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Turn The Page

2012-02-08T10:31:00.002-08:00

Copy your race.

Copy your space.

Copy the post.

Like the most.

Do less

To feel best

The shortcut you take

Is the least chance you make

Branches move in the sky

But are you moving or standing still?

What you earn is not what you learn

Your ignition is sparked by recognition

You survive

To be alive

You feed from

What you need

You want change

But are out of range

You ruin with

What you been doin’

As if you are the only one on the boat

Inside your moat

You complain

Watching the rain

Feelin’ water

Circling the drain

You spoil

And feel so royal

Your world is virtual

All fast and instant reply

All unreal with no feel

So unquestionable, everyone likes

So unfree you can’t see

You read but who do you want to be

You have a need

To be in the feed

Turning the page

Is all the rage

Cutting corners ignoring mourners

Making money to taste the honey

Three steps forward, three steps back

It's an easier way, the copy cat path

You have done the math.

Written while listening to Hearing Damage.

(Un)Safe

2012-01-26T10:00:00.000-08:00

Even when I am hundreds of miles away, Penny's Open Mic provokes me into thinking.

I search for so many words to describe this Tuesday night at 94 St Mark's Place. Everything I find describes the essence of creativity itself.

This isn't some tourist attraction. But Far Off Broadway where New York Magazine wrote "some of the city's most inventive minds take the stage." This night oozes with innovative creativity.

"Creative intimidation in a safe environment."

It is the real deal in East Village if you've ever seen the roots of the neighborhood.

words on the wall go well with Penny's Open Mic

Just being in the audience gives me the butterflies. You cannot help but take your game to a new level.

I search for images to visually represent flavors of this night. Perhaps one of the night's prominent performance artists Killy Mockstar Dwyer will do the trick.

Are you staring down the barrel gun or something else. She'll kill you with what she does.

You have to watch her to see what is being hunted.

There is no other clue.

Devolution

2012-01-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

Humans like to think humans have the most superior of capabilities among species. But look at evidence to the contrary:

Humans cannot walk at birth. Most other animals can.
Humans are among rare species who kill each other beyond factors of starvation.
Humans are the only species destroying the planet
Humans pay for food
Humans pay for shelter
Humans need clothes
Humans drink the milk of other animals and drink it past two years old
Humans trick each other -- often. A pack, school or flock of humans would be hard to organize.
Humans cannot communicate at birth, run fast, swim far or fly.
Humans abandon each other and their kids and cannot live as long as sea turtle.

True, humans are good at thinking for themselves. This devolution will not be televised.

Writing Songs

2011-11-24T08:21:00.000-08:00

In songwriting, there are morning sunrises and night skies. There are rural scenes and city lights. There are winters, falls and summers of. The song is spring. It hails, it rains, it pours, it shines like no tomorrow. Words flow manically happy and sad. On the edge, they create new soundscapes. Stories layer memories with sounds. It scares you at one turn, you burst out laughing next. That lyrical river captures moments freely as they stream by. It takes you on a journey where you never expected to be. Many faces or isolated, you see a person, a crowd or you are alone.

Someone Else's Bucket

2011-11-20T15:47:00.001-08:00

When I grow up
I want to be Bob Dylan
I want to be the first President of my kind
I want to play lead in The Godfather

When I grow up
I want to be editor of the New York Times
I want to have a #1 single in America
I want to play in the NHL

When I grow up
I want my name to mean
I can read English
Any name like mine
In someone else's dreams

I am all grown up now
Seeing things I couldn’t do
Wondering if my kid can one day do –
Took 12 years to see someone like her in a movie
Very little had changed

In grade school, I once dreamed of being a janitor
This is true -
My bucket list was empty
I wanted to carry a bucket
To clean someone else's house

Chronicling dreams
Looking without touching
Seeing without doing
Polishing someone else's story
And I wonder what my kid can dream

Dylanesque

2011-11-10T07:25:00.001-08:00

Whose purpose was purposeless content
To distract you from being content

Written with bitters
Put into my drink

Two people set their sights
On two different things

Whose self-directed determination
Was only self-minded

We parted ways
Or were kept on guard

Ignorant of what’s here
Ignorant of what’s there

Don’t wanna stand in your shadows
Don’t want you to stand in mine

When the might is only fight
No one knows what’s right

Intellect without courage is stupidity’s muse
Like calling someone stupid without even thinking

Ideas without nerve
They are nervous ideals

Your psychology, my bills
Too heavy to pull away from

Don’t want membership in your club
Don’t want to pay any monthly price

No more green lights on glass screens
No facing the face

When you’re suddenly left
With only the ones you don’t burn.

You only see a mirror
And there are no more turns

On The Radar

2011-11-01T08:56:00.000-07:00

Theses lights that shine on

There's nothing gone

These things that you see

There's nothing to fear

These symbols that show

What was just tomorrow

Is just yesterday

In just one day

These quotable lines

Are what we define

These nights that are long

Are where we belong

These things you make haste

Become a time of waste

There's a darkness on the radar

To lose a star

From a stolen car

To the end of the bar

One day it hits you in the head

One day you can see what's ahead

There's a time that makes haste

There's a time that makes waste

The Story of My Other Life

2011-10-18T17:36:00.000-07:00

I hadn’t opened this address book in more than 20 years.

Believe it or not, it had just sat there on a shelf, mostly never moving. All this time.

It was as if not much time had passed – one day at a time.

And one day, it suddenly stayed there long enough to become an antique. Right next to my first Blackberry (a pager without a phone) junked after discontinued use.

* * *

The paper address book has been sitting there since my first email.

It surprises me that contacts inside have been preserved better than data in any digital address book I’ve had ever since. For all its wonder, technology doesn’t save personal things well long term. Technology breaks sooner than later.

Today I open this paper directory and it is like I once lived a totally different life two decades ago. Knowing me today, you would never know that was me.

Nothing in it is really private anymore. Privacy two decades ago has no relevance 20+ years later. Even home addresses have changed.

As if pickled in a time capsule, each name represented something I did 20+ years ago. Much of it for the first-time with people I'd met in places I’d been. I have been to 20+ countries and 100+ cities in my life.

There are many names to whom I’d written letters with only one original copy. You don’t get to see what you’ve “sent” ever again.

* * *

This address book existed once upon a time when the only way to connect long distance was to write a letter.

She sent me this polaroid from a fashion shoot in Tokyo

I sent my last personal letters I think in 1997 – love letters and musings handwritten to my kid’s mom. 1997 was also the year of the last cassette tape car. The last soundtrack time-stamping my life in analog. The internet was taking over. Where it would go, no one knew. No one still knows.

* * *

Recently I saw data visualization guru Nicholas Felton talk about how to digitally track the story of one’s life. He influenced the "new" Facebook Timeline with his methods. He collected his father’s analog sources and compiled data to represent the story of his life. Among sources were date-books chronicling where he went and photos.

Felton posted one photo on Flickr to ask where in Taiwan it was. It turned out I had been to Ali Shan too (in 1978). That was my first dialogue with Nicholas Felton on Twitter.

I then got inspired by Felton to track inspiration in my life using his app Daytum. My stats were very revealing – what I was high on or low on.

* * *

As I looked inside this analog address book, I thought of Felton’s work to trace his father’s past from analog source materials. Receipts told him where his dad went. I was curious to track my first years as an adult represented by this paper address book.

I opened up this pandora’s box when I needed to look up an exact address where I had lived in Colombia in 1988. We have been geo-tagging stories for a site called Jump2Spot.com and I thought it would be neat to geo-tag stories tracking the past. "Who lived here before?" "What were they like?"

The amazing thing about this paper address book, unlike Facebook, is that I have exact addresses written down. Where I met these people is no longer a mystery of the memory.

I'd not remember a town like St. Agatha, Ontario, otherwise.

* * *

I will see if I can decipher the first and last person entered into the book to pinpoint how old this book is. I would estimate this address book takes place in 1986-1992 while living in Windsor ON, Waterloo ON, Barranquilla (Colombia), Toronto ON and Vancouver BC.

* * *

During the historical period of this address book, the Internet barely had a presence on university campuses. The 9600 baud rate modem existed in our college newsroom for national bulletin boards from Canadian University Press (CUP) but there were no browsers. Emails existed on campuses, slowly growing in popularity among journalists and science students. Douglas Coupland had just written Generation X.

* * *

The inside cover has my grandparents names “YJ Huang” and “Peng” written down on two separate occasions (one followed the other within 12 months) – as they were listed in the hospital (“Toronto General”). I marked down their phone numbers and Wellesley subway station. Inside covers were often for urgent situations. 1986-1987 was a very profound time for me seeing what the end of life meant in acute care. I was reading a lot of Samuel Beckett (Endgame).

* * *

The once blank cover page inside also has an urgent notation: “AExpress 881308100.” I had been kidnapped in Barranquilla, Colombia, outside of El Prado Hotel, after being pushed into a taxi at gunpoint. Hours later, I had to negotiate my way out in Spanish with this traveller’s cheque. I tracked the cheque being cashed in Panama.

* * *

On the cover page I also see 439 Sherbourne (I think it's the Toronto home for grandma after the hospital) and 2666 Sasamat, where I first lived in Vancouver for $195 a month. I literally took the train across Canada and found that place the day I arrived homeless. I stayed at the Clarence Hotel for $20 my first night in August, 1988.

* * *

I wrote down “Lee’s Palace”in Toronto on this cover page but I actually don’t remember ever being there in 1986-1992. It also says I saw a keynote speech at 6:00-7:30pm at Oakham House, Ryerson. I can’t recall who I saw, but likely it was a journalist in 1990. I’d worked at the Toronto Star that year as a reporter.

1990 - Wrote story about son of mayor in affluent Richmond Hill living inside a leaky crate above a creek.

* * *

The first page of contacts brings back a lot of memories in many countries. I met Kati (Catherine) Augereau from Trelaze, France, in Barranquilla, Colombia, when she visited Denis Vignolet at Alliance Française (Allianza Cultrual Colombo) on Calle 52.

Denis was a film buff who graduated from La Sorbonne in Paris. He painted his apartment black. He bought a greek column for US$144 as a centrepiece for his apartment hangout. We’d listen to Sisters of Mercy, The Police (Greatest Hits) and Art of Noise sound-tracking and time stamping that time in his apartment. He had either a green light, purple light or other colors lit which you could see from the outside. We had no cell phones back then and these lights symbolized whether or not we could drop in for a visit. I remember thinking, "like Gatsby's green light." Kati moved to “Les Courtineres” 49460 Soulaire et Bourg in France. I remember her writing a letter to me showing a castle and a baby.

* * *

I wanted to chronicle living in the street and lived in the street for a few days, writing under a pseudonym. The above are two incomplete columns to glimpse a slice of street life.

I found my first place in Barranquilla, Colombia, the day I arrived homeless. I walked into Eastern Airlines (now defunct) thinking people there would speak English and someone working there had a room in January, 1988.

That’s how I ended up living on Calle 91, No. 64B-10 Apt 4E for US$150/month room and board. I became good friends with Belinda Diaz Granados who worked for the airline. I still remember celebrating Carnaval in Cartagena dancing with thousands of people in a bull ring and in the streets.

It was good to know airline people. Newspapers sometimes arrived from America so we could get the news. Outside of that, we were totally cut off from news in America. Crazy when you think about CNN today.

* * *

I have an address for Amnesty International in Dublin at 8 Shaw Street and London England at 5 Roberts Place. I was into helping developing nations back then. Live Aid was a big influence. So was U2.

* * *

Michelle Adams from Trinidad and Tobago is the first name listed on the first page. I met her in Windsor, Ontario, where I’d lived for 12 years. There is no order of relevance in an address book or chronology. It is just alphabetical. Random.

* * *

Further in are numbers for my first room-mate Thor Andersen in Vancouver who moved into the Outback of Australia in the late 1990s and kept on sending me post cards for me to come. Thor named his film company Bluetooth Films after the Danish king of communication. Next thing I knew there was soon a new wireless movement called "Bluetooth" surfacing. His friend Leonard and his brothers Eric and Glen also have their numbers nearby. “Adjacencies.” Glen once posed as Jesus in the final piece of his art exhibit at Taf’s Café on Granville Street in Vancouver. They used to say Emily Carr fine arts students were a "little crazy." Glen crucified himself using a tree on Granville Street. A police officer on horse had to bring him down.

* * *

Ted Aussem was our typesetter at our Vancouver college paper The Ubyssey (UBC + The Odyssey) who had a boat moored in New Westminster. In the old days, populations started where boats would go. That's why New Westminster preceded Vancouver. Ted used the first Pagemaker program on Macintosh and taught me a lot of what I know today in graphic design and typography.

* * *

Wow – I have my first lawyer listed – Brad, a law student. Someone owed me money - $1600. A lot for a student back then. I went to court for my first and last time and got it back. It took 2 years.

* * *

David Beattie is like a page in my heart. I met him in Gastown in Vancouver while he was collecting cans on a rainy night. I used to hangout at the Classical Joint - as its youngest regular - where Joni Mitchell and BB King would sometimes sing. Columbia Records would record live. It later closed down, and 20 years later, had a reunion which I missed.

In December, 1988, David told me of his history of being subject to residential school abuse in Kamloops. I went to his apartment at 12-146 East Cordova. As I interviewed him, a rat jumped through the window and went under the bed. Mandel Ngan photographed David. Years later, I visited Mandel in Hongkong. Today Mandel works for Agence France-Press (AFP) at the White House.

TWENTY YEARS LATER, on behalf of Canada, Prime Minister Stephen Harper issued an apology for the residential school abuse on June 11, 2008. I don't know if David Beattie was still alive.

* * *

I see a very brief friend named Michelle Bombardier whom I met briefly in Toronto. Spontaneously, we decided to go to Detroit together to see Iggy Pop and the Pretenders. Lead singer Chrissie Hynde was then Mrs. Kerr (written on her guitar strap after Simple Minds lead singer Jim Kerr).

* * *

My high school French teacher is listed (French was my highest grade). I visited him once after graduating. There’s also a Colombian high school listed where I sought employment. I wanted to teach statistics in Spanish.

* * *

I met Joceline Beni on the train across Canada. At Banff, my car filled up with Japanese tourists. Joceline was the only person not Japanese boarding. She sat next to me and became my first Vancouver friend. She was French.

* * *

I see a gang of people listed where I finished university in Vancouver. A guitar player from Halifax. Two student presidents. An engineering student councillor. A writer I mentored who later worked for the Japan Times.

* * *

An old girlfriend is listed. That didn’t work out too well. We didn’t speak again after 1991. You can't unfriend anyone in a paper address book though. What's written down stays. Strangely in 1997, she wanted to show up at my wedding. I bumped into her that day strangely near where I picked up the rings. I married a celebrity. It was a strange day. Lady Diana died that day.

* * *

My best friend from Windsor, Ont, is listed. I’ve known him since 1975. I don’t think I know anyone outside my family longer than that. True story - he flew to Vancouver for my wedding in 1997 and we climbed the Squamish Chief that weekend. He had climbed it before in 1984-86. We recently saw each other at his son’s basketball game in Hamilton, Ontario. Told his son Joshua, I’d never forget the game. He shot so many free throws in a row to win the game.

* * *

Sebastien Castillo Buelbas is listed at Calle 15. No 61-40. He was 10 years old then. He assisted me counting cars passing us in the street by model and make for a statistics project. He invited me into his hood one day where it was dark or candlelit. He taught me Spanish in Barranquilla, Colombia.

He reminded me of Le Petit Prince I told my French friends.

Sometimes Sebastien took my notebook and communicated to me visually.

* * *

Some 1988 Waterloo college friends are listed whom I visited in Sudbury, Winnipeg and Victoria as I traveled across the country by train. Those were days I'd take off and land anywhere. But it brought me to interesting places.

* * *

The first movie director I interviewed for a newspaper is listed. In Vancouver, Janis Cole gave me an address to meet up in Toronto. I think I interviewed her for a film festival. She had chronicled prostitutes in Vancouver in Hookers on Davie. She was now releasing a documentary about the highest-ranked women in Hollywood called Calling The Shots. There were not many women directors or executives back then. Deepa Mehta in 1990 asked me to sit next to her by the director's seat to see the view for a Toronto Star interview. She was directing her first feature film Sam and Me which won an award at the Cannes Film Festival.

Strangely in 1989-90, I also interviewed an alternative animation producer championing an unknown animation short called The Simpsons. Looking back I had a good year in entertainment. I interviewed surrealist director Guy Maddin for his first feature film. I reviewed an unknown documentary film-maker named Michael Moore for Roger & Me. I loved movies (topped my film history class) but was a very marginal entertainment writer - everyone around me had said so and so I quit. But looking back - if I knew what I knew was actually bang on, I probably would have kept on going. I said crazy things like The Simpsons would change the animation game and Michael Moore would radically change documentary film-making. My editor got tired of the over-blown hype. I had no authority to call the shot.

Things happen for a reason I guess. Today I chronicle things that I should have done back then.

* * *

Another Vancouver room-mate is listed in the paper address book. I stayed with her, her twin sister and her mom. She moved to the Yukon to teach aboriginal communities. We’ve since found each other on Facebook. Before this, I'd often hear verbal stories of her legend - the only "white woman" in Old Crow. Anytime I'd meet anyone from the Yukon, I'd ask about her. Her community often was only accessible by canoe, snowshoe or a plane landing on snow.

I last saw my old room-mate on a ferry to/from Vancouver Island in 2002 while I was with Nicole Vienneau traveling along the West Coast. Nicole Vienneau has since gone missing and I search for her with this blog:

http://xthespot.blogspot.com/2010/04/criminal-mind-tracing-disappearance-of.html

* * *

I see an old friend, an entertainment writer Greg Davis. We’ve seen many movies together. I remember hanging out with him in the green room of the Town Pump in Vancouver with singer Stephen Fearing. I photographed Stephen that night for a newspaper review Greg wrote. I hope he finds me again one day. His name is too common to search online. I wouldn't know how to begin.

* * *

I see a photographer listed who photographed one of the Tiananmen Square student leaders in 1989 fainting from exhaustion. I remember trying to refrain from listing Tiananmen Square contacts while I was in China. E-zines were transmitted over the internet to share what happened there. Film canisters were smuggled out. The Cold War was ending, at times, tragically. The Goddess of Democracy statue is still at our college in Vancouver to memorialize the massacre of students in China. We wrote the first tri-lingual editorial in our college's history. I went into China after the massacre of thousands of students after most of the foreign correspondents had fled.

* * *

I see a Windsor high school and college buddy now living near Toronto who had two kids early on in life. I recently found out his wife had passed away from cancer. I didn’t know what that was like until my own brother died from the same cancer.

* * *

A musician Janis Giffen (keyboards) I met in Windsor is listed. I don’t know if she continued on in music. She inspired me to manage a band. Knowing very little, I tried to help book a gig in a major theater. And this is a true story. Years after I failed to book them, this big theater called me, remembering the passion I had, and asked if we would still want to gig. But by then we had disbanded.

* * *

A few friends of ex-girlfriends are listed. Such is the palette of an un-erasable, paper address book.

* * *

A photographer friend who wanted to win the Pulitzer Prize is listed. I did sit across photographer Paul Watson at The Toronto Star in 1990 who would win the Pulitzer in 1994 for his spot news photo in Somalia. I met this other photographer in Vancouver, Kuala Lumpur, Hongkong and Singapore. He works for Reuters now and managed the first photographers going into Afghanistan after 9/11. We used to try and meet as many Magnum photographers as possible, learning from them. Henri-Cartier Bresson, still alive then but no longer taking pictures (just painting), was my biggest influence. I shot with a 50mm lens only. And today I try to catch the "decisive moment" via cell phone.

Written in the 1990s

* * *

The address of my mother’s childhood home in Fanling, Hongkong, is listed. My grandpa – her father – is still alive at 88, and fought for the British in those hills in World War II. He lives near Toronto now, relocated by life. I visited him in Hongkong in 1989 (when I covered the Tiananmen Square aftermath) and in 1993 when I participated in a Canadian elections simulcast.

* * *

For two summers, I also worked in a factory for Bacardi Rum (1987-88). Assembly line friend Anthony Hughes is listed. We probably packed a million bottles of rum.

I can still clutch 4 mickeys fast.

* * *

For more than a decade, I stayed at a family’s house for Christmas in Richmond, British Columbia, which is listed. The siblings there now live in Richmond, San Francisco and Tokyo. I met one sibling in Hongkong in 1993 and this is a true story. We were walking in Repulse Bay and suddenly a woman comes up to kiss me. An old girlfriend from Vancouver whom I'd thought was in Italy!

* * *

I see a Vietnamese friend who travelled to Ghana for Crossroads and wrote about water diseases. Good ol’ Hai Van Le. We used to have Vietnamese noodles in Vancouver Chinatown.

* * *

I see names of people I hung out with on a street corner in Colombia. Octavio sold hot dogs. So did Odulfo. Juan was a street kid. Miguel was a deaf street kid. They helped cars back out into traffic for spare change.

* * *

I see a photographer friend Heather Jenkins who became a Vancouver doctor. Small world, once the doctor for my kid’s mom was away and Heather substituted in. I wasn’t there but I saw Heather's name on the prescription. A long way from a photo credit.

* * *

I see a female University of Waterloo friend listed. That’s rare. There were not a lot of females back then at this school. I think she dated an NHL hockey player once – Shayne Corson. I went to four universities in four years...that is a true story. I just kept on transferring to get to a better spot. I don't know what that got me, but I ended up in Vancouver for 18 years.

* * *

Wow-that’s incredible…I have the mafia pilot I interviewed in Colombia listed in code.

* * *

Another Grade 4 friend is listed. He became business partners with me after college. His dad is my Irish godfather.

* * *

One of the few other Chinese students at my high school is listed. Whether I knew it or not, race factored into what I could do or not and how I did it. I didn't become an actor. Roles are still bad for Asian men two decades later. A recent article in the Toronto Star said anyone with a name like mine would have a 35% lower chance of getting a job of any kind. To test this, they submitted the exact same resumes with different names - English vs non-English.

* * *

In this address book, every name is equal. There are names from many countries. But the world is not like this address book.

* * *

A good friend – we addressed poverty issues together in the press – later became a professor at McGill University. I re-united with her in Montreal in 2005. There are stories I could tell about the things we did to help the impoverished. But I won’t. She was also a 911 operator part-time. We knew the score.

* * *

My mother’s first address in Brampton is listed. She moved two more times. One thing I notice, places I knew off by heart are not listed. But I no longer know those addresses today.

* * *

One day I hope to find Jessica McArthur. Again, her name is too common to search online. She lived in Japan. She studied theater at the University of British Columbia. And she wrote at our college paper. She sent me post cards before from Shizuoka.

Ed. ~ Just now, at 10:58 am, October, 19, 2011, less than 24 hours after posting this piece, I found out what happened to Jessica McArthur. This is after years of searching for her online after Google launched. This post dated September 25, 2011, reports her life ended August 15, 1998, at age 32. I last saw her early on in her struggle with an illness in 1990. She battled it for 8 more years. I am very sad for this loss. She was a big light in my life. RIP JM - http://www.titanrainbow.com/nwteammcje.html

"BORN:
October 12, 1965
London, Ontario, Canada

PASSED AWAY:
August 15, 1998
North Vancouver, B C, Canada

Graduated:
Palmer Jr Secondary,Richmond, BC
McNair Sr Secondary, Richmond, BC
Graduated UBC

ODDS & ENDS:
from her TITAN data sheet
Height: 5' 6 1/2" (168cm)
Shoe Size: 7 1/2"

I wonder why they collected her shoe size - wardrobe? In good times, we'd laugh over this. There's audio of her voice in the link. Though I struggle to say this, knowing her illness, she was one of the most uplifting people I've ever met in life. A sun in your room. I still remember saying my last goodbye to her on West 10th Avenue outside of her Vancouver suite. Somehow I knew from the look in her eyes that she knew this would be the last time. It was just a matter of time with such an illness. I gave her a pleading look, wanting to see her again no matter what the condition. She returned a look of compassion wanting what was best for me. I have never forgotten that look.

These are some inspiring well-written edgy words my dear friend Jessica McArthur left behind. The Butterfly Girl is genius:

http://www.titanrainbow.com/nwteammcje1.html

* * *

A long-time photographer friend is listed. We’ve been through a lot of adversity and camping. His son was born on the same day as me.

* * *

My first Toronto friend Jeanne Ng is listed. I last saw her in Hongkong in 1985. She sent me a laminated poem called In The Field when I was living in Taiwan. So perhaps this address book goes back to 1985. Or maybe I copied down her info in 1986 to have it.

* * *

A sports reporter is listed. A Windsor professor is listed.

* * *

My good friend Miguel Pascoe who struggled to find the balance between truth and money is listed. I wonder if I can say that today. It seemed like we said it all the time, just not in those words. He was highly valued at Oracle as a technology consultant. But he loved music more. That college debate we had in Waterloo lasted a decade more.

* * *

I haven't coded complex computer programs again since Waterloo where I had my first email address. Life might have changed for me if the internet was prevalent then. This is where I work now.

* * *

A math classmate in Vancouver is listed. There were only 7-10 students in my university honours math class! Two of the students were tops in the school (one year apart). This was a very tough program. Most people don't even know I have a math degree. My name is spelled wrong in the math department graduation photos where I am not photographed.

At graduation, one prof told me I would never be in mathematics after reading my writing. No one's ever asked me for my college degree.

* * *

A grade school Windsor hockey friend is listed. I played hockey nearly every winter day in Windsor. I pushed it into spring and summer.

* * *

All the college editors I worked with in Vancouver are listed. I nick-named my kid K after Katherine Monk, now a national film critic. True story - I have bumped into K at the craziest places. Hemingway's in Toronto during TIFF. At a Vancouver street intersection at a light - both of us in cars. At the Roundhouse before a hockey game. And while she was talking to some director during a filmfest (I think Jane Campion).

* * *

My German high school friend in Windsor is still single, still a lawyer, and still lives in Munich today. We touch base every few years. He once worked at Toronto’s largest law firm and then moved to Germany. We ate at the old Le Sélect Bistro when it was on Queen Street by the Rivoli in Toronto...when bread baskets hung from the ceiling. I house-sat his parents’ house in Windsor one summer and studied their vinyl records (a great collection). They had U2's new vinyl Joshua Tree. How I learned to sing like Bono. I don't recall many vinyl records after that year.

I took care of their dog Poppy.

My last time in Quebec City was visiting this friend staying there one summer.

* * *

I still owe Eldon Sprickerhoff a steak. In college at Waterloo, I said he’d never last with someone. I never found out what happened until 10 years later. I lost the bet big time.

* * *

I see Windsor friend Dave Sobocan listed. He used to climb walls around the time Vancouver's Mountain Co-op started getting big in Ontario. To this day, I've never seen anyone as passionate about one thing as he was about rock climbing. If you wonder why I know some vocabulary there, that's why.

* * *

A Colombian friend Clara Spitz used to hang out with us a lot in Barranquilla.

* * *

Artifacts from 1981 - As kids Pete and I pretended we were spies and owned land. Our spelling was not that good. We locked up our docs in a brief case which I recently opened.

Peter Schaffer (not the hockey player) was my closest friend in grade school (lived on my street). He was part of Canada's elite Canadian Airborne Regiment - 3 Commando. He was easy to track until they disbanded the CAR after another unit had a scandalous incident in Somalia. Not sure where he went since. Bumped into one person who saw him in passing through Toronto once. For such a small town, Windsor actually spreads around the world in funny ways. I bump into Windsorites everywhere I go.

* * *

There's a piano player who used to play for Dave Brubeck in the address book. I spent a Christmas with him in a trailer in the middle of the mountains of British Columbia. Many people in this book, I don't know if they are still alive.

Sometimes I can look them up online - like Michael Ventrella with whom I stayed in Windsor one summer.

Other names are like ships passing in the night in a 20-year timeline. Like Debi Wainwright who worked at CBC and shared her Canadian Literature notes with me.

* * *

-Z-

The last name in the book is an old girlfriend I dated for four years. She worked for Rupert Murdoch and FedEx after she moved across the ocean. There's a smiley face from her in the address book - the only one. I bumped into her randomly in Vancouver many years ago with her first kid and husband visiting during Christmas. She looked very happy. Small world, in Hongkong, her grandpa, when he was alive, worked with my grandpa (still alive).

* * *

One thing is for sure. This address book said more than anyone knows about me.

I named some people I hope will find me again. If you're not named, "Look me up."

Superstition

2011-10-06T09:17:00.008-07:00

They both can scream.

She in movies. He calling strikes.

I was very distracted this night.

This is what I saw in front of me.

In their element

I know, how can the dude in the right even compete with actress-model Tammy Gillis who will appear in Maxim, who just appeared in Sharp, and was a lead model for Ginch Gonch. Notably she was also Mary Magdalene in Guy Maddin's surrealist short Heart of the World. Tammy then moved on to co-star in L Word, Battlestar Galactica, Douglas (Generation X) Coupland's jPod and Endgame. Endgame is a show I love about a crime-solving chess master sequestered in a Vancouver hotel like Howard Hughes (who locked himself inside the Bayshore Hotel). Tammy's also in Shattered, Stealing Paradise (Rachael Leigh Cook) and the critically-acclaimed Less Than Kind.

Above us - above the Park Hyatt rooftop lounge - choppers were flying. It was opening gala night for the Toronto Film Festival. Tammy, about to make a celebrity pancake tossing appearance next morning, said they might be scouting Brad Pitt in town for Moneyball. He's stayed in this hotel before. A friend of mine once drove Brad Pitt in a limo from this very hotel. Pitt stayed at a cottage next door to me once.

Coincidentally, the book Moneyball was in my trunk. I didn't even know a movie was made about it!

The dude next to us wasn't Brad Pitt. But coincidentally, he's a deciding factor in Moneyball.

Ron Kulpa works as an umpire in Major League Baseball - and had worked Derek Jeter's magical hit #3000 game in Yankee Stadium.

My ode to Derek Jeter - The Captain of the Yankees - for whom I've seen every superstition in the book work http://www.twitpic.com/2v81e1

Jeter hit a home run for #3000 and went 5 for 5 in one of the most magical games ever in baseball. I've always believed baseball games were won on magic more so than statistics or Moneyball. Odds were regularly defied.

* * *

I was running late and these two randomly met. He'd seen Shooter (Mark Wahlberg) five times. She'd co-starred in it. She told him someone would be arriving very soon who loved baseball. I told him, Orioles would be very tired after playing the Yankees. He'd be working the Blue Jays - Orioles series soon.

* * *

There's a coincidence tonight. Superstition is prevalent in the paths of both Tammy Gillis and baseball. Tonight they are intersecting like ley lines at the Cross Roads. Everyone who knows me in sports has seen my superstitions work. They don't mess with it. Nor do I.

Sometimes it is like déjà vu.

I took this picture in July, 2007, at Brooklyn's SoundFix. One month later a song-writer for Feist and Broken Social Scene invited us to meet them at McCarren Park where they would be performing in a Brooklyn swimming pool. Within weeks, Feist's career catapulted into arenas and stadiums. Four years later Jeff Buckley's guitarist Gary Lucas played at my New York haunt Caffe Vivaldi. I went with Danielle De Luca who then got invited to sing Mojo Pin and Grace with Gary Lucas (who co-wrote them) weeks later at Caffe Vivaldi. It wasn't lost on me that the first song I'd ever heard at Caffe Vivaldi was Mojo Pin (sung by Kate Sland). It's why I bought this album in the above photo in the first place.

Realistic probabilities can't back this up. No baseball statistics can track magic. No human logic. Not even belief can back it up.

I don't often have superstitions outside of sports, but I do with Tammy Gillis.

It all started after she had a drought of no cool gigs for a long long time. Can we say long? We know droughts in baseball. Just ask the Boston Red Sox.

So one day for her birthday - coming up this month actually - I made this tryptic to summon cool gigs. It symbolized good things to come "in threes."

She got a cool gig right away. And randomly, after unforeseen events, stuff started happening. Calls were coming in regularly after she starred in Under The Applebox- especially from an elite Hollywood agency. I mean what are the odds that Slumdog Millionaire would win an Oscar for best film and suddenly movies like it were in demand.

I love Latika's Theme

The drought was over.

As a superstition I kept on making conceptual photos of Tammy Gillis to keep this going.

And so did she...this profile photo has stayed the same while the streak continues for Tammy Gillis - who just shot Supernatural in Vancouver and returns to Toronto to work on the set of Lost Girl.

I posted on her wall Sept. 28, 2010, to keep this profile pic after getting a Vancouver TV series gig and a Montreal movie. Good things come "in threes." She then landed a Manitoba gig. She is originally from McCreary, Manitoba (population 800).

* * *

What is a dream? Familiar sounds that resonate. Elements of your life that congregate. Symbols that at first don't make sense.

* * *

When I first met Tammy Gillis in April, 2008, I was meeting actress Justine Warrington randomly where Tammy worked. Small world, they had both auditioned for the same movie with Michael Madsen. Justine got the role. Tammy liked this blog I wrote about Justine on coincidences - or more accurately, the magic that can happen on a path. A dream is just that. The world is connected in funny ways. Months later I would buy Tammy's guitar and donate it. It traveled across the country as Tammy started getting gigs. And one day I knew I'd be writing the same blog about Tammy.

Tried out her guitar in kitchen of place where Tammy worked. Then it got carried across Main Street through the Vancouver rain to where I donated it (lawyer for EMI carried it). Then it traveled from Main Street across Canada to Ottawa where I played it again.

November 19, 2010 ("Smile of The Day") - Actress Rachael Leigh Cook snaps a shot of Tammy across Canada in Montreal. "On top of the Mont Royal. Rachael practically had to push me up the last flight of stairs." In 2011, Tammy returned again to Montreal for another project and Julia Roberts was on the next lot.

* * *

I've been playing around with an iPhone app that makes posters with credits fast....and have been making posters of the same photo shot on this rooftop with each gig Tammy's gotten since. I am calling this the superstition photo. Her first gig was Supernatural. The next gig was Lost Girl. I wonder what the next gig will be. Good things come "in threes."

Accidentally the rooftop staff took Ron's beer away. I was imagining what it'd be like if both Tammy and Ron started to scream for it. I think all of Toronto would hear it.

Ed - I know a lot of people don't believe in superstition, but hey, that's your choice. A "choice" in probability is only one variable affecting an outcome. After we left the Hyatt, I drove Tammy by where I'd see her one day...and say, hey, I know that star and wave from afar. Ron Kulpa - "as in Mea (K)ulpa"- told us how the playoffs work alternating umpires in rotation, series to series...and would later work the MLB playoffs calling strikes in Game 1 of Milwaukee vs Arizona. Hey, I know that pitcher on the mound - former Yankee Ian Kennedy.

Magical Sky Garden

2011-10-01T09:24:00.000-07:00

The backyard of Penny's Open Mic is a magical garden in the sky. In concrete jungles, sometimes the only way you find a garden is by looking up.

Penny this night is wearing a cool blue jacket left by an East Village artist who hangs things on fences.

* * *

This is a play between what's heard and seen. Between what's up and down, inside out, and round and round. A play between the lights--and dark.

That's how I'd try to describe the feeling of Penny's Open Mic.

A place, New York Magazine writes, where "inventive minds gather."

* * *

.
When I see a poet like Tim Shea, who makes cheese steaks by day, burn like fire with a desperation in a voice you’ve not heard in a long long while, I think of how we use to dream on a porch in New York and the words just came out like there was no tomorrow.

* * *

High And Dry (Radiohead): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BciOfJsqh7M&ob=av2e

True story – I once had this song on repeat for hours (first time I heard it). D never let me play it again. She hid the CD so well it got lost (and was never played again). It was found again years later the day she moved. And suddenly we had this look as soon as we saw it.

* * *

I am late tonight. Anytime I see Penny it is like she is in limelight – even while somewhere in the dark. No wonder American History X director Tony Kaye wants to adapt her play.

I tell her pieces at Penny's Open Mic remind me of Truth or Dare. Then, as if a lightbulb went off, faster than light she says, that’ll be the theme of next night.

Next morning I muse it's actually Truth AND Dare.

And I dream of Penny becoming the Mayor of New York City.

* * *

This would describe a lot of pieces I see at Penny's Open Mic:

"Make a piece of art that burns like whiskey, like lightning, raw tobacco, shrapnel, holy fire. ...And life and love and everything good." ~ Gregory Levine

* * *

Edwin just finished rapping something about pulling over.

Randomly at 2:15am Edwin mentions “Creole” in Ayiti. We whisper words in French. I loosely reference I once wrote in Creole beats, in an Ode to Moriso. Tim Shea says he’ll pay more than the admission fee to hear me read it. I tell him I never take the mic (from someone who's doing it as if life depended on it). I tell him the words are "a bit risqué." How democracy "is more for you than for me." There’s racial tension. I think racial tension drives a lot of Creole poems, blues, Harlem Renaissance and rap.

Tim would be the perfect poet to read it. He once said, we are more tolerant today. “Just at a safe distance.”

This is a race map of New York City. Green dots = 200 "White" people live there. Blue dots = 200 "Black people" live there.

We walk out from the underground at 94 St. Mark’s Place (Under St. Mark’s) on a Tuesday night.

Tim stands on a porch just like Mick Jagger once did. Nearly the same spot.

Next door there’s a woman looking for her last dollar bill as a wounded dog keeps her company. Below where Mick Jagger stood.

How can you forget this? I never will. These are New York minutes.

* * *

Aftermath

Can't seem to leave this style of writing....words that move literally and figuratively in many directions.

Unrelated to this story, friend wrote - Dave Matthews and Eric Lewis (Elew) should join each other. I replied: "They both create musical universes that sound so powerful vast, which keep you in some moment, right here.

Here they are nearby at the Bowery Hotel http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCJkPKOxH_8&feature=share

Moneyball Variations

2011-09-27T15:21:00.000-07:00

The kids were so far away from being who they could become, you could imagine them being anything.

There was a tendency to generalize wildly from personal experience.

"People always thought their own experience was typical when it wasn't."

There was a bias towards what someone just did - which might not be what they could do.

There was a delusion of seeing what you just saw, or thought you had seen.

The mind played tricks to create an illusion of reality.

A Download Is A Download

2011-09-12T17:03:00.000-07:00

What is a download?

What does it look like?

That's what I asked myself while helping to grow a music download store that sold millions of songs.

What is the physical manifestation of a download when it goes from A to B? What can it be?

One day Steve Jobs said no matter what *it* would be 99 cents.

Suddenly iTunes became a dollar store where people would scoff at $3 or more.

I wondered if this is why music videos could barely sell though offering far more.

I wondered if this is why albums started to die.

One single could readily out-sell one album.

Or was it, the download time?

Digital music also did something else: personal playlists drove sales. Not of one album but of various artists, complementing each other.

Suddenly, you had to fit in - into someone else's music.

* * *

What is a download?

A download is still a download whether it is a song or an app.

There are millions of downloads. It is like walking into a grocery store and seeing a million cereal boxes. It would be hard to make one box worth more than another.

* * *

What is a download?

People do spend less time making them (or packaging them) than their analog rivals. I wondered if this was why vinyl sales grew as downloads flat-lined. People wanted more than just a download.

One thing I never got is why music labels wanted downloads protected. Once your download gadget dies or you buy a new one your download is gone.

So in essence you are paying for a perishable download, lasting maybe 2-3 years. More expensive than the analog record that would've been kept.

There is a tricky way to back up 3000 songs ($3000+ worth of songs) but I have only met one person who actually did it.

In my life I have bought Fleetwood Mac's Dreams so many times. 8-track. Vinyl (45, LP). Cassette. CD. Live. Remixes. Greatest Hits. Video. DVD. Downloads for Windows, iPhone and more. Do I really ever have a licence to own it?

Written in my head while driving in a car.

Where Art thou?

2011-08-31T20:11:00.000-07:00

These are questions I've always asked:

Where did the Artist's Art go?

When does Art become Entertainment?

When does an Artist sell out?

While writing some things about funding Artists and Art, I also wondered:

Who really owns it, for its original purpose?

"Music is everybody's possession" ~ John Lennon once noted, no one really owns Art.

In every way, it continues in some form or another--from one Artist to another, from one beholder to another.

So if the principle is, Art is owned by everyone, shouldn't everyone fund it (versus say a music label)? This new idea is actually an old idea: Arts Patronage. But it's new in the sense that we're talking about many patrons instead of just one. If a politician or charity can raise funds online from a crowd, why can't an Artist? Aren't Artists the ones who inspire most in life?

Historically, Arts Patronage has been about people who see beauty investing in inspiration or divinity--where you can invest MORE than a dollar for a song. It was never about disposable Entertainment worth 99 cents or less.

In many ways, it was about creating an everlasting legacy. Something truly divine: "Art."

At some point, Art might cross the line, traded for Entertainment, to achieve someone else's idea of success. But Entertainment doesn't always mean the Artist gets paid well. The Artist was never a shrewd deal maker. And ultimately, this means deal makers will exploit that financial disadvantage.

Ultimately, Arts Patronage is needed to help Art stay true to its trajectory. Ultimately, its inspiration attracts people naturally. The truth of it sets Art free. Inspiration doesn't need someone else's idea of success. Never has. And commonly, only the uninspired need diversions of Entertainment. The inspired historically seldom did.

Art inspires at least one person by imparting insight. It can keep one there all night long. By contrast, Entertainment is required to entertain, to give enjoyment to as many people as possible instantly. Now you see it, now you don't. A quick fix. There's nothing wrong with that. But the difference is often confused: Entertainment passes like a drug. Art lingers like a truth.

* * *

In great Art, you might not get a lot of response instantly, but you instantly know you are onto something.

* * *

"Entertainment wants to give you what you want. Art wants to give you what you don't know you want."--David Cronenberg

Googling Art vs Entertainment...i found this excerpt:

"Entertainment is part of an evening -- mini-golf, pizza, a movie, ice cream. Art is the evening -- you generally have to make plans to see an Art movie, and then you find somewhere to sit and discuss it afterward.

Entertainment is terrified of losing you, and is willing to change itself to be more to your taste. Art doesn't give a fuck whether it loses you -- if you're lost, that's your problem.

Entertainment condescends to what it perceives as your level. Art assumes you're at a high level and wants to take you higher -- it conascends.

Entertainment wants to make you think you're thinking, but actually steers you toward its chosen conclusion. Art actually does make you think, and allows you to arrive at your own highly subjective conclusion.

Entertainment generally isn't personal or obsessive or visionary. Art often is.

Good Entertainment often is not artistic. Good Art often is entertaining.

If Entertainment is unappealing, offensive, and hell to sit through, you just wasted your ticket money. If Art is unappealing, offensive, and hell to sit through...maybe you should see it again."

* * *
In The New York Times, a letter to the Editor contained this line: ''Sorry, but there is a line in the sand that has to be drawn here. Entertainment's job is to pass away the hours; Art should make profound, eloquent and affecting statements about the human condition…"

* * *

"In simple terms, to me, Art is a creative expression that stems from the heart and soul and breeds self exploration and self examination, whereas Entertainment is just some shit we enjoy that takes us out of our heads for a moment." --Dave Navarro

* * *

Entertainers get paid (occasionally handsomely) to please the masses, often with sub-par work. Most Entertainers I know can yield way better Artistic output.

So what happens when Artists get paid in a world where only Entertainment pays? What happens to the Art?

When I am paid, typically, I cannot write, take pictures or produce graphical works as well as I could without payment. Inspiration just can't be bought. And when things are bought, sometimes, inspiration just doesn't even arrive in time for someone else's deadline.

With or without payment, I produce creative works, equally prolifically. But with payment, the rules with it change everything. The deal changes the outcome of what you could've produced in a perfect world. The creative muse I once had with me is often lost in the strings attached.

I started off as an amateur (which in Latin means "one who does it for the love of it"--amor), but soon worked at major Media & Entertainment companies. It certainly honed the craft I had. But it destroyed my creativity and inspiration—and even any desire I had to create in my spare time.

In the last 12 years, for income, I've switched over to the business side (finance and marketing) where I can be equally prolific. I get inspired there in a different way. Would I ever choose to marry the creative and business vocations I've had at some Crossroads?

No--if I had a choice.

There's something the about the rules of the Entertainment industry and the politics of payment that just curb inspired works.

As an amateur columnist once, I felt bad writing a scathing critique, something a 20 year old wouldn't be afraid to say, about one paid journalist's coverage of a topic I knew well. What he wrote was just plain awful. One day he sat in front of me at a stadium to cover something I was covering as well, and he actually turned around and looked at me and said, "you know Chung, I've only got five hours in one day to get the story, you have a whole week. I am paid to move on to the next story right away. There's a huge difference. They don't give me the time to analyze, research or think about it even."

There was just something amazingly truthful to what he said, unwritten on any subway wall. After that, I said not one more word about his work. In many ways, what he said defines the nature of how Entertainment is produced. It's a factory method, to produce a piece of work, that an inspired amateur can best. I once questioned why something like that should even be paid; but that's how the system works. And once you're paid, who knows what will come out.

One seasoned journalist said: "It's just fill in the blanks. You just change the names and places."

I've often noted, the best work comes out for free, freely.

Artists, however, are without question related to Entertainment. It's where Artists can most likely make a living. But Art and Entertainment are without question distinctly different. For me, Art is inspired, Entertainment is manufactured. Entertainment seldom changes lives. Art always does somehow. When you look at people who create, that's the key distinction. Are they inspiring? Or are they entertaining desires?

* * *

In simple terms, an Entertainer makes Entertainment for enjoyment and an Artist makes Art to make one actually think about something.

In the finance space, the "Entertainment Sector" includes Movies, Television, Video Games, Music, Gaming (gambling), theme parks, publishing, the Internet and Live Stage performances.

I somewhat define Entertainment as being owned by major movie studios, broadcasters, video game publishers, music labels, casinos and publishers who distribute paperbacks, magazines and newspapers to grocery stores etc. Without question, anything that has the term best seller, top hits, and box office is part of the Entertainment economy. But anything attached to Entertainment jargon, or any jargon for that matter, rarely can be fully inspired, to make Art History.

Entertainment is not Art in essence. It is merely a popular way to make money, by entertaining masses of people.

* * *

"It is the spectator, and not life, that Art really mirrors."
- Oscar Wilde

In our acting class one summer in college, we had a picnic. Each of us were asked to play the role of someone dead, in character, as if they were still alive. We'd all arrive anonymously. You could ask any questions to try and figure out who a person was, and have a conversation to out their true identities. Everyone in pop culture was outed first. The last two people identified– including one played by my acting partner – were the toughest to identify, yet so familiar.

My acting partner played Oscar Wilde. The last one standing, who suspended disbelief the longest, played Jesus.

* * *

The Prime Minister of Canada wants every Canadian to reduce their Arts contributions by $1.35. Ya, he's a bit cheap. I spent an hour once musing over this, writing about it, but didn't post anything because of this question. What is the Art that's meant to be funded?

The plight of the Artist and Art (sometimes two different things) is timeless.

From my interviews and research probing how things i really liked got made, much of the best Art was created from scratch without funding, because an Artist had lived a starving life to see some truth in a better way, that manifested into a beautiful work. The same is true of many great start ups in business.

A love of the Art is truly tested in these times and grows strong, to yield good Art. And sometimes like a shooting star, yields great Art. When something "divine" comes out of you.

When an Artist becomes a Celebrity (or Entertainer), there's more money earned and more politics experienced. It is then I often see a decay in the Art.

I mean imagine throwing money, power and politics at someone who has never had it in abundance – never handled it - what will become of the Art?

But at the same time, the Artist deserves an income...as a person.

And a devoted Artist's only means of living is to make and sell Art, with maybe some casual jobs on the side.

Being an Artist is the hardest living in the country. Imagine if a politician was forced to sell Art for any dollar earned. Only devoted Artists understand that journey. A touring Artist will see more of a nation than any President. The Artist is truly a Citizen, depending exclusively on a community that nurtures, in which the Artist contributes wholly.

But selling Art is an Artist's greatest paradox - independent of what the government thinks.

What's it worth if defined as priceless? It's almost unnatural to sell something supernatural.

Government Arts funding has always been political - a who you know, what can you show on paper, have you been funded before game. That's politics for ya.

Many government-funded projects in fact fail because of that approach.

Politics ~ n. ass-covering manufacturing.

Now i must disclose, I've never received a dime myself in Arts grants and I am more familiar with Internet and movie subsidies than any other kinds of government Arts grants. Non-profit exhibitions, dance troupes, symphonies and operas also get funded by the government. I also do think the writers and painters of Canada, who are now becoming an endangered species, should get more help. Canada's greatest artistic assets are in those genres.

I support the Arts tremendously but feel the wrong system is in place to support it.

Additionally, an Arts education (to learn the craft, the history of it, and the discovery of it) is diminishing in stature and funding along with exhibits or channels to show or distribute Art.

Canada's cultural legacy is continually being exiled to America when looking at where "top" Artists from Canada go. To grow a legacy, a program is needed, one that is about yielding Art that resonates with Artists and Art lovers in this country.

The problem is the people who review grants don't seem to really know what that means. I see bad Art getting funded so frequently, and good Art getting canceled so regularly.

I think the solution is to allow taxpayers to donate online using tax credits or deductions to fund the Art or Artist they love.

This was written over many days with a fever. I've been sick since 4am, fri.

ED--this was originally written in September, 2008, before Kickstarter became well known. It was actually the second half of a two-part blog on the Cross Roads. The first part is about Robert Johnson selling his soul to the Devil to become a famous musician. I re-did it inspired by a documentary trailer about underground Artists in New York City called Somewhere In The Dark.

Death At A Funeral (You Didn’t Know Jack)

2011-08-25T10:54:00.004-07:00

The people who mourn seldom say anything.

It’s hard to “un-notice” – but many don’t talk about it to instead honour the one who passed away.

Until I saw it firsthand, I never knew this behavior even existed: There’s a class of no class who attack the dead (who can’t reply) or the mourning (who can only grieve).

While others pray, they prey.

It’s bad energy to focus on the bad during a time that is precious to honour the dead. We prefer hearing about the good instead, as a reflection of who we are (who we want to be) or who someone else was. How we wish things are remembered or lived.

"love is better than anger" - Jack Layton, who lived until 61.

Meanwhile, the creepy just keep creeping without anything to stop it. There's no posthumous letter or journal replying like you see ending Cruel Intentions.

http://youtu.be/qBCDvRS16_s

I got reminded of it recently when columnist Christie Blatchford in a national newspaper chose to attack Jack Layton’s last words within 24 hours of his death.

http://by.mcleangreaves.com/2011/08/christie-blatchford-trashes-jack-layton-troll/

"Jack" had just lost his battle to cancer. And as if without a thought, Ms. Blatchford chose to critique him nationally after his loved ones had just watched their loved one pass away. She chose to make a “public spectacle” of it—adding a few choice words for those who mourned him in “public.”

To be sure, there’s worse in this class of no class.

After legendary NHL coach Pat Burns lost a valiant battle to cancer, thieves waited for his widow to mourn him at his memorial. They took that opportunity to break into her car and stole memorabilia slated to benefit cancer. I soon learned theft at a funeral/memorial isn’t uncommon. But what is a widow to do? Chase after thieves or honour a loved one?

http://ca.sports.yahoo.com/nhl/blog/puck_daddy/post/Police-recover-stolen-Pat-Burns-items-as-communi?urn=nhl-291367

As NHL coach of the year (3 teams), Pat Burns, who lived until 58, was respected for taking no non-sense.

In some countries like Syria, many widows don’t even honour their loved ones publicly in fear of reprisals. They prefer private unmarked graves. Who you associate with determines if you’ll be attacked.

Closer to home, a Westboro Baptist Church group was about to picket a 9 year old girl’s funeral. The 9 year old was randomly murdered while attending Congresswoman Gabrielle Gifford’s public event to learn about public service.

"I hope you jump in rain puddles." ~ Christina Taylor Green, born on 9/11, who lived until 9.

Opportunistically (of course), the church group called off the protest in exchange for air time in Toronto and Arizona:

http://www.torontosun.com/news/world/2011/01/12/16862466.html

Some people will do anything for attention at any time. Those wanting the most attention want to make everything about them. Their only context is their opinion. Your life won't matter.

Irish teen Phoebe Prince was bullied to death (she hung herself after being relentlessly bullied for months by her American classmates). After she died from bullycide, bullies then preyed on her friends who mourned or defended her (especially if they spoke to the media).

One girl was beaten up after she talked to the press about Phoebe's life at school.

As if bullying her in life was not enough, after Phoebe Prince died, bullies publicly posted vulgar items on her Facebook tribute page:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_of_Phoebe_Prince

Phoebe Prince lived until 15

This also happened to a teen posthumously in British Columbia. Vulgar items posted were beyond shocking. Details you’d never read about in the news:

http://www.torontosun.com/news/canada/2010/09/27/15496966.html

Laura Szendrei lived until 15. A teenager has been arrested for her murder (in a park in broad daylight, near many people).

Bullying after death is common in a world where CNN reports 20% of our kids are bullies.

* * *

2002 photo I took of Nicole Vienneau at Vancouver's Wreck Beach who disappeared 5 years later at age 32: http://www.findnicolevienneau.com/ Her last word in a 2007 diary after a sunset was: "Content."

After my friend Nicole Vienneau disappeared, some commentators, who didn’t know Nicole, publicly wrote she deserved it for going to the Middle East. She can’t even have a memorial/funeral, she is still #Missing.

Her late father lost his battle to pancreatic cancer after moderating Canada’s national elections debate.

Nicole's dad David Vienneau moderated the 2004 Canadian elections debate on Global TV. David lost his battle to cancer that year. Jack Layton lost his battle to cancer 7 years later.

Nicole's mom to this day still looks for her. A mother cannot stop looking for her child. What did these people do to you, who say she deserved it?

You one-off opinionators are long-gone now after getting your attention for the day. But everyday, we still look for Nicole:

http://xthespot.blogspot.com/2010/04/criminal-mind-tracing-disappearance-of.html

Nicole was not the only Canadian in peril for whom national newspaper commentators have said, “she deserved it.” I've seen these comments for hostages who were kidnapped--still kidnapped. Some folks just believe their opinion matters at any time and seek attention for it at any time. They are masters of evoking hostility.

The common denominator is they seem to think if others are not like them, they can freely attack them, whenever they want.

* * *

I became interested in stories like these to learn how grieving victims were able to heal from this. These morbid stories left me speechless, asking, "Who died?"

After my brother lost his battle to cancer, some disgruntled people I once knew were trying to provoke me by exploiting photos of my dead brother commercially. Weeks of emails demanding them to stop were denied. I cited a DCMA takedown notice (copyright notice) for the first and only time ever. It was not until a lawyer for a former US Vice President made a request that they ceased. There were no apologies.

My brother's last photo post was a Black Tile. He wanted to leave Earth at age 29 image-less.

Before the photo exploitation incident, one of them had already publicly disrupted my late brother’s memorial planning session. Brazenly, this bully was trying to pick a fight before many witnesses. Out loud, he made up a story: “Stop posting those penis shots online.” I kid you not. There were many witnesses. In one week, earlier, four friends I had just seen (separately) told me how this bully had approached them immediately after I met them, making up stories about me (with no details when probed). I was actually being followed. Another friend heard the bully planning to "ambush" me in public. The bully eventually found me at my brother's memorial planning session. The bully was so oblivious to everyone around - no crowd around me dissuaded the bullying.

I’d been a dissenting board director at the bully’s company – they refused to have board meetings or provide mandated financial reports to directors. They’ve since taken off and refused to disclose where they put company assets/records as investors chased them. But before this, they invited people to attack me, and appeared to some folks as being truthful. Meanwhile, I did nothing for months to honor my brother. After a while, I discovered I was not the only victim. No one had said anything.

We honour what we treasure most. We say little about what we disdain.

But I often ask myself what is harder – having watched my brother die on our mother’s birthday—his last words were, “happy birthday mom” (hope that’s okay Ms. Blatchford) -- or watching bullies attack right after (for months). I haven’t been able to tell myself an answer. To be honest, I don’t even know if I grieved. I spent most of my bereavement time with lawyers dealing with defamation, extortion and intimidation. It made recovering from this a lot harder. Their dishonourable acts will forever be associated with my brother’s death. He can only die once and they can't take what they did back.

Selfish folks decided this was their time to attack.

I could have ended this blog on that line. But the truth is, there are a lot of good people, decent people, who know this is the time for someone else. People who don’t make every waking moment about themselves. People who make it happen for other people. These are people who truly “make things better.”

Ed Note – It took me 3+ years to say this. I scrapped so many versions. For this topic, it was hard to focus beyond my brother who passed away. RIP.

Who Really Is The “Original Gangsta”?

2011-08-15T13:41:00.000-07:00

Media and political elites seem to get the public riled up about looting during a riot. The visual imagery is stunning as spin doctors sharpen what the public understands.

But ask yourself, are you being played?

Look closely at the world of looting.

Who actually stole the most?

In England, ‎the better question might even be: who hasn't looted?

Didn’t we just read about MPs cheating on expense accounts or police taking bribes? Didn’t we just read about journalists hacking phones? And are we not in a devastating recession because wealthy bankers swindled beyond what anyone could count? Big picture, looters taking a pair of running shoes or a TV set seem like small potatoes.

All the retail looting in the world combined would not even come close to what Wall Street looted.

In the words of one English rioter: who really is the “original gangsta”?

* * *

By accusing street looters, it’s easy to deflect from wealthy looters who have irreparably ravaged our economy at great scale (with whom politicians have a great conflict of interest).

Political crisis managers know how the public understands a ruined material world far better than the banker’s world of financial paper where looting $1 million is small potatoes. Laws may protect the bountiful but not so much the deprived who become easy political pickings for justice.

Perspective: If magazines can cause anorexia, dare we ask if advertisers can cause looting?

The public and politicians will see what they want to see.

Seeing someone break glass is a lot easier than seeing someone stealing paper.

In The Big Short, best-selling author Michael Lewis references one banker who made $100 million literally ripping off the poor. Bankers facilitated so many fraudulent deals that even they couldn’t tell what was going on. And somehow, they get a get-out-of-jail-free card (if not a bailout as well). That’s because our economic recovery depends on these wealthy weasels. The money machine doesn’t work without them.

Show me the money!

If you ever wonder why they don’t chase after 1000 corrupt bankers with the same zeal as 1000 London rioters, this is why.

It’s far easier to get away with stealing $1 million or $1 billion than stealing a pair of running shoes. Politically, the media and public instantly get outraged when material possessions are stolen or damaged. But what the Federal Reserve did remains a mystery.

You can even write a book about financial travesties – rampant fraud – on Wall Street like Michael Lewis did and it won’t even lead to charges being pressed.

Why – because the world as politicians know it would break down if all these wealthy crooks were jailed.

The tragic irony: By punishing all Wall Street fraudsters– who punished us into recession—we’d be punishing ourselves even further. We depend on these fraudulent looters for our economic recovery.

“When you’re a conservative Republican you never think, people are making people money by ripping other people off” ~ Steve Eisman (The Big Short, Michael Lewis)

You may debate whether or not the folks who looted financial sectors caused the "underclass" in London to riot but one thing is amply clear. Financial sector looters wreaked far more havoc on our lives. The damage they caused is immeasurable.

* * *

Imagine a culture – of not just greed – but of people ripping people off to make money. Imagine if this is what the majority did on Wall Street. Almost every major bank had a hand in it. This was the complicit culture of Wall Street that spun us into a horrible recession.

And who were the first victims of these wealthy looters? Poor folks who never even had a chance to repay loans (with fraudulent interest rates). The next victims were investors of these loans who were led to believe they were profitable but in reality were just investing in deferred bad debt. Many of these investors were even guaranteed by the government – another oblivious victim, now in a debt crisis.

Accounting can do funny things to the eye. It can allow someone to loot without breaking any glass.

Sub-prime Mortgage = House of $

* * *

For a few years, I’ve been involved in a case where $1 million was put into severe jeopardy by directors.

Goodbye!

Relative to other financial cases, $1 million doesn’t even register on the radar. But the mechanics of any bad money trail have common denominators. And this is what I saw.

The laws are actually very clear – Criminal Code and Civil Law. There was no doubt how they could be applied to what went wrong. The realities, however, of applying them are murky.

Unlike charges for a stolen tv, theft/fraud cases involving money or paper take years to prosecute. You only read about a few cases succeeding - after many years of legal pursuit where lawyers are paid a handsome fortune.

You can see how it is almost too easy for folks to steal money from a corporate bank account, mislead investors or disappear with corporate assets.

Regulators, politicians and prosecutors might give the public a piñata to focus on like Lehman Brothers (re: no bailout) or Bernie Madoff. But do we ever ask, what ever happened to the rest?

World's largest piñata - like a Trojan Horse

Your chance to hit the ass while blindfolded

Economic advisors will say we depend on many of these culprits to re-vitalize the economy and some of these grease balls need to be bailed out to grease the economic engine. Economic crimes this vast need to be kept under the carpet for the money machine to work again.

"Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste"
~ Sympathy for the Devil

"But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game" ~ Sympathy For the Devil

Even if every wealthy looter was pursued, it’s not nearly as easy as convicting an 11-year-old East London boy in England for stealing a garbage can during the London Riots.

A fraud police officer tells me how difficult it is to chase even someone who brazenly takes $1 million from a corporate account.

For a fraud or paper theft to be processed, one would need documents to prove who owned the money or assets. And who had rights to the property and money and in what capacity to appropriate them. These are typically documents white collar criminals keep hidden away. Confidentiality agreements keep almost anyone from sharing them.

Without whistleblowers, like Enron had, the victims seldom have access to these documents. That is, the wealthy looter can keep the evidence hidden to maintain their looting interests. All they have to do is hide proof from the victim(s).

Wrongful document destruction was only recently made easier to prosecute. But it is still not easy. You can argue stupidity or bad judgment as a defense.

Forensic accountants and lawyers would need to file reports proving ownership, theft, fraud and/or misrepresentation. This might add up to more than $100,000 in fees. Unlike a store burglary, it’s not good enough to just say “our money/assets” have gone missing--even if you know who did it and where the proceeds of the white-collar crime are.

Legal processes go a long way to safeguard the wealthy looter.

The 1st legal issue is typically: Who is in charge of this issue? Geographic and legal jurisdictions are not simple to prove:

1) Where can you prove the crime took place?
2) Where do you reside as a victim?
3) Where is the paper trail (lawyers, HQ, corporate registry) located? Or worse, where is the digital trail?
4) Where does the suspect reside?

Borderline Crime - Who's jurisdiction?

The criminal code is typically different in every jurisdiction. Likewise for civil laws.

Regulators also have the same jurisdictional issues and legal quandaries to consider. The line up for financial complaints is long. We can only wish for the same zeal politicians have for stolen merchandise be applied to missing corporate assets valued at more than $1 million.

The burden of proof can get ugly. You first have to prove you even have the right to chase after this looter. Is it your role as an investor/stakeholder or a company officer’s role?

The sophisticated wealthy looter will also stonewall you and cost you a fortune in legal fees (after they use proceeds from crimes to cover their legal fees). Some billionaires have enough wealth to take on the Government of Canada.

Who else can bill $500 an hour to read emails?

You don't need a lawyer, you need a hostage negotiator!

There’s far greater means to defend, stall or hide a white-collar crime. For victims, the court of public opinion might end up being a far better alternative to civil or criminal court costs.

I believe we’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to wealthy looting. Just ask yourself how many have been desperate to preserve their lifestyle (the only world they know).

Politicians depend on wealthy contributions for campaign donations and economic recovery. We've seen Britain's PM bandying a buzzword like “criminality” for the London Riots, but notice how rare it's applied to the financial sector.

This would be more realistic if the people behind the PM wore pinstripes

But let’s take it down a notch closer to home. I recently read a fascinating article about corporate looting by employees.

The article illuminates everyday forms of corporate looting such as using company telephones to call your spouse or electricity to charge your phone:

http://www.fortunewatch.com/what-comprises-corporate-theft/

Admit it: How many people do you personally know took a hotel towel?

I recently heard an ingenius way of taking from a hotel mini-bar without getting caught. You just go to 7-11 or the liquor store next day (buying items at a lower cost) and replace everything you took. There’s a lot of thinking like this in financial sectors. The devious might even take from one mini-bar (breaking into an unguarded room) to fill up another mini-bar.

One grocery store chain owner decades ago wrote in his memoir staff theft impacted his bottom line by 30%: Why his chain went out of business.

A flight attendant at an airline confided that the cash till sometimes doesn’t balance and staff do get investigated for looting. Airline attendants are severely underpaid and often hold multiple jobs. Not that this is what causes looting.

So before casting stones at so-called “looters,” ask yourself who hasn’t looted? And who looted far more. I honestly don't know of a single person who hasn't broken the law (speeding, jaywalking etc.). I still can't figure out how the media determines what is a serious theft and what they can skip over.

At sentencing, I think many retail looters would prefer the deal Wall Street got. Just hope you don't meet a judge like this who figured out a way to make money sending kids to jail for minor infractions: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1359154/Cash-kids-judge-took-1m-kickback-private-jail-builder-lock-children-up.html

Unfortunately, the poor looter likely won’t be as lucky as the wealthy looter. Inequities are not just the cause of looting, but they also determine who gets away.

"No One" as a figure of speech

2011-07-19T06:46:00.001-07:00

No one will watch video online – the quality is bad.
No one will pay 99 cents for a song—it’s free on Napster.
No one will like cell phone photos—the quality is too inferior.
No one will use Facebook in Canada. MySpace is far more interesting.
No one will donate to Artists online –there's not enough money.
No one will donate by phone—they don’t get texting to pay.
No One became the most played US radio song in 2008 and was still Top 10 for 2009. Not knowing she'd succeed, Alicia Keys spoke to us in Harlem like this.

As a kid, I wrote an essay for City Hall called Nobody. After hearing so many people say "nobody can do it" – I created a superhero robot called Nobody who could do what Nobody could do. “No One” is a series of sentiments I heard from leading-edge internet pioneers in Canada. Dreams came true for what no one could do.

2011-07-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

1989 caption
‎

"Is it that desire to spontaneously initiate excitement? That we
hit the glove before play starts; that
we swing the bat before the pitch is
thrown; that we dig our feet into the
ground; or that we stare across the
horizon and grip the bat before the
moment comes?"

~ 1st line in only baseball story i ever wrote (1989)

* * *

2011

Mr. 3000.

Photo from Are you ready NEW YORK?

He conjured the fountain of youth with one swing. "The ball was in the air, disappearing into the kind of white clouds Norman Rockwell loved to paint, and Derek Jeter watched it the way a child watches a runaway balloon floating across a midsummer sky."

"Diminished" Derek Jeter caused New York City to leap higher than it's been in a long while, sending his #3000 hit to heaven. He faced the fates of history and sent everything there.

His home run for #3000 created a monument in left field. But the pressure was greater going five for five to win the game.

To reach that hallowed ground, he didn't just beat one of the game's best young stars five times (6 if you count the base he stole), he didn't accept ball four for a free pass.

New York Tourist (then and now)

2011-06-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

Moses put a highway through the Bronx

splitting the community in two.

1978

Tourist: (no words, just sitting, looking across)

Subway Rider: What the f--k are you looking at? Do you have a death wish?

2008

Tourist:

How do I get to Times Square?

Subway Rider: Take the 1 Uptown, get off at 42^nd.

1978

Tourist (no words, just walking)

Times Square Hustler/Pimp: You look like you could use a little action tonight.

2008
Tourist: Where is MTV?

Times Square Cop: Look for the Lion King sign.

1978

Tourist: Help me!!!!!

Times Square Loiterer: Gimme me all your money!

"The Boulevard of Broken Dreams."

(where no one helps)

2008
Times Square Panhandler – Do you have any "Change"?

Tourist: Terrorist!

New York - concrete jungle where dreams are made of.

(where bystanders swarm a panhandler)

1978 Radio: “The police in New York City, they chased a boy right through the park. In a case of mistaken identity they put a bullet through his heart." ~ Heartbreaker

2008 Radio: “I'm the new Sinatra, and since I made it here, I can make it anywhere, yeah, they love me everywhere" ~ Empire State of Mind

1978

Tourist (no words, duck! Beer bottle flying)

Yankee Stadium Fan: Your mother is a….@#&**--

2008

Tourist: Let’s Go Yankees!

Yankee Stadium Fan: Let’s Go Yankees!

MTV 1515 Broadway (Times Square)

(from gritty insanity to sanitized polish)

Sequel to All Gone (Run On)

Behind One Side of the Riot Mask

2011-06-26T08:44:00.000-07:00

This is the most eloquent essay on the Vancouver riots I've read so far, and most eloquent piece I've ever read from a police officer. I don't normally post the work of others here, but it was worthy. The writing style shows talent. Photo commentary is from me.

1000s stood by doing nothing, many cheering rioters on.

Only rare citizens defended:

http://www.buzzfeed.com/fjelstud/women-valiantly-defend-bmw-from-vancouver-rioters

Who burned our City? "Anarchists"? "Thugs"? "Hooligans"?

Suburban "punks"? "Criminals"? Emerging riot faces are turning

out to be a Team Canada water polo scholarship student,

a UBC biology student and an Oakley sponsored cyclist. They

forgot to add "privileged kids burned their City" in the multiple

choice.

Dear 2011 Vancouver Stanley Cup Rioters,

Please stop saying you’re sorry. Stop posting YouTube videos begging for forgiveness. Stop writing letters asking that society cut you some slack and leave you alone.

While you were drunk and flipping cars, I was driving with all of my emergency equipment on to get into Vancouver. While you were throwing anything you could get your hands on at the police, I was pressure testing my APR and standing in the middle of the tear gas. While you and thousands of others disgraced Vancouver and its surrounding population, I stood shoulder to shoulder with a couple hundred men and women, whom I trust my life with, ready to address your indiscretions.

You came up to me like you owned the streets in your drunken stupor, thrust your middle fingers in my face and shouted obscenities; I didn’t snap you in half.

Actions speak louder than words.

You started “harmless” fires. You torched other men and women’s cars whom you’d never met and never did you wrong. You assaulted firemen as they arrived to try and deal with your “mistakes.” You took limited, valuable emergency resources away from good people who needed them. You endangered more lives by tying up emergency services than you ever considered.

You started fights. You stabbed people you’d never met because they somehow made you angry. You gave men and women trying to protect property life-altering concussions. You brought paramedics into the tear gas and exhausted them trying to save people they’d never met.

You showed up to hospital emergency rooms crying because you’d been exposed to tear gas. You got obnoxious and demanded to be treated like you were somehow dying. You knew it was a riot, you chose not to leave, you chose to stick around and breathe the tear gas in. You took nurses and doctors away from people who needed their care to live. People they’d never met but work tirelessly to save. You demanded to be treated as if you were better than the rest of society.

You’d tell me that the emergency services personnel I speak of are paid to do this job and chose to be there. You’re right. We give a damn about people we’ve never met and property that isn’t ours, that’s why we do what we do. You disgust us.

What brought a tear to my eye, after the gas had cleared, was standing in the middle of an intersection at about 3 a.m. The only people I’d seen for the last 30 minutes were other police officers, until a shopkeeper brought us a case of water. Then I saw a random person with a broom clearing the sidewalk. I had a duty to respond, the citizens of Vancouver immediately afterward could have just left it up to those paid to deal with it. They didn’t just stand by, they came out in force and cleaned up after your indiscretions. Everyone I saw that early morning thanked me. I was only doing my job. I have the utmost respect for all of the people from Vancouver and the surrounding areas that came downtown and volunteered to clean up after you.

You owe Vancouver and the surrounding population more than mere words. Don’t you dare ask for our forgiveness without taking responsibility. You can’t fix life-altering injuries with an “I’m Sorry.” You can’t repay someone’s car loan with a YouTube video. You ask that people leave you and your family alone but you offer no way to replace priceless losses.

You’ll sleep soundly in your bed tonight because men and women like me will always be there to deal with your poor choices. You have no idea how fortunate you are, even after we arrest and charge you. Even though you disgust me, if you call for me in the middle of the night I’ll respond. I’ll protect your life and property because it’s right and it’s what I do.

The evening of June 15, 2011 fellow emergency services personnel, my brothers and sisters, left our families at home and while grossly outnumbered stood to fight. The morning of June 16, 2011 the true heroes emerged to volunteer their time and restored my faith in humanity.

Actions speak louder than words. What are you going to do about that?

— a police officer from the suburbs, who was called in to serve and protect on that night; a proud Vancouverite.

Story behind the letter:
http://www.montrealgazette.com/technology/Spare+apologies+tells+Vancouver+rioters/5007050/story.html

Shoot The Arrow

2011-05-10T01:03:00.000-07:00

Shoot the arrow
To find its destiny
Who knows when the last time will be

These things in life
That weren't meant to be
They weren't for free

As I get older, more things happen. I try not to take it for granted when the last time will be to create a New World. A sextet written at Caffe Vivaldi as I imagined a friend transitioning towards a new destiny.

* * *

Confidence is like an arrow
It pierces the air, fast and free
People watch it fly to the sky

A clarity of destiny, vibrating forward
A resonance to find the target
Shot by someone's feel and aim

As i stay confident, things are happening. I try not to take it for granted before this New World fades. A sextet written in a Toronto web cafe as I live a new destiny.

Designing Stories II

2011-05-05T06:12:00.001-07:00

ElevateSpot

#Music

*BobDylan & *SuzeRotolo walked on Jones St
from @caffevivaldi to @perilla
for the cover of Freewheelin' Dylan.

* * *

"Leave your story @spot
to chronicle your inspiration."

*Readers elevate your story
to the top.

* * *

SIGN UP
Be among the first. Learn more.

1-2-3

1. View - Type location. See Top Stories. Add/connect stories.
2. Post - Write, add photo & link related stories. Become the most elevated profile @spot.
3. Share - Tweet it. Facebook it. Email it. Connect with *people who matter for #topic @spot.

Launched at http://www.elevatespot.com

Designing Stories

2011-04-30T15:55:00.001-07:00

Great web design is about re-organizing a story in a cool way - inventing a fresh narrative.

Today's influential design no longer begins with a dashboard. It's about designing a new kind of story. One that will evolve fast and immediately grow.

It's identity is a voice of voices, of a New Village. A New Village being used in many interesting ways to really get it.

A singular digital habit - the trademark of old school usability - no longer informs.

Instant familiarity with a new dashboard becomes a short-lived gratification. Easy come, easy go. "Villagers" will want more, fast. The "Villagers" are in fact part of the design. The evolution of their stories is the single most important aspect of design. The bottom line of a design's success will ultimately be: are the stories continually engaging? Worthy of posting more? Worthy of being followed more?

I'm going to try and write about a breakthrough design without citing - billable hours, requirements, scope, wireframes, look and feel and fee for service - the fixed narrative of marketing.

How can a creative process that stays the same be right?

This narrative is about building a great community - something that can last longer than the culture of a hit and run marketing campaign. Something crossing the boundaries and rules of a fixed state of mind.

That starts with how we imagine "Villagers" will be inspired to write in new plural ways. How words might be freshly packaged with photos, videos or links.

There is only one core feature: "Fill In The Blank."

Twitter is a Facebook status report. Design today is about defining a new kind of interactive sentence.

This new design movement starts when realizing every design is - as a result of posting something interesting - architected at point of input. So ultimately, it's a question of designing what someone might input. Something a leading New Villager might author five times a day.

Speed and convenience to publish these stories are the keys to this city. Any lull might mean someone else out there has a better destination. Like every F-1 pit crew knows, every design nuance for speed and convenience will count.

* * *

Today a design can change without changing one feature. Context can change the narrative.

The audience, for example, can change a narrative, when told to Facebook friends vs Twitter followers. The audience is part of a design - uniquely defining it.

Syntax can also change a design. Twitter authors can express themselves swiftly and briefly - in a way where each line can theoretically engage "@someone" interesting. Lines can be shared more "#productively."

That new narrative structure in essence, defines a new genre, a new design.

Often people will say they don't get a new design - feedback heard popularly at first with Facebook and Twitter. But keep in mind many folks don't get hip hop or jazz. Many still don't get the poetry of Twitter. Some folks weren't meant to sing certain songs (or hear things for which they are tone deaf). Not everyone gets a new style or culture right away. The trick is to know many will get it soon enough.

Miles Davis was criticized regularly for altering what critics knew best.

Andy Warhol took what people already saw in popular culture, changed its context and called it new way. (photos by brother in law).

For any new genre ("The Blank"), a New Villager has to push it beyond what was originally imagined, to really get it, to get even further.

We wanted more than just another status report.

But we found in early days many people didn't know how to fill in a new "Blank." Many folks couldn't readily write something inspiring or even identify a highlight. We had to invent what people could post that people would follow.

Though I've read Jacob Nielsen and follow many great design tweets, I had no formal training in web design to solve this problem. Tangentially, the only design trait I had in common with Steve Jobs was typography which I learned once for newspaper design. I knew making content look beautiful was key to any technology design.

I also knew from a project with Al Gore's Live Earth reaching 10 million people online that visual messages are key for impact - in videos or photos. They amplify your story.

Doesnt matter how small a visual- even a thumbnail can amplify.

I've hired many rock star designers but no one really showed me how to design a New World. By posting content heavily, nearly everyday I could feel the pain and reward of an Old World. I also found where a new narrative could go, pushing the envelope to find a New World. I experimented with cameraphones (see pan shots or spin cycles). I blogged to think different.

I saw how you could post the exact same line on Twitter and Facebook but it would be read differently. Context changed the narrative.

The design that really affected me was for the social network that started it all...MySpace. One day it went into a coma, killing the purpose of everything I've ever archived - about places I'd been, magical things I'd seen. Suddenly, that no longer mattered on MySpace.

After the nth redesign, stories were hard to post and view suddenly. All that volunteer work contributing to an eco-system of stories, gone. My analog archives had more value.

Lesson #1: Don't let outsiders start or destroy your community. You have to be part of the community to be part of the design.

We didn't want to design something perishable for disposable content.

Originally we wanted to create a storytelling community for donations. Not like Kickstarter, but one where you'd engage visionary followers, and ultimately meet them. A Craig's List - where you'd post a story - to generate patronage and get engaged. The goal was to give authors storytelling tools to inspire opportunities and gifts. A place to stay. Art commissioned or pre-paid. A gig. A job. A dinner or lunch. A ride. A retail gift. Or a donation - notably in cash or cheque - which most sites don't offer. This is the way it's already being done offline.

I walked into a New York music cafe and felt so many stories needed to be told but you'd only discover them if you probed someone who knew about them. Parallel universes had left so many untold stories, un-networked. So many missed opportunities.

We wanted to be able to go to this inspiring place and know the top stories there readily. Stories that would compel you to post something you experienced while there. A story followers could "elevate."

We wanted to induce more exploration - so that when you clicked on one story, you'd also explore a treasure map of connected stories. Somewhat like Wikipedia but live on location. Or even across multiple locations bridged by people with common stories.

We wanted to view the most interesting people who travelled this map.

Any user in this scenario could enrich this map by adding or connecting a story.

* * *

To design a new story - I needed a real story.

Real ingredients for "input."

The imagination could compute permutations of how these words could be architected and inputted. Inspiration could give it style, rhythm and flow.

The people attracted to these words would also define the narrative. If you see only meaningless posts from people who mean nothing to you, the design becomes meaningless.

We needed real people who could deeply relate to the story. We needed a story those people would find meaningful.

Our web project's co-founder tooled me to post HTML (no CSS), one story, one page at a time. I had no off-page navigation, no design framework beyond how to post one interactive sentence. I then engaged real people by tweeting it.

I knew a bit of HTML from blogging. I picked up a bit more. Over the course of the year, gathering real-time stories, I was able to publish 240+ stories to simulate where a new narrative could go.

Checking in stories (posting) at a location became the pattern, chronicling inspiration that happened there.

I got bored of FourSquare's narrative - checking in just to become Mayor. I wanted more.

She was looking for a place to paint, and then exhibit. At her locations stories were told.

The new narrative we evolved got coined "Elevate Spot" - a way to post and elevate a story at a spot, so others could see top stories at that spot.

Most venues only talk about themselves. We wanted to see the top stories of *people who were @spot. What were they #thinking or #discussing? Where were they headed in life?

These were stories at the venue, but not about the venue.

Stories @Moonshine_Cafe

A song you wrote there. A project or idea you discussed there. Observations that inspired you while there.

That way anyone who walked into that spot would know the most interesting stories happening there just by typing "ElevateSpot.com/nameofplace."

We got stuck on designing this new narrative because most designers are from an old design movement where things are more "fixed." So we've decided to continue writing this narrative. One that looks at interactive sentences written on the spot.

Launched at http://www.elevatespot.com (or http://www.jump2spot.com)

ElevateSpot Infographic (for website design) at Flickr link.

Next: A creative writing professor is helping with our next design experiment - getting people to annotate where their inspiration occurred.

(Unfinished) New York Serenade

2011-02-20T10:25:00.001-08:00

I actually dont know if this makes any sense. But this night is really about putting yourself out there. You might have to listen to a Radiohead song to get what is read.

I started writing lines in the dark (literally), but couldn’t finish. This night has no cadence. You’re just left waiting...for one more night.

Wanting that New York night paying homage to the “avant-garde.” Wanting the Lower East Side's leading edge.

(Tues) 94 St. Mark's Place, NY

It’s too convenient to say it one way.

If “my” narrative structure reminds you of Peter De Giglio’s Satanovision this night, you’re right.

Who’d have thought of repeated video takes – asking different questions, putting things in a new light.

* * *

"Good Artists Borrow, Great Artists Steal,” Picasso once said.

(what's worth stealing)

* * *

Some people pretend, some people define what people pretend.

(this could mean so many things)

Be who you are, just don't pretend to be.

* * *

If you want an edge, Penny’s Open Mic will cure you of what you can’t say.

* * *

You don’t know the beauty of the English language until you see Penny’s Open Mic where “some of the city’s inventive minds” gather every Tuesday (New York Magazine).

Tonight Penny is double-booked. Two shows, same hour. Her play No Traveler is in the semi-finals of a festival.

* * *

You won’t sit still. Sara G Y'All navigates the entire room like a holy spirit (with an unholy edge).

***

When I was a speechwriter, we had a rule of thumb: people stop paying attention after 6 minutes. Penny’s Open Mic somehow nails the 7th minute. And you can't go past it.

* * *

Social media has narrowed our attention span – but is social networking * reading *

“What I post online, it’s just in HTML, it’s not even in the air,” I told Penny.

(Live In New York City)

* * *

At Penny’s Open Mic, there is an inspired shift with each 7-minute act.

You are suspended for 7 which then adds up to 5 hours of 7. No show in New York City suspends disbelief this long. And this has added up to many years of 7.

* * *

New York Minute:

“Johnny Carson once said, it's the interval between a Manhattan traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.”

* * *

It's not easy to put out a show 5 hours long in New York in a stellar way that elevates one's imagination of what is good.

* * *

When you're trying to create something new - art or invention - you ultimately have to do a lot of weird things en route... i.e. not "normal."

* * *

"Seize joy"

People can’t remember many things - maybe not even one thing.

When I see a cupcake – I can’t help but think of Joe Yoga. Why did he want us to remember only one thing – that cupcake truck people in the elevator talked about.

Avant-garde, he said, once meant “front line.” But today, it’s been watered down to mean novelty…when you say something for an audience of one, yourself.

* * *

Killy Dwyer is dada with a melody. Her performance is like the dance of coming together, falling apart and coming together (not knowing if the falling apart comes next). She expresses every inch of a feeling – without even thinking.

She's unpredictable, but you can see her coming a mile away

* * *

The best performers connect like mind-readers.

It’s Killy Dwyer’s birthday night. I wonder if anyone read her mind--that she'd land her face in the cake. I think she performs without thinking. Flawlessly.

* * *

Dancer, how can one tell the dancer from the dance ? Stolen from William Butler Yeats.

Tonight I saw an inspired dance by Lucile 'Frak' Graciano from Alter Ego. How do you steal that?

* * *

Long after our birthday, we start to think too much, and our movements become restricted.

* * *

I think I am living the dream before I sleep – in a city that never sleeps.

There are two parts in life: what lasts forever, what leaves us next day.

(there's a lot staying with me this night)

***

The last time I saw Sara G Y'All she dressed like a cat. But there’s no mistaking who she is – in or out of a cat suit. She has signature movements and word delivery. Killy Dwyer (re: unpredictable but you can see her a mile away) was the first person in New York City to make Sara G Y’All feel “normal.”

* * *

Sara G Y'All wanted to read something special she wrote for Killy. But she brought the wrong papers. What she has describes every interval at the gynecologist’s office.

Clarity or tonic

* * *

2008 - When she was 18, she had to wait outside of a bar until her set was on

http://tinyurl.com/4mgocax

Subhah Agarwal, barely old enough to be in a bar, started this night deadpanning like a young edgy Sarah Silverman. A comic’s delivery is key to words said. Many comics can write, but can’t deliver. It’s the difference between on or off. Off-color or in color.

Subhah's a surprising talent. I think she was standing in front of me at Caffe Vivaldi the night before.

* * *

Mike Milazzo played Penny’s Open Mic anthem with unharnessed strumming and ebuillent blood – 3rd year in a row now.

He normally doesn’t follow the theme of the night – but would following be avant-garde? Tonight, he masterfully played tampon slide guitar (sponsored by Killy Dwyer) after he asked the crowd to throw things at him to play with his guitar. His cell phone solo was elaborative. Who knew such sounds existed?

* * *

When poetic spirits arrive in one room - there's nothing else like it.

Back from a Bowery Ballroom poetry slam, Tim Shea pondered how easy it was to answer the question what do you do professionally ("make cheese steaks") versus what do you do artistically (something "ambiguous").

Cheesesteak

Art

He also pondered people rapping in iPod earplugs oblivious to subway riders. “Balls to the Wall.” He pondered if you could do this with poetry and recited Plath and other off-putting poets. “Balls to the Wall.”

* * *

I don’t know why I was thinking of this – do you ever notice zombies are devoid of human weakness?

Humans have no weaknesses it seems mostly when either art shows you the human you want to be or you’re a zombie.

DEJA VU - 3 days later, Danielle De Luca sung Zombie in the Bronx

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ejga4kJUts

***

There’s something endearing about Monster – who discussed the banal nature of work. He never got work as a concept. Or why people can get so upset over someone arriving at 9:15am instead of 9am.

If you think about it…humans have invented a lot of weird ways that other animals don’t do. Like why pay for food?

Pigeons don't pay for food

* * *

Everybody Loves Darth Vader practically whispered, forcing us to listen hard.

He brought alive some obscure literary work of emotional turmoil.

You gotta love the variety of this night. It’s like a complete album.

* * *

While Justin Hillman was on stage, I was inspired to write: “Most people can’t handle the truth, that’s why we write status reports.”

When someone inspires me to think, I start my own train of thought, forget names and forget what was said.

* * *

A man in the crowd asked why one speaker didn’t like political material. He answered eloquently how disingenuous politics can be. “Did people care about Egypt before?" Will they after/

* * *

A man started to read the side effects of various prescribed drugs. At least, I think they are prescribed.

***

Often i wake up wondering what people fit into the same dream - what people are real to a dream.

(who gets to be in the dream)

***

In college, we had a masthead for our paper that associated your name with the most random moment. You had to be there to get it. That’s code for only we know.

***

Emleigh Wolf broke the 7-minute timer. Or was that Dan Mahoney who had already left a long time ago.

There was a copy of his face left behind on a mirror handle which Emleigh (and later Penny) wore. Handle with care.

Emleigh also wore Penny’s wardrobe. Sara G Y'All dressed in similar stripes too. I couldn’t remember where I’d seen that look. Then someone finally said it. It was just a matter of time: Dr. Seuss.

She read aloud a Who's Who.

* * *

Dan Mahoney likes to dream, but not follow through. That’s how he sings his words. He delivers the opposite of lift off - a virtuoso of denouement. It is language that travels where you don’t think it will go.

His face travels many places to brand many moments.

* * *

Jaqi Furback sketched what Cosmopolitan Magazine denies. The world where most of the world lives –

* * *

Champagne Pam had some truisms about dogs. How they just trust people, but sometimes people fake throwing a dog a bone just coz they can.

* * *

Mike Doherty was invited past 7 minutes, a dancer next, still warming up. He sung a 3rd song like Warren McGoey in Toronto. You might not know Warren. But there’s always somebody you don’t know and one day you never know.

* * *

There’s a guy whose name I can’t spell that starts with an A (maybe 3 syllables) – I think he was crafty playing with words. That’s the thing with the arts…there’s a pressure to change your name so you can be remembered. Just be thankful your name isn’t Michael Jackson.

* * *

In the arts, there’s a pressure comparing someone to something known. Familiarity is both a friend and foe of an artist. Some people can only remember one thing. It’s how I think the pigeon hole got invented.

Jason White sung like Jim Morrison. Gabe Patino sung like Kurt Cobain. Not even sure I am getting the story right. I mean how do you really write about someone accurately? No journalist truly knows.

* * *

In the arts, there might also be a desire or pressure (shades of grey) to do something different. Brave Elephant sung cool tunes with unplugged vocals and guitars plugged in. Blair Frowner blew an avant-garde horn solo.

* * *

Lex Wily rapped live for the first time – and pulled it off. He found his groove and settled in. The first time is the thing for an Artist. Gotta get to that first time. Whatever that first means.

* * *

What lasts forever is timeless…living long past 7 minutes. Tonight I saw some performers for the second time in 16 months. I recalled moments from 16 months ago. And suddenly I see what they've become 16 months later. The day to day is skipped.

Bricken Sparacino at Penny's workplace (Odessa). Penny's since moved on from there.

Bricken Sparacino delivered a story about a snow day. Her NY-bound plane was canceled so she could see a baby delivered late in LA.

16 months ago, if memory serves me, she eloquently delivered a story about estrangement during a night of Risk.

Two stories 16 months apart (farther apart than contractions she spoke of tonight): of estrangement then birth. This is how she’ll be remembered until I see her next. It boils down to what happened at this intersection.

* * *

There’s a bit of déjà vu this night. Andrea Ramolo texted me from her Times Square Manhattan Hotel room about the Bowery Ballroom while Tim Shea on stage talked about it. Brooke Macgowan sung Lucinda Williams' Greenville with a ukulele which Andrea Ramolo also sung with a guitar.

Andrea Ramolo had a set nearby earlier at Arlene's Grocery

* * *

The night can’t be complete without a little satirical self-promotion. An independent film director fabricated a story to promote a fabricated story. When you can't make it up, it's unbelievable.

http://www.tellyourfriendsmovie.com/

The best journalism is non-fiction written like fiction. I stole that from either Hunter S. Thompson or Tom Wolfe.

Liam McEneany spent 2 years writing on Comedy Central and showed us a trailer now with 12,000+ views:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Oi5xA21SPk

What are the odds? I had seen it already via @Twitter.

* * *

Rebecca Seatle waited all night to sing. A beautiful voice that still can be heard.

http://rebeccaseatle.bandcamp.com/

She stays until the end of the night regardless of when her turn is.

* * *

Dave whose thumbs up you could barely see was sound for the night. His day job is working in a chat room. He’s never met his co-workers who will meet for the first time in New York City next week. He closes the night with a song he hopes to sing to them.

* * *

Freddy Marx was here. I think Michael Birch was here. And so was Michael Ogletree shook my hand after singing a song for Egypt.

* * *

If I missed you, got a story wrong, got a name wrong, don’t worry. It’s not you. I just drove 9 hours from Canada the night before. I'm a near stranger. My memory’s dazed.

Picasso broke his work into pieces. Some pieces were missing. Some were misplaced. And somehow he conveyed something true. This is New York as a metaphor.

You get to know people at a place, they become that place.

Then they leave that place and that place is still there.

"Everything In Its Right Place."

Most of the pictures are from the EPK known as Facebook...a Picasso of photos, words, and status reports. Thanks to all for making your piece.

~ February 8, 2011

The Edge

2011-02-05T10:50:00.000-08:00

The edge is where you get this vibe where an unbridled flow comes out.

I was pondering the word #Paradox last night.

I started tweeting lines live, riffing off of #Paradox and realized – this sounds a lot like Bob Dylan lyrics…when opposing forces are contained in one line.

A lyrical counterpoint.

The one word riff reminded me of the edgy Penny’s Open Mic in the Lower East Side (Tuesdays, 94 St. Mark’s Place, NYC) which typically has one word to focus on like: “Risk”: http://xthespot.blogspot.com/2010/11/there-are-days-i-never-forget-this-is.html

Performances then riff on that one word.

#Paradox

Changing nothing to keep people who follow you for changing something...

Reading too much to stay in touch...

When every line's a headline…

Saying many things, saying the same thing...

Pretending it’s real...

When you know everything without imagining anything .

Thinking of so many things, unable to do anything…

When you're reading without living, or living without reading...

When repulsion defeats who you are…

Who sounds so confident but insecure...

So tired, unable to sleep…

On, while off.

When you’re pitching to fit too many requirements…

Designing without vision…

When your black and white is grey...

When it costs you nothing but costs you everything...

When you react to someone who just doesn’t care.

When stupid begets stupid – even if you’re smart…

When tweeting to win one person, to lose another...

When you promote someone you don’t really love...

When you sue someone who holds you hostage…

When you associate with someone who is not you.

“Once upon a time, you threw the bums a dime, didn’t you?” ~ Bob Dylan

I probably lost a few followers tweeting this riff…it was just a riff…true to a vibe. You gotta make a mistake to get something right.

“Most important…a voice shot through with self-doubt. That's what makes that big sound work. It is this element of…talent -- along with…beautiful lyric writing -- that gives the often-celestial music …its fragility and its realness. It is the questioning, the constant questioning in …voice, where the band stakes its claim to its humanity and declares its commonality with us.” ~ Bruce Springsteen