rather than my friend. And where is the flawless service, respect and accord I've earned from my many years of tenure on this earth? My bed, the one place I was always assured of blissful peace has become a battleground for my insomnia and exhaustion, interrupted by the pleading tugs of my bladder and various aches and pains to leave this once hallowed place and quickly, please! When I look in the mirror, an old man stares back, and not just an old man, but a fat one!

Thus is my present state as I rush headlong into 2010. I am reminded of a line in the latest movie "Up in the Air" where a young, ambitious college graduate explains to a world-weary George Clooney and his girlfriend that she should have a Jeep Cherokee by now. She wonders what their goals and time lines are at this stage in their life, to which they reply, "We don't set any objectives at this point in life, it tends to be counter-productive." Although it may be counter-productive to declare New Year's resolutions, I nonetheless have them and declare them here. Resolutions? To kill the grumpy old man! I hope to replace him with a more youthful soul and fitter body.

This year, I plan to CHOOSE to be happier, to lose weight and get healthier. I plan on expanding my "Chi" outward and invoking and expressing more passion in all that I do. I plan to focus on the celebration and revelry of the small precious moments and triumphs and move on from any of the pitfalls more quickly. I plan on NOT insulating myself from any potential pain or disappointment to the exclusion of trying new things or venturing into endeavors I once feared would fail. I plan on embracing the possibility of hurt and disappointment in the renewed hope that the opposite payoff might result. And after all, what are hurt and disappointment but an affirmation of a life fully lived? I plan to dance to the music that moves me, sing along in soulful harmony, practice the Kung-Fu moves I learned in my community ed class (all in the privacy of my own home, of course) and laugh slightly louder and in a more heartfelt way than I did in 2009. I plan to engage all that I encounter with humor and kindness and respect, regardless of how I'm treated. And I WILL be more appreciative of the many blessings life has afforded me.

Happy New Year.

the ultimate watch

2010-01-03T00:35:00.000-08:00

I love watches. In my world, you can never have too many of them (just like cameras). So you can imagine my excitement when I recently ordered the Casio Pathfinder PAW1500T-7V, the watch Casio crowns their "ultimate" watch.

What, you may ask, merits an "ultimate" classification? Well, for one thing, it boasts a compass, an altimeter, a thermometer and a barometer. It also charts the ebb and flow of the tides (even though I am far from their reach in landlocked Salt Lake City). It displays the phases of the moon, has 33 world time zones, five alarms, a stopwatch and countdown timer. Even more impressive is the fact that it automatically synchs itself with the radio transmissions of the nearest atomic clock to render accuracy to within 1/16th of a second, all the while charging itself by the light of the sun or any other nearby light source so that you may never ever have to replace a battery! It even has an automatic backlight that is activated when you tilt your wrist to check the time in low ambient light. It is nicely designed with a General Patton military ruggedness that is ill-suited for formal events or those in search of refined elegance.

It comes packaged inside a small wooden box within a regular cardboard box, denoting it's "ultimate" status. And lastly, did I mention that this feature-packed electronic marvel weighs a quarter of a pound and looks like a manhole cover when strapped to my somewhat skinny (the only part of my anatomy that qualifies for this description) wrist?

what are you afraid of?

2009-12-23T13:24:00.000-08:00

I had a brief exchange with one of my co-workers. We secretly hate each other (well actually, we're both quite open about it) but we have some pretty stimulating conversations. I was commenting on the number of people in the gallery and how it was freaking me out. She asked if I had a fear of people - agoraphobia. We both paused a moment and decided her classification was incorrect. Agoraphobia is the fear of open spaces. This prompted me to try to look up the proper phobia. The list of phobias is endless and quite amusing in itself. Following is just a sample of the phobias beginning with "A:"

Ablutophobia- Fear of washing or bathing.
Acarophobia- Fear of itching or of the insects that cause itching.
Acerophobia- Fear of sourness.
Agateophobia- Fear of insanity.
Albuminurophobia- Fear of kidney disease.
Alektorophobia- Fear of chickens.
Alliumphobia- Fear of garlic.
Allodoxaphobia- Fear of opinions.
Amathophobia- Fear of dust.
Anablephobia- Fear of looking up.
Anuptaphobia- Fear of staying single.
Apeirophobia- Fear of infinity.
Atomosophobia- Fear of atomic explosions.
Aulophobia- Fear of flutes.
Autodysomophobia- Fear of one that has a vile odor.
Automatonophobia- Fear of ventriloquist's dummies, animatronic creatures, wax statues - anything that falsely represents a sentient being.

You have to admit to suffering from one or more of these to a moderate extent yourself. I know I have personally grappled with many of these. Show up with a dummy and I guarantee you I will run screaming into the night. And how many of us have stayed awake at night worrying about kidney disease? Huh? Come on, you know who you are. Well, perhaps some of these are a little bit of a stretch compared to others, but while we may laugh hysterically at some of these phobias, there is someone out there who is not so amused. I must admit that the list makes me feel downright healthy. I'll try not to be insensitive to the phobias of others, but secretly wouldn't it be funny to put together an ablutophobiac with an autodysomophobiac?

the day I stopped crying

2009-12-18T14:29:00.000-08:00

I remember as a child how I used to cry whenever I hurt myself. I know this is a typical response to pain at a young age, but I also remember (oh, so many years ago) the day I stopped crying. I was playing in my cousin’s backyard and I was running towards the front of the house when I tripped on something. I went down very hard and very fast, skinning my hands and knees on the grass. It hurt as much as anything I had experienced at that point in my childhood (as far as my memory allows), but at that moment something clicked inside. I thought, “Yes, this hurts a lot, but I don’t have to cry about it. In fact, what does crying have to do with pain?” (Well, physical pain at least. I still cry sometimes when subjected to emotional or psychological pain, but if confronted, I will deny ever writing this. Also, show me a sad movie and I will practically weep. Again, I will exercise plausible deniability regarding this).

This disassociation of pain and crying has been just one of the many revelations I have encountered along the meandering path that is my life, but it was a startling one for me. Why had I wasted all of that time and effort crying when I could have just been nursing the pain with rocking motions and repeated "ouches?" Really. It was like that for me. Why does anybody waste the energy crying over pain (again, I reiterate, "physical" pain)? I haven't cried since that time; not when I inadvertently jumped through a sliding glass door on the night of high school graduation, not when I broke my wrist, not when I got the wind knocked out of me in Kung-Fu class. Crying is displaced energy and the act takes focus away from the matter at hand. If you are injured in any way, focus on the most efficient way of getting relief or aid as quickly as possible. Don't be wasting valuable time crying.

Now if only I can incorporate that disassociation with those other kinds of pain . . .

brand names - a word from our sponsor

2009-12-12T11:20:00.000-08:00

As an active participant in the culture of consumerism, I've come to favor certain brand names. Best Foods mayonnaise (Hellman's in the east), as an example, is simply non-negotiable. If you don't have Best Foods mayonnaise in stock, forget about it. Ocean Spray cranberry juice is another. Any other brand just tastes like red stuff. And nothing beats the iconic Hostess Twinkie for classic junk food. Cheap imitators need not apply.

I'm sure this sort of discernment is not always justified. I do let my standards, real or imagined, slide occasionally, especially in these difficult economic times. I'm not as discriminating when I buy that container of chicken stock for my Cooks Illustrated recipe (although I AM conscious of the sodium content, which is actually horrifying if you look at the label. Personal caution alert: anytime you buy anything that's been processed, check out the sodium content. I think it might help you live longer, but again, I digress . . . ). Heinz Ketchup is yet another, although years I ago I swear it started getting runnier. Still, Heinz reigns supreme as far as I'm concerned.

Brand loyalty is an interesting phenomena. When and where does one reach a tipping point when one is willing to deviate from the tried-and-true choices and venture into sampling something new? For me, a relative "clinger" to my favorites, it takes a lot. A massive ad campaign that bombards the airwaves each night of the week is a good starting point. Well-designed, snobbish label and packaging design is another. A premium price is another attractive element for me. (Fact: when my wife did an internship in NYC some years ago for Elizabeth Arden, she learned that if one of their new product lines did not sell, they simply increased the price, which almost unfailingly led to higher sales). Coupon incentives and celebrity endorsements have no impact upon me whatsoever.

As consumers, we do indeed vote with our money and I usually vote for the incumbent. Occasionally, I do try new things when I am swayed by the factors mentioned above. Still, I have found that those times I do stray, I inevitably end up disappointed. The allure of something new is momentarily distracting, but soon dissipates with the first sampling. Keep on trying though, you manufacturers. I'm ready to jump on the bandwagon of customer loyalty as soon as you develop that next Twinkie. Until that time, I'll stick with my favorites.

the national theatre of the deaf

2009-12-08T14:36:00.000-08:00

Many, many years ago I had the opportunity to attend a performance of the National Theatre of the Deaf. It was interesting that their tour brought them to Salt Lake City at that particular time, because I had just recently read about the group in an article in Smithsonian Magazine. (I have since come to recognize such occurrences as not just merely happenstance, but as signs of forthcoming moments of significance. I'm not sure if this is because I'm prone to wild flights of fancy in my advancing years or just romantic yearnings that have gone unchecked for far too long. Whatever the case, I attribute none of this to wisdom. Truth be told, coincidences are probably just coincidences. But I digress . . . )

The article featured time-exposure photographs of members of the company, signing and dancing in spectacular ways; their movement captured in sweeping brushstrokes of light and fancy. The photos evoked the group's sense of joy and unbridled energy.

When I arrived at the performance hall that evening, as I was taking off my coat to settle into my seat, I momentarily glanced towards the stage. At first I thought somebody was gesticulating at me in a welcoming way. It was a young woman. She had the warmest smile and bright, intelligent eyes. I did not recognize her and realized she was looking past me at somebody several rows behind me. She started to sign. I turned around to look at the recipient of her greeting and saw a young man, now signing back at her. They were carrying on a conversation! Across the crowded theater! I watched the exchange, fascinated. They signed, they smiled, they laughed. After a few moments, others joined in on the conversation from other parts of the theater. Their hands all moved excitedly as they each took their turn in the group discussion. There was a transcendent energy that emanated from all of them, exceeding any that would arise from a normal conversation among the hearing-enabled.

It occurred to me that their communication was more outwardly directed, entailing the use of their hands, their bodies and their eyes to a much larger extent than yours or mine would under similar circumstance. I wondered if there were less misunderstandings among the deaf for exactly this reason. They were committed fully to conveying their thoughts and ideas. We are not so blessed. Our conversations are more measured and guarded, perhaps not intentionally. We are more easily distracted by external factors. Our eyes wander off as we see something of interest in the peripheral corner of our vision, our listening is momentarily disrupted as a strain of familiar music plays in the background. We are much more susceptible to distraction because we can afford to be. This is sadly to our detriment.

As I sat down in my seat, still mesmerized by the conversation going on around me, it occurred to me that in this instance, I was the impaired person. Indeed, all of us who were not part of the world we had come to visit at that concert hall that night were the ones missing out on something wonderful, something magical.

am I blue?

2009-11-24T12:40:00.000-08:00

Chemists at Oregon State University accidently created a new, durable and blue pigment. Evidently the creation of blue pigments is problematic; ultramarine blue is expensive as it utilizes ground up lapis lazuli, cobalt blue is a possible carcinogen and Prussian blue can leach cyanide.

The chemists were actually trying to create compounds with unique electronic properties when they stumbled upon their new pigment. Sadly, it is not cheap, since it incorporates an expensive material, indium. They are now trying to replace the indium oxide with cheaper oxides.

I am enthralled by the idea that experimentation with compounds accidently resulted in blue. Rock on, blue! Who knows what other accidental discoveries await us in our experimentation?

the end of the world

2009-11-20T14:31:00.000-08:00

The Large Hadron Collider has resumed operation today. As you may recall in a previous blog, I had addressed concerns about its potential for bringing about the end of the world. Then there's the new movie, "2012." Are you worried yet?

According to an article in the N.Y. Times published November, 16th, NASA had declared that the world was not ending - at least not anytime soon. CERN said the same thing last year. CERN's reassurance was actually issued to address concerns regarding the inadvertent creation of a black hole during the operation of the Large Hadron Collider that would swallow the earth. NASA's proclamation is more targeted to concerns about the end of the world on December 21st, 2012.

Rest assured, according to astronomers, there is nothing special about the Sun and galactic center aligning in the cosmos. This phenomena occurs every December with no consequence. And in reality, the Sun and galactic center will not exactly coincide even in 2012. So it appears we can now all relax. The earth will not be consumed by a black hole created by the Large Hadron Collider. The cosmos will not align in December of 2012 to wreak havoc upon our planet. All is well.

Scientists do however, remind us if we REALLY want to worry, let us not forget global climate change, rogue asteroids or nuclear war. Also, geological apocalypse is a good bet for destruction as well. Earthquakes large enough to swallow Los Angeles are indeed within the realm of possibilty. AND Yellowstone could erupt again with the cataclysmic force of the super volcano it once was. SOOOOO, pick your poison. Earthquakes, rogue asteroids, whatever. Just remember, you don't have to throw a black hole or the alignment of planets in the mix.

absent photographer

2009-11-19T13:49:00.000-08:00

It's been over a year since I've taken any photos, which is unusual for me. I used to get a little down if I neglected this creative outlet. It's probably a commentary on how many other distractions have diverted me from some of my normal passions these days.

Yesterday, I brought my camera to work on a whim. I've had an idea for a portrait shot I wanted to explore recently, and coincidentally, my co-worker, Kim Riley (also a photographer), asked when I was going to shoot photos of her again! I told her about my concept and we took about 15 minutes to do a set-up, and shoot off about a half-dozen images before my long-neglected camera's batteries died.

The nice thing about working with a photographer as your subject is that they are able to visualize your idea and can contribute to its realization on film. My idea entailed the use of a fan that was not as cooperative as I would have liked. The net of this long explanation is that while I was not able to achieve my "vision," it was very gratifying to look through the viewfinder of my trusty camera once more to at least attempt to do something creative. The images you see here are my favorites. Stay tuned. Hopefully, armed with a fresh set of batteries and two fans this time instead of one, I will be able capture that image that has been forming in my mind. When it happens, I'll post it here.

mexican coke revisited, pepsi throwback

2009-11-13T12:43:00.000-08:00

A while ago I posted a blog about Mexican Coke, my favorite drink. This week in the New York Times Magazine (which is dedicated entirely to the subject of food), an article appeared entitled "Cult Classic" by Rob Walker. It reaffirms my position, however irrational, that there is nothing quite as pure and clean tasting as the Mexican variety of this iconic American drink. Walker writes that as per a Coke spokesman, while there are differences in the sweeteners used for regional Coke products depending upon economics and availability, there are no perceptible differences in taste. Walker suggests that the difference could be attributed to the sweetener used, but also adds that the glass bottle of Mexican Coke may play a part as well. Glass is the most inert material in which Coke is packaged versus the plastic bottles or aluminum cans that are the norm. Whatever the reason, Walker is a fellow devotee. He, too, is willing to spend that extra amount to have a Mexican Coke with his lunch rather than the less expensive, more commonplace U.S. variety.

As a nod to the success of Mexican Coke, Pepsi unveiled a limited run of Pepsi Throwback, their own version that incorporated pure cane sugar rather than the usual high fructose corn syrup. At that time, I immediately jumped on it, storing and hoarding a respectable number of Pepsi Throwback bottles in my basement. I am down to my last one. Although I prefer Coke (the products are not as "sweet" as Pepsi's), I felt that just like the Mexican Coke, Pepsi Throwback had an amazingly pure and clean taste. Pepsi Throwback it should be noted, is packaged in cans and plastic bottles, thus dispelling the idea that the glass bottle is solely attributable to the taste difference. Interestingly, as a concession to the hue and cry of Pepsi fans, Pepsi has announced the limited return engagement of Pepsi Throwback beginning December 18th. It will be available for 8 weeks. If you are an afficienado, I recommend you stock up.

And oh, a while ago, I also touched upon my obsession with blueberry soda. I had the opportunity to try Izze Soda's version. Don't bother.

did you know?

2009-11-11T15:37:00.000-08:00

Again, reading the NY Times, I stumbled upon another interesting fact that I thought deserved some attention. Did you know that during this period of nuclear disarmament, we are dismantling Soviet nuclear weapons and using the material to generate electricity via our nuclear power plants? Uranium used in generating electricity is enriched to less than 5 percent. Isotopes in nuclear weapons are enriched to about 90 percent. Currently 10 percent of the electricity in the United States is generated via this source. In comparison, hydropower generates 6 percent and solar, biomass, wind and geothermal together account for 3 percent.

Evidently utility companies have avoided publicizing this for fear of spooking consumers. Russian bomb materials account for 45 percent of the fuel in American nuclear reactors. This program is set to expire in 2013. Utilities are hopeful that a new Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (which expires on December 5th) will prove successful to continue the flow of nuclear material. One man's garbage is another man's treasure . . .

setting sail into space

2009-11-11T15:17:00.000-08:00

Many years ago I read with great interest, an article about the possibility of space travel utilizing a large sail attached to a small, manned pod. The science of the sail essentially involves propelling a space ship via light that carries not only energy, but momentum. The force is a gentle one at first propelling the space ship slowly, and gradually accumulating speeds of hundreds of thousands of miles an hour. Such speeds would enable a ship to travel the distance of our solar system in 5 years. Using the light from a powerful laser, a journey to another star system could be made in 100 years.

Experiments are currently underway testing the feasibility of this mode of travel. The woman heading a collaboration between two groups interested in this technology is Ann Druyan, the widow of Carl Sagan. Backing for some of the experiments has been provided by an anonymous donor who was intrigued by a presentation given by one of the groups. I sound like a real geek here, but I remember a Deep Space Nine episode in which the series' main character and his son sail a portion of the cosmos in a craft propelled by a large solar sail. It's a very romantic notion; sailing the stars on the solar winds generated by the sun in the darkness of space. I continue to revel in the wonders we confront each day and the possibilities that life affords us.

where the wild things are

2009-11-11T14:57:00.000-08:00

Recently, I had the opportunity to see Spike Jonze's, "Where the Wild Things Are." My initial reaction was that I liked the film although it did not conjure up the sentimental feelings I originally experienced when I read it to my daughter oh so many years ago. The film was a little dark, a little melancholy. I know there have been many mixed reviews, ranging all the way from approval to "don't take your kids to this one." Yesterday, I read a more recent review in the New York Times written by A.O. Scott. I think he brilliantly summed up the movie and it's commentary on life. He summarizes Max's journey to "Where the Wild Things Are," his disappointment, and subsequent return home thusly:

"No place is free of conflict and bad feeling, and no person has the power to make problems disappear. Where there is happiness - friendship, adventure, affection, security - there is also, inevitably disappointment. That's life."

new year's resolution

2009-10-31T13:44:00.000-07:00

I'm a procrastinator. I hate myself for it. Typically, if I can avoid working on something tomorrow, why work on it today? It's as if the wicked me is sabotaging the innocent, unsuspecting me to reign undue pressure and stress upon myself at the midnight hour. The sad thing though is that I'm not even a good procrastinator. While I forestall the inevitability of my tasks, I fret about them. Like the drip, drip, drip of Chinese water torture or the incessant ticking of a clock, my psyche is slowly and steadily building to a fever pitch of a silent scream. (I'm old enough to remember when people would put their watches to their ears to confirm they were still working, at least the ones without second hands. In today's electronic age you hear nothing. But I digress . . .)

As we are approaching the conclusion of yet another year, my resolution will be to work on my procrastination tendencies and to subsequently reduce the stress that I can only blame upon myself. I am too often my own worst enemy. Why contribute to the dark and evil forces that are already at play conspiring against me?

So there you have it.

My new year's resolution: to stop procrastinating. Oh, and as always, to lose weight too. And oh yeah, to teach myself how to play the harmonica. The cool kind of harmonica, not the dorky kind.

the amazing curta calculator

2009-10-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

Once again, I have to reiterate my uncanny ability to find new and wonderful things to spend money on. Please be forewarned, I do not ALWAYS purchase the items I've blogged about with such lust. The most recent example of this is the $18,000 portable remote controlled helicopter that can serve as a platform for your digital camera. I did NOT buy one, although I did buy the recumbent trike . . . (right, Stacie?)

My latest find in my ever growing wish list of coveted playthings is the amazing Curta Calculator. Briefly, prior to the advent of inexpensive digital calculators, the Curta Calculator was a mechanical handheld device that could add, subtract, multiply and divide (and perform other calculations like squaring, determining standard deviations, etc.) to 11 places! It was produced and sold from 1947 to around 1973. The cost at the time of its final production run was around $125. Approximately 140,000 units were produced over the years. Units now sell between $300 and $5000 (and up).

Curt Herzstark of Austria, was the proud inventor of this remarkable instrument. According to many articles, Herzstark was a prisoner in Buchenwald. His Nazi captors were fully aware of his work and encouraged it, with the intent of having him produce one of his calculators as a victory gift to be given to Hitler upon the close of World War II. Well, we all know that didn't happen. However, Herzstark did go on to realize his dream and ultimately his Curta Calculator went into production.

The Curta is a beautiful example of mechanical engineering and construction. It exemplifies the finest work of its time. Even now, some of the items produced in that time period still amaze me. (I still marvel at the Minox camera, the miniature spy camera featured in so many old-time thrillers. That camera was tiny, yet sported a built-in light meter and exposure controls including full aperture and shutter speed settings.) I remember seeing these devices advertised in Scientific America magazine (yes, I know that sounds very geeky, but I didn't read them THAT much). I only wish at the time I would have made the purchase. Other items like the Haverhills pocket microscope/telescope inspired me to place my order (with no regrets. It is STILL a cool little item!). Sadly, I did not. Check it out though. The Curta Calculator. I think you will agree that it is a neat little thing of a bygone era.

http://www.vcalc.net/cu.htm

christmas came early this year

2009-10-18T17:03:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I drove to Cedar Hills to inspect and test-drive a TerraTrike Sport that appeared in the KSL on-line classified ads a few days ago. Since I had been contemplating the purchase of a TerraTrike as my Christmas present, it seemed to make sense to consider purchasing a used one. The Sport is a better model than the Cruiser I had been contemplating. It sports an aluminum frame versus the chro-moly frame of the Cruiser, making it 4 pounds lighter. In addition, the shifting components are of a higher quality and more durable nature. In brief, I purchased the Sport for less than the cost of the Cruiser and have been riding this baby joyously for two days now. I intend to eventually ride it to and from work for my daily exercise in addition to simply enjoying it for pure recreational fun. I'll keep you posted, but I can already tell you that it has become evident that I am sorely out of shape. And yes, it is sparkle orange as shown in the original KSL ad photo above. I actually have taken a shining to it.

introspection and technology

2009-10-13T13:58:00.000-07:00

I've been following the blog of Don Saito, a laid-off individual, who took the opportunity of his unemployment to traverse the United States in a recumbent ICE trike.

http://cycleamerica2009.blogspot.com/

At the time of this writing, he has successfully traveled from San Francisco, cross-country to Florida, to Maine, etc. and is currently somewhere around Seattle, heading home.

Don chronicles his experience in his blog whenever possible and I have been following his progress daily. I've of course been inspired by his undertaking and his blog is largely responsible for my new passion for recumbent trikes. I've considered the ramifications of such a journey in physical and psychological terms and concluded that the experience in the venue of a blog might be altered in a way that detracts from its full potential benefits however.

Undertaking a journey alone suggests that there would be many solitary hours to experience one's surroundings and reflect upon one's life. With today's technology, I'm not sure Don is feeling the isolation that would normally provoke such introspection. Each day as he finds camp he chronicles his progress in his laptop (I imagine), to post at a later time when Wi-Fi becomes available to him. I wonder if this process, writing with an audience in mind, doesn't change his "voice" to one that externalizes his experience. Knowing there are people out there who are following his trip seems to change the fundamental nature of a solo adventure. It seems akin to spending time at a monastery and taking along your television and iPod. I think perhaps writing about the experience afterwards might have allowed Don a deeper and richer journey. While technology is a wonderful thing, I'm not convinced it is always such a wonderful thing.

recumbent trike

2009-10-12T21:39:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity to drive to Payson this weekend to test drive the three recumbent trikes I had decided upon based on "value" (another term for the best I can afford). One of the premier dealers in the country is Utah Trikes. Nice that they are located nearby (sort of).

It was a blast! I couldn't stop grinning! The recumbent trike has been compared to a sports car in the family of bicycles and I could easily see why. You sit very low in a recumbent, so even standing (that is, sitting) still, you feel like you're already moving fast. The recumbent position also provides a high degree of comfort with a totally different pedal feel. While you cannot stand on the pedals as you do in a conventional bike when going uphill, I understand you become accustomed to pedaling in such a way that you still have the capability of going up steep ascents with the added bonus of simply stopping and resting when you become overtaxed. You just apply the brakes and remain seated while you catch your breath.

This means little to those who have no interest in this sort of thing, but the three models I tested were the KMX Typhoon, the Catrike Trail and the TerraTrike Cruiser. Of the three, the Typhoon is really in a different class from the other two. It is really targeted at teens and younger bikers who are looking for a fun ride at a low price ($1099) and seemed more like a BMX version of a recumbent trike. The Catrike was nice (at $1749), but did not have an adjustable seat, which is an important consideration to me, especially if I ride long distances. The Catrike was the lightest of the three bikes however, and felt very nice although I did experience some pedal steer (meaning the bike sways from side to side as you pedal - something practice can help rectify, but interestingly, I did not experience it in the other two models). The TerraTrike Cruiser ($1499) proved to be the best of the three in my opinion, possessing a nice degree of comfort, no pedal steer and marvelous handling (indirect steering, which is again something of no interest to the unitiated. I think direct steering might be preferable, but for my money, the indirect steering was smoother). Santa (aka my wife) suggested that the Cruiser might be my Christmas present if I've been good this year. So, like the children you see in old movies, I may be out there in the snow on Christmas Day tooling around the neighborhood on my new trike. I've already begun planning my route to work and back and have carefully studied the bike path maps for SLC and Salt Lake County . . .

inner teenaged boys and their toys

2009-10-06T13:18:00.000-07:00

I’m always looking for unique ways of spending money I don’t have. As an example, I recently posted a link to the ultimate camera accessory, a remote-controlled, highly maneuverable helicopter that starts at about $16,000 (see http://www.draganfly.com/uav-helicopter/draganflyer-x6/gallery/videos/). Never mind the fact that I will never purchase one, it’s just plain cool and fun to imagine.

Well, my latest dalliance into the fantasy world of acquisition is the Ice Trice Q (http://www.ice.hpv.co.uk/trikes/q.htm). This is a recumbent tricycle (yes, I said tricycle), with two wheels in the front for stability, and the third wheel rearward. This configuration is known as a “tadpole” design in the vernacular of three-wheeled vehicles. The more traditional tricycle design with one wheel in the front is referred to as a “delta.” While the word “delta” sounds much cooler than “tadpole,” I’m afraid I would have to defer to the design advantages of the tadpole if I were ever to make such a purchase, namely, speed, stability, drive train simplicity and touring comfort. These babies go for a starting price of about $2,800 and increase as you begin to add more sophisticated components and accessories. In deference to safety considerations, I would most certainly purchase a flag to increase my visibility to others (I know, I know, this seems like “Big Wheels” for grown-ups), a rear-view mirror and several strategically placed bicycle lights at a minimum.

I’m not sure what it is that appeals to me about these trikes, but they do offer the promise of comfort, freedom, health and adventure. One individual, a 52 year-old gentleman of Japanese descent who was recently laid off from his job (talk about a doppelganger), took the opportunity of his circumstances to ride across the United States in his Ice Trice Q. He began his journey in March and is still on the road. See his blog at http://cycleamerica2009.blogspot.com/.

So the question now becomes, how can I get my hands on $2800+ of disposable money?

blueberry soda

2009-10-04T14:07:00.000-07:00

During our recent visit to Maine, I discovered a local culinary favorite, Moxie Soda. According to the travel guides, Moxie Soda, like Dr. Pepper and Coca-Cola originated as an elixir claimed to cure many ailments. Naturally, after the formation of the Food and Drug Administration, such claims were quickly abandoned. Moxie Soda, however, remains one of the oldest sodas on the market even though it has not moved beyond the region where it originated. Sadly, it had an odd taste (which may account for the reason it has not moved BEYOND the region where it originated). As a friend commented, it tastes like a poor imitation of root beer. Locals like to drink it mixed with their whiskey, although some say that they like it undiluted. Most admit it is an "acquired" taste. In any event, it is not for me. I will not be ordering Moxie Soda via the internet anytime soon.

I DID however, discover Blueberry Soda during my travels in Maine. This was a delightful surprise. Initially I was skeptical, but found the taste of blueberries, blended with carbonation, to be the perfect balance of flavor, sweetness and "texture" (not to mention its beautiful color). Today, I decided to order a shipment of Blueberry Soda via the internet, but during my search, stumbled upon a recipe! I share it here with you, but advise you to wait until I have had time to test it before your proceed. I have high hopes however and will let you know how it tastes shortly. I figure worst case I can always order the manufactured stuff. Following is the recipe attributed to Alton Brown:

Ingredients

20 ounces fresh blueberries, approximately 4 cups, rinsed and drained
2 cups water
7 ounces sugar
1 lime, juiced
Carbonated water

Directions

Place the blueberries and the water into a medium saucepan, set over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove the saucepan from the heat and pour the mixture into a colander lined with cheesecloth that is set in a large bowl. Allow to cool for 15 minutes. Gather up the edges of the cheesecloth and squeeze out as much of the liquid as possible. Discard the skin and pulp. Return the blueberry juice to the saucepan along with the sugar and lime juice. Place over medium high heat and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Bring to a boil and cook for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and transfer to a heatproof glass container and place in the refrigerator, uncovered, until completely cooled.

To Serve: Combine 1/4 cup of the liquid with 8-ounces of carbonated water and serve over ice.

mercedes sosa

2009-10-04T13:46:00.000-07:00

Mercedes Sosa died today at the age of 74. Mercedes was an Argentine singer with a beautiful contralto voice. She was very charismatic and sang many songs that championed social justice in the face of government repression in her home land. At one point, she was banned from Argentina's radio and television stations for her political views. She fled to exile to Europe for several years during that period, unable to earn a living. She eventually returned when the dictatorship collapsed to find a loyal following and dramatically increased popularity. She went on to win numerous Latin Grammy Awards. Mercedes performed in the United States several times and received a 10-minute standing ovation at Carnegie Hall. According to Joan Baez, she was so moved by Mercedes Sosa's voice at a performance that she (Joan) fell to her knees to kiss Mercedes' feet. One of my favorite songs is "Unicornia." I played a CD of a collection of some her favorites from the past 20 years today in her honor. If you have the opportunity, I hope you will give her a listen sometime.

the facebook phenomena

2009-09-30T13:30:00.000-07:00

As a new initiate into the world of Facebook, I’m still learning its vernacular, subtleties and mechanics. My first impression is that Facebook is an oddly impersonal way of being personal. You post something out there on your wall for all of your friends to see (like a mass mailing, “Dear Occupant . . .”). THEN, they can respond with a comment at their leisure. While this is nice from a time shift perspective, it just rings a little “hollow” for me. At least e-mail is a direct exchange with one targeted friend. Perhaps this is indicative of my old age and my increasing inability to embrace the new. (I need to comment here that we have all lost the eloquence of the written word as evidenced by letters read in the Ken Burns documentary, “The Civil War.”) Give me some time though, I’m still grappling with the concept of social networking.

I do wish to take the opportunity here to personally thank Facebook for making me feel like a loser. It appears that most Facebook participants have hundreds, even thousands of friends. I have a grand total of nineteen friends and I don’t see that number increasing any time soon. Of the nineteen friends, one is my wife, another, my daughter, one is the teenager who mows my lawn (Hey, Taylor), and one is a total mistake. (Don’t worry, it’s none of you dear readers.) This only reinforces my impression of myself as a friendless hermit, lacking in social skills, unable to forge any deep emotional bonds. Yes, I could claim that my nineteen Facebook friends are CLOSE friends (Hey, Taylor), not gratuitous ones, but this is only true to a certain extent. Some of my “friends” are not responding to my “friend requests” or are not on Facebook. And did I mention that since joining Facebook, I HAVE managed to spook an old college girlfriend who must have thought I was stalking her (oh, yeah, come to think of it, make that EIGHTEEN friends)? I’m beginning to think Facebook is really an abbreviation for “In Your Face!” book . . .

cincinnati chili

2009-09-28T17:23:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I love to cook. I have very few passions, but this is one of them. Actually, I think the correct thing to say is I love to EAT, and since a lot of the things I like to eat cannot be obtained on demand, I resort to cooking them myself. One such example can be found in my recent craving for Cincinnati Chili. This is a dish I became acquainted with during one of my numerous visits to that fair city (which was a major training center during my tenure at AT&T). One of the instructors of one of my first training sessions suggested that a visit to Cincinnati was not complete without sampling the local dish.

For the uninitiated, Cincinnati Chili is not like your traditional chili. It contains a mixture of spices and ingredients (cinnamon, allspice, chili powder, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, tomato sauce, chicken broth and ground beef that is boiled in the sauce) that combines to form a mildly sweet, aromatic, mildly spicy chili. But the uniqueness does not end here. Cincinnati Chili is served in several possible variations: two-way, three-way, four-way or five way. Two-way is with the chili served over spaghetti noodles (this is the minimal way - it MUST be served with the spaghetti, otherwise it is not Cincinnati Chili). Three-way adds grated cheese on top. Four-way builds upon the mound with raw onions, and finally, Five-way adds kidney beans. It's really quite an odd dish and you can sample it in the food court of the Cincinnati Airport if you have time during a connection there (a Delta hub). The booth that serves it is directly across from the McDonald's. In reality, I found the dish to be a little off-putting, but thought the novelty of it to be quite charming.

Recently, Cooks Illustrated, my favorite source for recipes, featured their version of the regional dish. Whatever flaws I found with my samplings in Cincinnati have been masterfully addressed in the C.I. version. C.I. has refined the combination of ingredients to the point of perfection. The dish I once thought odd, but quaint, and not necessarily desirable has now become a frequent obsession of mine. Never mind that is has no redeeming nutritional benefits (well, I guess there IS protein), the important thing is that it makes me happy and warm inside, all the while delighting my taste buds! Last night, I made a batch after a self-imposed hiatus of three months without Cincinnati Chili. It was truly a culinary delight. I recommend it highly. I'm not sure what the ramifications would be of posting the recipe on the web, but if you're tempted to try it, shoot me an e-mail and I'd be happy to share it with you.

Cincinnati Chili. It is the "Sin" in "Cincinatti!"

personal violation

2009-09-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I've just violated my own personal oath to ban current photos of myself from this blog until I had undergone some weight loss. This is a photo I just had to post. We are season ticket holders to the University of Utah's Women's Gymnastics Team meets. This last Saturday, for my work, I had to man a booth at the annual Avenues Street Fair. As it happens, the University of Utah's booth was situated just across the street. When the entire team showed up, I shyly asked Megan Marsden, the co-head coach of the team, if she would let me have my photo taken with her. At that point, Megan asked, "Why don't we just have a picture taken with you and the whole team?"

That's me in the center looking a little coy, but loving every minute . . .

dr. who

2009-09-08T22:12:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that I have become a Dr. Who fanatic? PBS started broadcasting the newly revived Dr. Who series about three years ago, with Christopher Eccleston in the lead role, then transitioned into the tenth Doctor, David Tennant. Eccleston was a good intro into the new Doctor, but for my money, David Tennant is the perfect embodiment of the Time Lord. He is humorous in the face of danger, reveling in the adrenaline rush, yet lonely in his place in the universe and somewhat egomaniacal - in other words, the just-right, dashing hero figure for a tongue-in-cheek sci-fi series!

PBS is presently re-running the third season, but somehow I could not bring myself to wait for future installments (we're behind the BBC broadcasts by two years), so I purchased the remaining two-plus seasons (two seasons plus two extra episodes) from iTunes. Word has arrived that David Tennant is leaving the series to be replaced by a 25 year-old actor, Matt Smith, beginning in 2010. The producer, Russell T. Davies, will also be leaving the series. I attribute the brilliance (to coin a British phrase) of the show to Davies, so I have my doubts that the new Matt Smith series can live up to the whole David Tennant series run. I have to tell you however, that viewing all 5 seasons is a treat. The season (5) finale was one of the most climactic, emotionally pitched TV shows I have seen here to date. It was a two-parter that incorporated many of the elements from the five-year run, not to mention ongoing story lines from the original Dr. Who series dating back to 1963!

I even broke down about a year ago and ordered my toy replica of Dr. Who's sonic screwdriver, which I will occasionally bring out and wield while watching some of the episodes. There's also a USB hub shaped like the Tardis, the Doctor's time/space machine that I will undoubtedly be ordering soon . . .

If you enjoy a fun show with plenty of colorful characters and surprising emotional resonance, I highly recommend you purchase the series. Some shows are not as stellar as others, but there are enough gems to make it well worth the price of entry. Even the incidental episodes contribute to the character development and overall myth of Dr. Who.

love, kung fu and the New York Times

2009-09-03T09:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a romantic. I hate myself for it. Romantics, like optimists, are very susceptible to disappointment. We hope for the happy endings and root for the triumph of good over evil. It's really quite pathetic, yet I cannot seem to help myself. Originally I attributed it to my age as I read somewhere that men became more emotional in their advancing years, but in retrospect, I've always been a romantic. I blame the media. Movies, books, television, music, all shamelessly promote love in unrealistic ways even when they are lamenting its loss and subsequent pain. And I have been there every step of the way, taking it all in.

When Joni suggests we attend a romantic comedy for one of our movies of the week, I protest somewhat mildly, but am secretly reveling in the prospect of screening yet another variation of the boy meets girl (or these days it COULD be a boy meets boy or girl meets girl) storyline. Oddly, I also still revel in typical "guy" movie fare like a good old action movie with plenty of fight scenes. So when you present me with something like "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" or "The House of Flying Daggers," well, as you can imagine, I am in movie heaven. I cannot fathom a higher art form than a love story within a Kung Fu movie.

I always begrudgingly watch these love stories unfold, but unfailingly succumb to the swelling orchestration in the background and emotion-packed climax as the two lovers finally proclaim their love for one another. (In college, I always waited for that music to commence whenever I was with my girl friends, but it never came . . . ). I recognize intellectually that the love on that screen is just as fabricated as the exploding car tumbling end over end in an action sequence, but somehow I still find myself BELIEVING in that moment. Well, if not believing in that moment, WANTING to believe in that moment. I suppose this is the true revelation of my older age: knowing the difference in believing and wanting to believe.

I have gained enough wisdom over the years to realize that love in real life is something that requires more effort and tolerance and forgiveness than anything portrayed in the movies. I have come to recognize that it is because of this that real love is more rewarding when its challenges are met and overcome. And like the ebb and flow of the ocean, it has its own rhythm.

Still, it's fun to engage in entertainment that dwells upon the conceit of love. Now that I have my iPod, I subscribe to the free daily feed provided by the NY Times. If you are like me and enjoy a good love story, I highly recommend a weekly visit to its illustrious wedding section. Contained therein are many modern day fairy tales written especially for us romantics. And just like in the movies, these stories always end with a happily ever after . . .

a few facts about lobsters

2009-09-02T08:37:00.001-07:00

At the end of our trip to Maine, we visited the Oceanarium, a lobster hatchery, to learn more about lobsters. I felt it was only fitting since I had so voraciously feasted upon them each day during that time. Here are a few of the more interesting facts:

True lobsters have two very powerful claws. One claw is sharp and used for cutting, the other is bony and used for crushing. Lobsters that have their heavy ("crusher") claw on the right are considered "right-handed" and the others are "left-handed". Some lobsters are ambidextrous, they usually favor the claw that is the largest. True lobsters have two very powerful claws. One claw is sharp and used for cutting, the other is bony and used for crushing. Lobsters that have their heavy ("crusher") claw on the right are considered "right-handed" and the others are "left-handed". Some lobsters are ambidextrous, they usually favor the claw that is the largest.

Rubber bands are placed around the lobsters' claws for the protection of other lobsters, not necessarily its handlers.

According to the Oceanarium, a local university did a comprehensive study of the nervous system of lobsters and concluded that it was not developed enough to allow them to feel pain. This was very comforting and I CHOOSE to believe this, even though I have read contrary reports on other websites. I do not remember which university was cited, but after all, it is an institution of higher learning that did the research . . .

Another source on the web (this time from the Five Islands Lobster Company reads), "For those of you who are concerned about cooking screaming lobsters, here are the facts. The nervous system of a lobster is decentralized and has been compared to that of a grasshopper. From what we know, this means they probably feel little or no pain. They also have no vocal chords. The sound you may hear is actually steam escaping from the shell as the lobster cooks. If you're still concerned about hurting the lobster, begin to cook it in cold water instead of hot. As the temperature rises, it will put the lobster to sleep. So will laying it on its back for a few minutes."

Female lobsters can store the male's sperm for up to two years and individually fertilize each egg (ranging anywhere from approximately 8,000 to 100,000 depending upon their age and size).

Somewhere between 80% an 90% of the lobster produced in the U.S. originates from Maine.

The lobster population in Maine is experiencing healthy growth, which means we don't have to feel guilty for enjoying its flavorful deliciousness.

I close here with the oft heard statement, "You are what you eat."

a good friend

2009-08-25T11:20:00.000-07:00

I have a good friend from my days in Connecticut with AT&T dating back some 14 years ago. Bob Breau worked in our media center and was in charge of compiling our "raw" drafts and customer information into polished, bound proposals complete with the customer's logo and beautiful charts and graphics he created. Bob has been and always will be a very interesting fellow. He reads voraciously and has many interests ranging from music to nature to science, to just about anything you can name. In fact, I cannot think of an area of human endeavor that Bob has not explored to some extent. We have maintained contact throughout the years via e-mail and his e-mails are always packed with interesting tidbits. He has sent photos as well as sound clips taking full advantage of technology to share information. There are times when I will prompt him to send more information by asking innocently if anything interesting is going on in his neck of the woods. He never disappoints.

Several years ago, when we were in the CT area scouting colleges for my daughter, Bob made a distinct effort to connect up with us to spend some time together with me and my family. On our trip to Maine last week, Bob drove 200 miles to meet up with us once more. Of course, he does have a sister who lives not far from Portland, so he did have lodging, meals and the chance to visit his sister as well, but nonetheless, I am grateful and touched he would extend himself in such a maner. I have "friends" nearby who probably would not even deign to drive me to the airport in a pinch.

We spent the good part of a day exploring the city of Portland together and catching up. We shared a couple of moments of hilarity, one involving a very odd, but colorful clerk at a local hardware store whom we encountered again on the street many blocks from his place of employ. The clerk could have easily been a character in the movie "Ghost World." Bob commented it was almost as if he had been hired as an extra for a movie we were in and he was asked to double as a passerby for the street scene in addition to his role as sales clerk. Reviewing this, here on the computer screen, it isn't as funny as it was at that moment. You had to be there.

In any event, I wanted to acknowledge Bob's friendship and thank him for keeping in touch all of these years. Thanks, Bob! You da MAN!

divining rods

2009-08-24T22:13:00.000-07:00

During our visit to Fort Knox in Penobscot Bay (the OTHER Fort Knox, not the one where the gold reserves are kept), I spotted a small display of divining rods in the museum shop. Naturally, I could not resist the temptation and purchased myself a pair of L-Rods. Divining rods come in different configurations, with the sort of wishbone shaped stick being the most well-known. L-Rods resemble the letter "L" and come in pairs. The handles are hollow tubes and L-shaped copper wires are placed within the tubes to allow free-movement of the wires to do their thing. Tradition calls the ability to utilize a divining rod as "dowsing." Dowsing is the sixth sense originating from one's subconscious mind.

The document that accompanied my purchase of the dowsing rods claims that as your proficiency increases, "you will also be able to locate lost pipes, unmarked grave sites, lost treasure and other earth features with a high degree of accuracy and confidence."

Today, there exists an American Society of Dowsers (Inc.) headquartered in Danville, Vermont. There are approximately 1000 members with other smaller (dowser) organizations throughout the world.

There are many theories about the dowsing phenomenon. It is purported that those who believe it is possible and could work have moderate success, followed by increasing success as confidence and belief strengthens. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, I want to believe in such things (see my post regarding the Loch Ness Monster). I'm intrigued by the possibilities of things unseen and unexplained. I can attest to the fact that as I departed happily from the store with my L-Rods in hand (wasn't it P.T. Barnum who proclaimed, "There's one born every minute!"?), I swear the wires started to rotate freely, coming to rest for a brief moment, then arced towards the river to my left in unison! I turned with my back to the river, re-positioned the L-Rods in my hands once more with the identical result. The wires began to rotate, stalled for a brief moment as if settling into a final resting position, then slowly turned (again in unison) and pointed directly behind me! My daughter, Marissa, tried utilizing the L-Rods with exactly the same results. When Joni and Chris, my daughter's boyfriend, tried the L-Rods, neither achieved any positive results. Perhaps their shared training as lawyers was a hindrance to their psychic success.

I did try the divining rods again that night in the comfort of our hotel room and the L-Rods behaved in the same manner. In this instance, they both pointed directly to my left. I had no idea where any bodies of water lay in relation to the hotel room so I cannot vouch for their accuracy, but the fact that they both pointed in the same direction leads me to believe something was at play here. I'll have to keep you posted as I experiment more with these things. I figure my $7.00 investment is a small price to pay for a renewed sense of wonder . . .

consequences

2009-08-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

I neglected to mention that I gained an additional 3.7 pounds due to my overindulgent ways in Maine!

the food of maine

2009-08-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

Where to begin regarding some of the restaurant highlights of Maine? In chronological order they were:

Duckfat - owned by the same purveyors of Hugo's, a renowned destination dining restaurant (see below). Duckfat is known for its fries cooked in duckfat. The duckfat renders the fries a deep brown color mirroring the richer, more earthy flavor. We ordered the fries with cheese curd and duck gravy (referred to as Poutine), but also tried some with truffle ketchup, which was absolutely amazing. The truffles added depth to the ketchup which simply has to be experienced firsthand. Duckfat does not take reservations, so needless to say, we had to wait for quite a while before we were seated. We also ordered their vanilla milkshake which has to be one of the richest shakes I've ever had. The vanilla ice cream was obviously home made, incorporating the freshest of vanilla beans.

Hugo's - that same evening, we had procured reservations at Hugo's. Chef Rob Evans was the winner of the 2009 James Beard Foundation for the Best Chef of the Northeast. We began the evening with Romaine Hearts, white anchovy, parmesan, caesar dressing and bottarga. The simplicity of this first course was superb due primarily to the freshness of the ingredients. The Romaine Hearts were crispy and sweet. For the second course (actually another first course choice, but we shared), we had Watermelon & Watercress Salad, with goat cheese, organic radish topped with a citrus vinaigrette. Again the excellence of this course was based upon the finest freshest ingredients. Finally, the entree was Prime Beef Rib Eye, potato- miso puree, onion jus with multiple garnishes. The portions were very small, but overall the dining experience was superb. We overheard a waiter telling a patron that some of the courses took three days preparation. It is not difficult to believe judging from some of the dishes featured on the menu.

I won't bore you with too many more details, but have to mention a couple of other highlights:

The Azure Cafe in Freeport was located in a small building in the middle of town. I had the Freeport fish and chips made of haddock that was probably among the finest I have ever experienced. The batter was light and did not overpower the fresh delicacy of the haddock. Even the fries tasted light and were not greasy at all. I also sampled their lobster roll which contained some of the sweetest lobster meat of the trip. I suspect from the cost, the lobster meat may have been harvested solely from the claws, the most tender and prime part of the lobster.

Finally, Fore Street in downtown Portland capped off the entire trip with what was the finest meal we had in Maine. You cannot pull up a menu for Fore Street on their website because it is determined by whatever ingredients they purchase that day. There are a few favorites they do offer consistently however, like their hanger steak and spit-turned chicken.

We started out with a tomato tartlet appetizer which was nothing short of amazing. The tomato was baked to sweet perfection in a flaky dough that complimented the taste and texture perfectly. We then had mussels, steamed and swimming in its own juices and butter. As with most high end restaurants in Maine, the mussels were fresh and of the highest quality. The entree was striped bass with fresh celery relish and broccoliette. The delicacy of the fish and the fresh test of the celery were again a wonderful combination of ingredients that served to enhance each other. Finally, the dessert was a warm Rainier Cherry upside down cake with caramel sauce and house made vanilla ice cream. This was a dessert I will never forget! I can still taste the warmth of the cake and the caramel sauce in my mouth just as the sweet tartness of the cherries hit my taste buds . . . Just so you are aware of its credentials, in 2002, Fore Street was named Number 16 in Gourmet Magazine's Top Fifty Restaurants in the United States. In 2004, Chef-partner Sam Hayward was named Best Chef in the Northeast by the the James Beard Foundation.

Finally, as mentioned, I had lobster in one form or another each day of our visit in Maine. Most of it was in the form of lobster rolls, one of my favorite dishes culled on our first visit to Maine. Most places were tiny shacks manned by high school students earning their summer pay, but all you really need to know to produce a fine lobster roll is how to cook fresh lobster, get the meat out of the shells, mix it with a little mayonnaise or butter and slap it onto a grilled hot dog bun (which in the Northeast is really a slice of bread folded in half). There were admittedly, small variations in the lobster roll in the different shacks, but most were superb. I don't know if this can be attributed to the fact that I only visited those shacks recommended by the guide books, but I suspect as in anything, quality control and good management make for some better shacks than others. Occasionally, I would indulge in other menu items like fried clam strips during these visits to the shacks, but honestly, I faithfully adhered to having lobster each and every day in some form or another. Perhaps given another week, I may have tired of this seafood choice, but overall, we were there for 9 entire days, and I am confident I could go for more days, perfectly content.

more images of maine

2009-08-24T11:13:00.001-07:00

This is the Portland Observatory. The observatory was used to track incoming ships in the old days to signal dockworkers to prepare for unloading. A flag of the particular ship's company would be hoisted to identify the ship. Visitors can climb the observatory for a wonderful 360 degree view of Portland.

This is the Portland Headlight, the most photographed lighthouse in the United States. I shot photos in a fog enshrouded setting of this very same lighthouse over 10 years ago. Nearby was the Lobster Shack, essentially a shack that served lobster with both indoor and outdoor seating with a nice view overlooking the water. It was touted in one of my guide books as one of the best places of this type to enjoy lobster. We were not disappointed. The going price for lobster rolls ranged from $12.95 to about $19.95, so needless to say, after purchasing the accompaniments like fries or onion rings (fattening and bad for your arteries, but oh so delicious!), drinks and a slice of blueberry pie, you we were shelling out something like $48 to $56 on average for two people. And this was at a place no more classy than a drive-in! It was worth every penny . . .

This is the Penobscot Bay Bridge. Visitors can ascend in the elevator to the top of the 420-foot tower on the right. As the elevator doors open, you face a wall of glass which can be somewhat unsettling. There are only three bridges of this type in the world and this is the only one in the United States.

This is the view of the town of Bucksport, Maine from the tower.

A shot of a restaurant in Bar Harbor. We didn't actually eat here, but the entryway deserved to be photographed.
Sadly, we encountered fog during our visit to Acadia National Forest. It did make for some moody images. The photograph of the boat shrouded in fog on two previous posts was shot on the same day.

images of maine

2009-08-24T11:07:00.001-07:00

We took a short cruise to Peak's Island for a lobster cookout. This is the view as we entered the harbor. Peak's Island is the closest one to Portland and boasts the highest population of year-around residents of any of the islands due to its proximity.

This is the view of Portland at dusk upon our return from the cookout.