the boy scout motto

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.