tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-108767672024-03-12T20:08:54.338-05:00My Chronic Impending DisasterNews and commentary, original fiction and the odd musing here and there, dragged gently from the precipice of my lifeKadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-16283964998487432852007-03-23T09:26:00.000-05:002007-03-23T09:49:30.347-05:00What to do in New York!The next in my continuing series on the fabulous places I visit, what I do there and the things that I eat. Today, I'm back in New York City! The Big Apple! The City that Never Sleeps! I arrived yesterday and am on my wait out today. Let's relive the high points, shall we?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Lunch: Teresa's Deli on 42nd Street</span><br /><br />This little piece of New Yorkiana combines the hurly burly of the New York Stock Exchange trading floor with the stolid comforts of sandwiches. Zipping out from a planning meeting in a nearby office, I had a Turkey and Swiss with lettuce, tomato and mayo, and a bag of Cape Cod potato chips. The turkey was sliced sublimely.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Place to Walk from One Building to Another: 42nd Street to Park Avenue</span><br /><br />After our planning meeting, we took a delightful jaunt from 42nd Street to Park Avenue. The rain had stopped and it was a freshly minted sunny Spring day. I soaked in the sun through my dark suit and took a deep breath of cigarette smoke and exhaust. Ah, New York in the Springtime!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Place to Have Your Flight Cancelled: LaGuardia Airport</span><br /><br />I arrived at LaGuardia after a successful day of pitching my company's wares the home base of an important (foreign owned) American company. Flush with excitement, we cabbed it to LaGuardia, our Blackberries tapping and beeping with the manic energy that serves as the soundtrack to American business today. Upon Arrival, I quickly discovered that my flight had been cancelled. No worries, I was flying Northwest Airlines. Surely my hometown airline would have no trouble getting me home from New York! But, alas, 'twas not to be. No flights, no way home, no how. But surely there would be a hotel nearby -- I could see two outside the window. But alas, 'twas not to be. A quick call to my travel agent confirmed that no rooms would be available this night. Drat! I was forced to cab it again to a fine hotel by JFK airport.<br /><br />Actually, I'm not sure what is best about LaGuardia. Presumably many plans fly in and out daily. Just not mine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Hotel: The Doubletree Hotel, JFK Airport</span></span><br /><br />It wasn't just the comfortable, utilitarian room, or the available iron and ironing board, or the lineup of "Still in Theaters", "Hollywood Hits" and "Adult Desires" movies on demand or the hot, fresh chocolate chip oatmeal cookies they give you when you check in, it's...<br /><br />Actually, it is just these things.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />Best Steak: The Doubletree Hotel, JFK Airport, "Welcome to New York Strip" </span><br /><br /><ul><li>I asked for it medium rare. And it was! Not to rare, yet not too well done. Yes, indeed. This was a medium rare steak. Yessir! And what a delightful name. Sitting cross legged on my hotel bed, chewing carefully and slowly the way you're supposed to, sipping my Coke and dutifully eating my peas and carrots, I felt truly welcomed to the fair borough of Queens. </li></ul><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Neighborhood: The Doubletree Hotel, JFK Airport</span><br /><br />I can't answer this one, because I never left my room.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Place not to be Stuck in the Airport: JFK Airport</span></span><br /><br />Geez! I gotta go. Catch you next time!<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-65345386581126239562007-03-15T08:21:00.000-05:002007-03-15T08:43:47.916-05:00Captain America - The Scoop!It's not often that my hobbies and profession come together so nicely. Here, the comics news site <a href="http://www.newsarama.com"><span style="font-style: italic;">Newsarama </span></a>interviews <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Daily News</span> reporter <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/col/unmasked/index.html">Ethan Sacks </a>about<a href="http://forum.newsarama.com/showthread.php?t=105063"> how the paper got the scoop</a> on the <a href="http://www.marvel.com/news/comicstories.877">death of Captain America</a> in the pages of Captain America #25:<br /><br /><b></b><blockquote><b>NRAMA:</b> Speaking of the scoop; there had to be a good level of coordination between you (the <i>NY Daily News</i>) and Marvel Entertainment. Approximately when would you say the exclusive was agreed upon? <br /><br /><b>ES:</b> The exclusive was agreed on about two months ago. <i>The New York Post</i> – the <i>Daily News’</i> arch-rival (picture an Australian Galactus running a paper) – had an exclusive when Spider-Man unmasked in <b>Civil War #2</b> and I heard plenty about it from my editors. When I whined to Marvel that they should’ve kept me in the loop, too, they promised me a future exclusive when a story with mainstream interest would surface. So two months ago, I got a call from Marvel’s PR contact calling me into the Marvel Bullpen for a little powwow. They revealed the plans for Cap right then and there. The publisher wanted several conditions for us to get the exclusive: That we commit to most of a page up front and put a good-sized piece of art with it. It was a no-brainer for us, and my editor gave the green light later that afternoon. I didn’t even tell my wife.</blockquote>Some scoop. Sacks whines about not getting the story the last time Marvel had a story that might have mainstream interest. Marvel PR says, "OK, we'll take care of you next time." And, with two months advance notice, they managed to get the story in the paper. Not exactly the classic image of the reporter dogging the company and the editor shouting "stop the presses" to get that story to us for working his deep cover contacts, is it? <br /><br />It's not Sacks who trumpets this as a big scoop -- it's <span style="font-style: italic;">Newsarama. </span>Public relations -- the art of how companies communicate to the public through media and influencers (today's definition) -- should be a required course in the media age. How organizations and media build relationships that lead to stories shouldn't be such a mystery -- it ain't rocket science folks. <br /><br />It can be fun though...next time you see a big entertainment story -- or even a business story -- that strikes you as a little odd, that has you asking, "why was this on the news?" ... play the game PR people play from the outside. Ask: Who wanted this story told? Who were the unnamed sources? What did it take for this story to make the big splash that it did? <br /><br /><sigh><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-20452446893641995572007-03-07T08:58:00.000-06:002007-03-08T21:44:05.087-06:00Captain America - RIP<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/story/503132p-424376c.html.">http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/story/503132p-424376c.html</a><br /><br />And, of course, this video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9EqaHIP35w">tribute </a>(view at your own risk...Oy!)<br /><br />Captain America died today.<br /><br />As an imaginary character living in an imaginary world of superpowered heroes fighting outlandish villains, Captain America was still, well, a little different.<br /><br />His modern incarnation -- a man born of the depression and created during World War II revived and forced to reconcile his values in today's world -- was at once uncomfortably cornball and choke-back-the-manly-tears inspiring.<br /><br />In the comic world, this is going to piss people off. But there's a tradition here. Back in the late 60s, the writers had Captain America quit and become "Nomad" when he couldn't represent the America he saw on the streets and in the Capitol. In the 90s, I've read, he was forced by the government to hand over his shield to John Walker -- more "my country, right or wrong" than the exemplar of the American Ideal.<br /><br />What captures America today? Captain America has never been more a 'man out of time'. His government no longer holds itself out as a shining beacon meant to bring the free peoples of the world together. Instead, we hold forth that we must protect our own at all costs, and if the rest of the world won't go along, we'll go it alone. Where legitimate dissent is viewed as anti-American. Where supporting the troops means putting more of them in danger, for reasons increasingly unclear. Where we act like bullies and fools and wonder why no one likes us...<br /><br />It's been a few years...time for Captain America to be recast.<br /><br />If I were the storyteller, by the way, I'd call the assassination of Steve Rogers a ruse. The original Captain America goes underground, while others take his place. Steve Rogers dons a new mask and takes a tour of his namesake country to rediscover who Americans are these days, for real. To get back to basics. To find out the price of milk. He gets on the Internet, finds out what makes people happy and what really scares them. Discovers who we really are and what those ideals are that we really need a Captain America to uphold and protect.<br /><br />And, along the way, who really needs a good kick in the head.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9EqaHIP35w"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-74349964222565489342006-12-21T08:54:00.000-06:002006-12-21T09:15:28.157-06:00Would Be? Might Be? Is!<span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;">"But as the president has made clear, we simply cannot afford to fail in the Middle East. Failure in Iraq at this juncture would be a calamity that would haunt our nation, impair our credibility, and endanger Americans for decades to come."<br /><br /> <a href="http://www.newsday.com/news/politics/wire/sns-ap-gates,0,5046472.story?coll=sns-ap-politics-headlines"><span style="font-style: italic;">Robert Gates, US Defense Secretary, December 18, 2006</span></a></span></span><br /><br /><br />This is the most egregious lie being propagated by our leaders at this time. It is important that we <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">reframe</span> the issue -- get beyond this will we <span style="font-style: italic;">decide </span>to succeed or not succeed. The decision is out of our hands. Or rather, we made poor decisions, and we <span style="font-style: italic;">failed</span> in Iraq. Past tense. Our credibility <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>impaired, Americans <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>endangered. The failure has been accomplished. It's over and done with. <br /><br />The question now is not one of success or failure -- that question has been answered. The question before our leaders and our country now is how to contain the failure to just Iraq. <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Humpty</span> <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Dumpty</span> has fallen...all the president's men can't put <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Humpty</span> back together again. <br /><br />America doesn't have to be a <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">peacenik</span> or <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Pollyanna</span>. But it has to stand for something more than questionable invasions and quick fixes.<br /><br />That's why how we got into this is still relevant. We need to decide who we are in the world again. Is America a force for good? Then let's do good in the world. Let's invest in a more peaceful world -- whether that means raising the global standard of living or exerting military force to protect ourselves and our allies. <br /><br />In the end, America must stand not for a way of government but for helping the peoples of the world to live good lives -- to give voice to the voiceless, open opportunity to the poor, and ease the pain of the ailing.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-10084312771525894602006-12-21T08:39:00.000-06:002006-12-21T08:54:16.848-06:00Who Watches the Watchmen?Late at night, under the covers and by flashlight, I've been re-reading <span style="font-style: italic;">Watchmen</span> graphic novel by Alan Moore and David Gibbons. <br /><br />If you haven't read it, go forth, buy it and read it. <br /><br />For a story drawn from 1980s Cold War fears of imminent nuclear armageddon, the story remains remarkably relevant today. And for the conspiracy minded among you, has it been remarked that the horrible event at the climax of <span style="font-style: italic;">Watchmen</span> and the events of 911 could be seen as eerily similar? What if 911 was "manufactured" for the sole purpose of bringing the world together, and we blew it? Or, more likely, 911 could have brought the world together, but, as Alan Moore seems to say, it really just wouldn't have worked anyway... someone would have blown the secret, changed their mind, squandered the goodwill of the nations of the world...<br /><br />OK ... so it's been remarked... http://www.leanleft.com/archives/2004/01/28/2218/, and ... probably other places, too... But read it or read it again. It's that good.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-24633237050642347782006-12-15T14:46:00.000-06:002006-12-15T14:54:04.610-06:00A Smile for the Season<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguglBHM185zFyjsfLazEwLOutCf3A5YNjOnXy68sgJDv76xxa2KmHS1qzEKjp9zg9l_A34urkdzu8Hpw5QlHA8J9L8x1avR2JR3tvAMDQw6D099K2RdhzLqM7JyMTBaK1yxhg/s1600-h/elvis-impersonator-martin-fox-01.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguglBHM185zFyjsfLazEwLOutCf3A5YNjOnXy68sgJDv76xxa2KmHS1qzEKjp9zg9l_A34urkdzu8Hpw5QlHA8J9L8x1avR2JR3tvAMDQw6D099K2RdhzLqM7JyMTBaK1yxhg/s320/elvis-impersonator-martin-fox-01.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5008858217421042978" border="0" /></a><br />Nothing makes you smile a sweet, winter-holiday-related smile like walking into the lobby of a Minneapolis office building ... and ... and ...<br /><br />...practically running smack dab into a real-live Elvis Impersonator, performing "Kentucky Rain" before a crowd of shocked downtown office workers! <br /><br />Yeah, baby!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />*</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Note: not the actual<br />Elvis Impersonator seen in<br />Minneapolis. Photo<br />"courtesy" of www.elvis2k.co.uk.</span><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-9223787032723016222006-12-14T16:48:00.000-06:002006-12-14T17:01:40.138-06:00An UpdateI'm "working hard" in a suburban Minnesota Starbucks. And don't let anyone tell you different.<br /><br />So...an update:<br /><br />* Thanks to all who have written to inquire about illustrating my fine comic script. I'm contacting y'all now, or will be soon. If you're interested and haven't written, check out <a href="http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com/">http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com</a> and then send your samples to <a href="mailto:%20kkadet@gmail.com">kkadet@gmail.com</a>.<br /><br />* <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/12/peter-flak-big-time-detective-part-x.html">Episode X of </a><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/12/peter-flak-big-time-detective-part-x.html">Peter Flak, Big Time Detective</a> </span>is live at One Minute Stories (<a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com">http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com</a>). Our hero is confused and weak of stomach, pursuing his supposedly dead publicist to the posh Carstairs Hotel and being pursued by a dogged TV reporter with her own agenda. Will Detective Flak find the answers to his vexing questions? Will he do any detecting? Will anything ever happen in this story?<br /><br />The answer is... what were the questions again? The story is steaming toward a pulse-pounding, mind-blowing, mildly amusing conclusion in the coming ... umm weeks or so. <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/09/peter-flak-vain-detective-part-1.html">Don't forget to start at the beginning...</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-83204652563488882402006-12-01T13:49:00.000-06:002006-12-01T14:04:39.219-06:00Star SearchI've officially finished with the first draft of my magnum opus of a comic book script, now called "Wings." Three issues and 60+ comic pages of kid-with-invisible-wings-and-his-friends related action. You can see my "pitch" and the backstory at <a href="http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com">http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com.</a><br /><br />If you visit and have before, you'll note that the script itself is no longer there -- I've done a lot of editing and it wasn't so current anymore. The site now is officially dedicated to my efforts to recruit an illustrator who can bring this story to life.<br /><br />If you are an illustrator visiting here from the many places I've posted my plaintive plea for an illustrator/collaborator, have a look at the <a href="http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com/">Dom Parker/Wings project blog. </a>You'll find the backstory to the tale I've penned, a description of Dom, the main character. I'll be adding descriptions of the other main characters over the next couple days.<br /><br />My biggest challenge, of course, is finding an artist. I thought perhaps that there would be someone out there willing to do this for "experience," but so far, no one's taken a bite on<br />my pitch. Not surprising, I guess, given that I'm sitting what would probably end up being over 100 hours of work if it were to be pencilled, inked, colored, lettered and nitpicked over by the writer.<br /><br />Again, if you're an artist, and you're good, let me know if you're interested... I'm soon going to discuss what I can invest in this project in real dollars with my Lovely Wife.<br /><br />Anyone with interest, ideas, comments or questions, feel free to comment here or email me!<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-84126010013806555302006-10-25T09:46:00.000-05:002006-10-25T09:53:09.049-05:00More on the Artistic ProcessHave you ever made up a song in the car? I do this all the time. I have written about a half-a-CD's worth of songs...out loud...while driving to work in the morning. <br /><br />Unfortunately, I can't remember any of them.<br /><br />It gets me back to the question of "harnessing the creative process." As in, "how do you do it?"<br /><br />I believe it is childish to think that you can only create 'when the inspiration strikes'. That's an excuse. The artist captures inspiration and turns it into something, not just poorly sung lyrics shouted out to silently to fellow participants in a traffic jam, but inspired words and music carefully crafted into something that...well... might well mean something. <br /><br />Or at least be enjoyable.<br /><br />Writers...write. Creators...create. Office workers...get out of the coffee shop and go back to the office.<br /><br />For the stuff I write without much inspiration, but with, I hope, some art... check out <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com">One Minute Stories</a>...<br /><br />More later.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-5055730945903976832006-10-09T13:23:00.001-05:002006-11-30T15:10:16.235-06:00My First Comic ConAfter a lifetime of avoiding true <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">geekdom</span>, I attended my first comic book convention yesterday, the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">FallCon</span> put on by the fine folks at the <a href="http://www.mncba.com/">Midwest Comic Book Association</a>. Since I'm generally not allowed to go to such events alone (and because they're a lot of fun), I brought the family 5- and 6-year-<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">olds</span> along for the ride.<br /><br />Brushing over the remembered anxieties of a <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pre</span>-teen kid, I explained to them on the way to the Minnesota State Fairgrounds how I was always afraid to go to a comic book convention back at ages 10-16. I always thought it would be "weird" or somehow "too much."<br /><br />Part of it, too, at that time, was that I'd never wanted to be a comic book "collector". I bought comics because I liked the stories. I wasn't comfortable being around people gauging the value of each comic, or buying up multiple issues of the same comic so that they could save them for resale some day -- mind you, this was in 1980-81 or so, before the I dropped out of comics and well before what I understand was the great comic boom of the late 80s and 90s, which I pretty much missed out on. This was around the time that my best friend beat me to 7-11 and bought up all the copies of the Uncanny X-Men issue where Kitty <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Pryde</span> fights the demon alone in the mansion, and I had to shame him into letting me buy it off of him. Back then, you just didn't want to miss an issue of X-Men -- we thrilled to Alpha Flight, cringed at the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">depredations</span> of the Hellfire Club and cried our way through the Dark Phoenix saga ... and we knew we were in on something special -- not valuable -- special.<br /><br />Back to the present. To my everlasting delight, my oldest son says that he'd never feel too weird to go to a comic convention, because he loves this stuff...this and I still won't let him read a modern comic. Funny how such freedom from what others see as strange or embarrassing is available only to the very young and the very old -- or those of us who are old enough to decide for ourselves. Like me ... nearing 40 and dammit, I was going to a comic convention!<br /><br /><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">FallCon</span> was a modest affair. Call it about 8 rows of artists and dealers. Not much of the weirdness in the aisles associated with some of the bigger cons that I've read about. My five year old was apparently cute enough to merit a couple of door prizes -- a giant bag of about 50 recent comics, a ton of licorice and assorted candies, and about 20 of dice of varying denominations (I told my wife they were "D&D dice" -- I'd given up role playing games about the time I gave up comics, so I have no idea if they're used for anything else...). Then, I'm pretty sure the guys doing the raffle ticket prizes overheard our numbers and made sure the little one was a winner -- he chose a Spawn action figure, which in a five-year-<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">old's</span> hands was pretty disturbing. But it was his call.<br /><br />The kids made sure that we made a beeline for "The <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Batcave</span>" to see the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Batmobile</span> and Bat Cycle, and where an aging, pot-bellied Batman, a wavy-haired puffy-chested Superman, and a chubby red-haired Robin milled about, along with a Wonder Woman who I admired for her confidence to be willing to don the costume. And she pulled it off pretty darn well.<br /><br />Then, on to the artists. <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">FallCon</span> is a place for collectors to find lost issues and old toys, creators to meet and network, and fans to meet local talent and get good deals. Me? I just wanted to soak it all in, and maybe see bit of what it's like to be a creator.<br /><br />What did I learn?<br /><br />1. It's hard to strike up a conversation with a 6 and 5 year old in tow. No problem, because they had a great time, and so did I, but let's just say that "short attention span theater" was the order of the day.<br /><br />2. The <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">FallCon</span> was filled with really nice people. Besides giving us free stuff, we chatted with the creator of Frontier (no link -- looks like good-comics.com has gone down the tubes), who showed my kids how to draw Spider-Man. I bought a copy of Issue #0.<br /><br />Also chatted with another creator whose name escapes about "getting back into comics" and how to connect with artists, since I have <a href="http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com/">a script</a> I'm helplessly trying to finish for what will be no good reason if I don't seek an artist. He let me tell him about it, and thought I should look into a <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">manga</span> style for the art ... not something I'd thought of given my old school experience.<br /><br />3. Even the toy guys were pretty nice -- one guy was happy to "<span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">downsell</span>" me to a cheaper item so he could make a sale of a Spider-Man figure to my kid. I can appreciate that. By the way....<br /><br />4. ...there are a lot of toys at these things. Hold onto your wallet if you bring your kids!<br /><br />5. There are a lot of people out here just trying to get into the field ... and the combination of the web and on-demand printing is making it easier to get in. I'll talk about the Web in a second, but, it's heartening (and a little unnerving) that so many have such passion for a medium that they'll give over so much of their lives to drawing out their stories because they've been thinking about it and just want to get back into comics.<br /><br /><br />6. There is no reason in the world why a creator can't build a large audience via the web and make a little money at it...if they're able to deliver quality and work hard at self promotion. Moreover, I'm pretty convinced that the big guys could make some money online as well if they'd put some effort into it.<br /><br />7. <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">FallCon</span> is really for the serious comic fan -- you almost need a plan coming in -- to see certain people, or search for certain comics and toys. If they thought about it, they could draw in a wider crowd. You could set up workshops that help kids make their own comics, or invent a character. You could have someone giving comic art lessons throughout the day. You could give people <span style="font-style: italic;">rides</span> on the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Batmobile</span>. Do a kids/teens self-made costume contest. Put together a "readers panel" ... Hold a "new creators" or "under 18" contest -- say, for scripts and art -- and let visitors vote.<br /><br />Might have to volunteer next year...<br /><br />Anyway, thanks to <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">FallCon</span> and the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">MNCBA</span> -- the kids said, enthusiastically, that they'd do this again, and a good time was had by all.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-62332544769799564222006-10-06T14:13:00.000-05:002006-10-06T14:30:48.811-05:00New Stories UpdateI've started to get a bit more prolific on the writing front, so I thought I'd share the lastest with you, my loyal reader or two...<br /><br />On my <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/">One Minute Stories</a> blog, I've started a new series: <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/09/peter-flak-vain-detective-part-1.html">Peter Flak, Vain Detective</a>, the story of a good-looking homicide detective who arrives on the scene with his own press agent -- he's grossed out by dead bodies, but has a nose for the news -- being on it, that is. Here are links to <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/09/peter-flak-vain-detective-part-1.html">Part I</a>, <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/10/peter-flak-vain-detective-part-ii.html">Part II</a> and <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/10/peter-flak-vain-detective-part-3.html">Part III</a>.<br /><br />I'm also pretty fond of a recent One Minute Story called <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/09/dreams-have-eyes.html">"Dreams Have Eyes,"</a> if only because I like the title.<br /><br />Anyway, if you like the stories, share 'em around... and <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/01/about-one-minute-stories.html">feel free to send me your own</a>... it'd be fun to open it up a little more.<br /><br />I've been working privately on my <a href="http://domparkercomic.blogspot.com/">comic script</a> -- issues 1-2 are online. I've decided to finish it as a three-part series and see if I can find someone to draw it, since my artistic abilities are confined to poorly proportioned doodles.<br /><br />Meanwhile, people I've informed seem to be pleased that I'm not going to relocate myself and family to Australia, which I guess is comforting.<br /><br />Finally, it might comfort you to know (it comforts me, anyway) that life feels a lot less like a chronic impending disaster these days. Perhaps I'm closer to the solutions we're after, or maybe I'm just getting better at going with the flow. But you never know what's...impending...<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-79298158018821847112006-09-25T10:14:00.000-05:002006-09-25T10:49:58.899-05:00Fame and FortuneIt is horribly vain to admit you want to be famous. And yet there are days when I want more than anything else to shout from the rooftops. <br /><br />Which, of course, leads to a different kind of fame: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Local Man Shouts From Rooftops, Taken Away in White Van."</span><br /><br />But that's just negative thinking. Putting up barriers where there ought be none. <br /><br />Fame is for obsessives. Fortune, likewise, is for those willing to sacrifice to get it. And who's got the time to make those kinds of choices, really?<br /><br />One of the reasons the Web has taken off is the promise of easy money. You can reach so much, generate "network effects" so quickly, that you can get fame and fortune without the hassle of hard work. You put up a blog or a MySpace page, and you think...wish...hope...that the whole world will beat a path to your virtual doorstep. <br /><br />That's the underlying weakness in the foundation of Web 2.0 and participatory communication. Most people don't have the stomach to be creators. They're not obsessed -- they're dilettantes, fascinated by the sparkling promise of easy Internet fame, convinced that if they put the silly video they made with their friends up on YouTube that the whole world will find it just as funny as they did when it was screened for 15 of their drunkest friends.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.spiked-online.com/index.php?/site/article/1654/">People fret that LonelyGirl15 turned out to be a fake.</a> Of course she was. It takes work to be entertaining. It takes work simply to be <span style="font-style: italic;">found</span> on the Internet. Real "lonely girls" don't become Internet stars because they aren't that interesting, or aren't willing or able or talented enough to be interesting. Or, if they are, aren't willing to engage in the very specialized type of self-promotion that spurs "the Internet" to choose your "performance" over all the other lonely voices on the Web, speaking to no one but a few classmates and unfeeling search agents.<br /><br />I find LonelyGirl15's "outing" as an actress fed lines by a wannabe director and screenwriter to be comforting. There's no free lunch. An unknown can create something new and compelling that gets everyone talking. If they're savvy and obsessive and vain and willing to sacrifice for fame and fortune. <br /><br />There's hope for us all.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-17249365392739487182006-09-22T09:41:00.000-05:002006-09-22T09:52:22.158-05:00Work and PlayI've been nose deep at work lately, which is a good thing. Lots to do, and lots to think about<br /><br />For the past month, my job had been dangling before me an opportunity to move with my family for two years to Sydney, Australia. The Wife and I were getting pretty excited. Last week, it was cruelly snatched away. Apparently, they hadn't budgeted enough for us get there...and back.<br /><br />Some key learnings from the experience: They really wanted me there. A lot. Apparently, I interview pretty well when properly motivated. And, perhaps I have a bit of entrepreneur in me, looking for an outlet.<br /><br />I've decided to take all of this as motivation. To get on with my work and stop waiting for the <span style="font-style: italic;">deus ex machina </span>to reach down and pluck me out of ... all of this. You want to change your life? Change your life. You want to be more engaged, get on top of things? Do it! You want more surprises? Surprise people...they may just surprise you back.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"># # #<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-12210263448052076782006-08-23T10:32:00.000-05:002006-08-23T10:37:38.868-05:00When Is A Vacation Not a Vacation?When is a Vacation not a Vacation<br /><br />1. When your entire office knows they can email and call you on your cell phone. <br /><br />2. When you blackberry is sitting next to you on the coffee shop table.<br /><br />4. When you have a to do list that includes mostly client projects.<br /><br />5. When you're pretty sure you're not going to get to do any writing, except when you're waiting for Outlook to download the giant client report file so that you can start on the giant report you need to write for the client so she doesn't get asked by her boss what we're doing for all of the money they're spending and she'll have to say she doesn't know which is silly because she knows <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> what we've been doing on pretty much a day-to-day basis but even so I've procrastinated on this report so much that I shouldn't have to be doing it on vacation and yet here I am at a coffee house all ready to write my latest story and instead I'm waiting to work on this report and sometimes I think I just need to leave the country. Heh.<br /><br />Talk to y'all later...<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1155910470407162492006-08-18T09:01:00.000-05:002006-08-18T09:16:13.933-05:00My First Illustrated ComicI've been trying my hand at comic script writing over at a great forum for budding comic creators called <a href="http://www.penciljack.com">PencilJack</a>. After posting a number of scripts, a terrific illustrator in the UK looking to build his portfolio emailed me to see if he could do a script of mine. I'm ashamed to say that I presented him with a rather odd one... It serves as a vast exaggeration of what I thought was a funny situation and, perhaps, a side of me that just wants to crawl into a corner by himself...although Mrs. Chronic finds it a tad too close to the bone, you might say...<br /><br /><br />Anyway, <a href="http://oneminutestories.blogspot.com/2006/08/clean-well-lighted-place-comic.html">click here to check it out at my story blog</a>, and let me know what you think.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1154961345374676752006-08-07T09:26:00.000-05:002006-08-07T11:17:41.873-05:00Home ImprovementAs I aimed the garden hose at my burning face and squeezed the trigger, I found myself musing on how, when I die, the coroner might find himself marking the story of my body's life by the scars left from home improvement projects.<br /><br />Yesterday, the project was refinishing the wooden front porch -- about a 12'x4' space. The project began with a belt sander, a frisky little device that bucked like a puppy on a leash, ready to take off if I didn't maintain a firm grip. Two days, seven sandpaper belts and one wide, red scrape down the inside of my left wrist later, I had a mostly sanded deck, with large areas of paint left around the edges.<br /><br />Next, the Internet said to "strip" the deck, so I went out and got me some deck stripper, giggled some, wistfully fantasized about deck strippers, put on a baseball cap, latex gloves and safety goggles and went to work rolling the pungent liquid onto the deck. At some point, I decided switch from roller to stiff-bristled brush, so I lifted the safety goggles, unscrewed the roller from the pole and in doing so, spattered deck stripper on my face. <br /><br />I felt what I imagine a vampire feels when splashed with holy water -- "It burns! It burns!" Thus the firing of the garden hose at my face.<br /><br />Later, after a cleansing shower, I took inventory. There's the purple bruise on my toe and still-not-yet-healed scrape across my shin from dropping a large wood frame during the construction of the kids' bunk bed -- a project that involved much swearing and use of Resolve to dissolve the blood on the carpet. There are the host of little cuts on my hands and wrists, the most fresh from rolling two rocks from the woods to the garden -- the rocks must have weighed 200 pounds each. <br /><br />Then there's the thin scar on my forehead, obtained 17 years ago, during a stop to see a friend in Cleveland on my way to Minnesota. My allergies were horrible that trip, the floor of my little maroon Ford Escort was covered in Kleenex, and my sneezing fits were increasingly violent. So I'm with my friend Naomi digging through the Escort for a package of Sudafed, when I feel another sneeze come on. So I stand up and sneeze hard, slamming my head into the corner of the open car door. It sounded like I'd been shot. Blood streaming through my fingers, I turn to Naomi and say, "Why did you hit me?"... Which strikes her as the funniest thing she's heard in the longest time and she laughs and laughs while I grab at wads of dried Kleenex to stop the bleeding. I saw her a couple years ago at the wedding of a mutual friend, and she still could hardly speak she was laughing so hard. Meanwhile, you can still see the scar, faintly, over my right eyebrow.<br /><br />Okay, that had nothing to do with home improvement. Except to say that, in general, it's best for all concerned that I continue to hire experts for most projects and save my frequent flier miles for long summer trips.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"># # #<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1154097400695921852006-07-28T09:16:00.000-05:002006-07-28T09:42:26.286-05:00Get Rich Quick Scheme (or, "My One Hit Wonder!")Every so often, I have these genius type brainstorms that I'm sure would make me a ton of money if I were ever to put in the necessary work to make them happen. Or even to write them down. I don't do either, which is convenient, in that it allows me to be smugly satisfied that I would indeed be wealthy, famous and important if I were to do so, while simultaneously excusing me from said effort.<br /><br />This morning I found myself dissecting the modern folk song. The local public radio morning show played a song called, "Analog Girl" by Guy Clarke (I think). The song offers a mildly contrarian nostalgic take on the kind of girl who has, if I recall the lyrics right, "a mouse in her pocket and SPAM(r) in a can."<br /><br />There's a whole genre of songs like this -- the semi-humorous folk song. They take a semi-clever hook of obvious timely nature and, well, describe it. The listener thinks: "Ha ha. That's funny. He's singing about an analog girl who doesn't have a cell phone and whose web site catches the morning dew." But there's nothing really funny there, beyond that he's singing about it. The more you listen, the more you realize that it's just an awkward title and descriptive lyrics to go around it.<br /><br />Then I realized that the country music industry is pretty much built on songs like this. Songs that make you feel nostalgic without giving you anything real or poetic or funny to grab onto. Then I thought: I could write one of these! I could write a one-hit-wonder novelty song! <br /><br />Then I thought of one. It's a can't miss hit! I'll even give you the title, you my vast Internet audience. Are you ready? Really? Here it is:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dancin' to Stairway</span><br /><br />It's a nostalgic song about how we children of the 70s and 80s spent high school dances draped over one another, unable to dance a step, swaying, practically melting into one another while <span style="font-style: italic;">Stairway to Heaven </span>seemed to play on and on and you hoped it would never end. Or wondered if it ever would. The tune would be driven by a folk-acoustic guitar but punctuated by slow Jimmy Page-esque electric riffs. The refrain would go something like:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And we clung to each other<br />Her head on my shoulder<br />On and on we swayed<br />Dancin' to Stairway...<br /></span><br />This song would <span style="font-style: italic;">sell, </span>I'm telling you. I only ask that if you steal it before I write it, let's keep the lawyers out of it. Just give me credit and pay me gobs and gobs of cash so I can quit my job and write up more of these. I got a million of 'em.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1152675407045864052006-07-11T21:21:00.000-05:002006-07-11T22:36:47.120-05:0010 Years OnThis year is my 10th year at my job. I never thought I'd stick with this job for 10 years. Then again, I should have known better. Per the previous story, I'll tend to keep on keeping on. I don't know much about changing direction.<br /><br />Anyway, my 10th year coincides with the 10th anniversary of my agency's first client; tonight, they held a celebration, and I got to go. Much irony for me: the last time I changed jobs, it was for this client, the chance to help them launch as a brand new company. I was a fresh-faced 28 year old, ready for bigger and better things, to take my talent to an international stage. My first assignment: coordinate the planning of a launch party for some 3,000 people that would set the stage for employees that they were going to be part of something great.<br /><br />Now, when I was considering "bigger and better things", that did not in any way involve event planning or employee communication. But there I was watching the CEO deliver the speech I'd written as 3,000 people rose as one in a standing ovation.<br /><br />Here I was tonight, standing alone and apart among a much smaller crowd of a leaner company set for the long haul, watching a new CEO handle his own speech. Then navigating past the games and the pony rides, trying not to trip over tent stakes and picnic tables for familiar faces, and not finding many. Here I was balancing a paper plate that sagged under the weight of overcooked chicken and pasta salad, wondering what I was doing there, beyond angling for company logo swag.<br /><br />They've changed. They've passed the torch to a new leader, a new team. They chose their path, made their moves. Ten years ago, the big party was meant to put a happy face on the doubts and fears of employees facing a newly uncertain future. Today, they were relaxed, happy. They know where they stand, where they're going. There's a strength there, a serenity you find, when you're in the place where you're supposed to be.<br /><br />Me, I met few old clients. We talked. We reminisced about people we thought we'd forgotten. And I left, squinting into the setting sun.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1151552949860723282006-06-28T22:29:00.000-05:002006-06-28T23:56:19.943-05:00Swimming for My Life<p class="MsoNormal">A couple of days ago, I nearly died. It seems worth admitting.<br /><br />The wife and kids and I went to a local beach on Sunday. A little lake with a sandy beach, a shallow swimming area, a dock where you can rent pedal boats on one side and a fishing pier on the other. While my wife supervises the 2-year-old sleeping in the car, we set up shop on a picnic table, lay out the towels, snacks, water bottles, squirt guns, a pail full of shovels and a beach ball.<br /><br />First off the kids decide that Daddy should take them on a pedal boat ride (or is it a 'paddle boat'? It does require a lot of peddling...). We boat about the lake, riding to other side and back again. After much begging, I make up a superhero story for the ride.<br /><br />One thing I should mention is that I was fasting that day. It was for a medical test and it turned out negative, so no worries, but I was really hungry. Feeling kind of weak. I'd intended to take it easy that day, but there I was out on the lake with the kids, furiously peddling the boat. And, with much banging of the dock, we made it back just fine and I worked up a little sweat and decided that this was good -- I'd gotten my 30 minutes of excercise in for the day.<br /><br />At this point the romping and playing in the water begins. A massive squirt gun fight erupts.<br />The 2-year-old awakens, and my wife brings the pail, shovels and beach ball to the edge of the water. A mound-style castle is formed and the dirt around it is excavated and filled with water. Imaginary dragons patrol the moat. While vigorously defending myself from the onslaught of SuperSoakers, I break a squirt gun.<br /><br />My wife interrupts with a shout: "The beach ball!"<br /><br />The beach ball, it seems, has floated unnoticed to the boat dock. Another dad has a toddler in an inner tube floating off the dock, and is gamely trying to grab the ball as well.<br /><br />"Don't let him do that," my wife says. "Go get the ball."<br /><br />I sigh. I go to get the ball. The dad is now fumbling between his toddler and the ball as I jog to the dock. Finally, he chooses the toddler and lets the ball go. I reach the end of the dock. The dad shrugs and I laugh. Yeah, of course you'd choose the kid!<br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /><!--[endif]-->The ball is just out of reach, so I roll my eyes and reluctantly jump into the lake.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">"It's pretty shallow here," the dad says helpfully.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The ball is a good, I don't know, 10 feet ahead. No problem. I forge ahead, trudging through the brown-green water with my arms up like a GI in a Vietnam movie.<br /></p>The ball is still a good 10 feet ahead. Maybe eight now.<br /><br />Water's getting deeper. I'd probably get there a little faster if I swam. We'll start with a crawl. Don't want to go crazy -- I'll go heads-up style. Gotta keep my eye on the ball.<br /><br />I maybe make up a foot or so. Getting kind of tired. How far have I swum?<br /><br />I turn around. Whoa.<br /><br />The dock looks rather small. For a moment, I recall that it actually took quite awhile to get this far ... in the boat. Hrm.<br /><br />Ball's still out of reach. Maybe if I can just reach it, I can lean on it. I can float. Let's try a breast stroke. Always been my best. My form is perfect ... I can do this forever.<br /><br />Wow. How far am I away now? The dock looks pretty small from here. The ball's still maybe, I don't know, 10 feet away. That's even farther than before. This might be a problem.<br /><br />I strain to keep the rhythm -- sweep arms, breathe, head down, frog kick, glide, sweep arms, breathe, head down, frog kick, glide -- my heart is pounding. I'm getting tired.<br /><br />But, I came out here for the ball. I'm breathing hard. I can't go back without the ball.<br /><br />It's at this point that I realize that I could die, right here. In the lake. Chasing a corporate logoed beach ball we got for free at some long-forgotten summer festival.<br /><br />I stop swimming. I tread water for a moment. The wind carries the ball swiftly across the lake. Soon, it looks as small as the dock behind me, back where I started. Where I have to go now.<br /><br />I'm too tired. I'm not going to make it. I gulp a mouthful of lake water. Heart pounding harder. Breathing heavy. I yelp, squeal. I'm having a panic attack. I look up at the bright blue sky of a perfect Sunday afternoon, and I float.<br /><br />I can float.<br /><br />I can float here all day. I start in on a new rhythm: Arms out, kick, legs straight, arms sweep back, glide...repeat. Elementary back stroke. Keep going. I can keep going.<br /><br />As I swim, I write the news story in my head: Area man, father of three, drowns in lake pursuing a free beach ball. Talk radio has a field day: "What kind of guy gives it all up for a beach ball? We'll miss him...not!"<br /><br />I keep swimming. My six-year-old is shouting for me. "Daaaady! Daaaady!" I try to answer. Bad idea. He can wait.<br /><br />I keep swimming.<br /><br />The climax is anti-climactic. I live. I make it to the dock. The six-year-old meets me there on the dock. We walk together to the shore.<br /><br />My wife is back at the picnic table. I catch her eye and smile weakly. She's shaking her head at me.<br /><br />"What did you want?" I say to my six-year-old, casually, trying not to show how hard I'm breathing.<br /><br />"I was just saying, 'Hi!'," he says. I give him a hug and rub his head.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1150832885977915592006-06-20T14:22:00.000-05:002006-06-20T14:56:31.960-05:00TetheredI work in a tall building in Minneapolis, on the top floor. Nothing special about that, it just worked out that way for my company. This morning, it's a longer wait than usual, so I take out my <a href="http://www.blackberry.com">Blackberry wireless device </a>and start to mess around...I check the time, check emails, and then start in on a half-hearted game of <a href="http://www.topshareware.com/Brick-Breaker-download-5003.htm">BrickBreaker</a>.<br /><br />This guy gets on board the elevator with me and hits a button two floors below mine. Out of the corner of my eye, with most of my attention focused on the tiny, bouncing pixel charged with destroying the artfully arranged bricks on BrickBreaker's 2nd level, I take note of the guy. Boring brown-grey suit, tie, about six-foot-two, brown hair, weathered face of a guy who makes a lot of money and gets outside to enjoy it once in awhile...must have been in his early 50s. He nods at me.<br /><br />"We're really tethered to those things, aren't we?" he says.<br /><br />"Uh...yeah, yeah we are, aren't we," I say, taking a second to realize that he's talking about the Blackberry.<br /><br />"Seems like we're always tethered to work these days. Work has to go everywhere with us."<br /><br />"Yeah, it does. But you know, I kind of like it. It gives me fair warning on what's waiting for me at the office." It's always a pleasure to have someone new to hear my standard line on the Blackberry. It's getting old for everyone else.<br /><br />"Well, sometimes, you don't want to know, right?" I tear my eyes away from the device and hit the escape key, pausing the game. The guy has a stony look to him, gazing off in the distance ... all the way to the elevator wall somewhere above me.<br /><br />"Ha," I laugh, "I guess that's right."<br /><br />"We have to turn those things off sometimes, right?"<br /><br />"You just have to set your limits, you know?" I say, trying to be helpful.<br /><br />"We're really tethered to these things. It's like there's no line between work and home. We're always on," he says, again, with a sadness in his voice that translates itself right into that place where sadness weighs heavy on you, just around the jawline and over the eyes.<br /><br />"I guess so," I say, and I look down, sharing his ... ennui, I guess.<br /><br />The elevator "bongs" with the signal that it's reached his floor and the man exits.<br /><br />"Well, try and have a good day," he says.<br /><br />"You, too," I say.<br /><br />And I realize in that moment that this is a profoundly sad man, who, despite whatever else he has going for him, feels powerless over the forces of his life, powerless to do anything to assert control over his time, unable to set boundaries. Powerless, except for his ability to reach out, over a 45-second elevator ride, to someone who might just be a kindred spirit, who might just understand. I realize all that, and the fact that he has no idea that I would soon attain a personal high score on BrickBreaker, and the resulting sense of accomplishment would carry me a good hour into this second day of the week. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"># # #<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1150301190433289112006-06-14T10:18:00.000-05:002006-06-14T11:06:31.546-05:00Parent of the Year Award ApplicationSo, I'm outside with my two-year-old the other day. He's great. I'm trying to do some yard work -- pullin' weeds, puttin' up flower fences so the irises don't droop, weed whackin', layin' down mulch in the garden, that sort of thing. I call him "Pig Will" from this old story by Richard Scarry about "Pig Will and "Pig Won't", where Pig Won't is the kid who won't do anything his parents say -- won't help out, won't do chores, won't go with Dad to work on the boat and just sits around and gets bored while good 'ol Pig Will does all of this, has a great time with Dad working on the boat and at the end of the day gets an ice cream treat. At the end, Pig Won't learns his lesson and becomes "Pig Me Too!" <br /><br />Anyway, my two-year-old is a little Pig Will -- anything I ask he shrugs his shoulders and says "OK" and off we charge. He's a good kid and a tough one -- he rarely complains, and doesn't 'sweat the small stuff' as my Dad would say. So I'm getting ready to haul 40 lb. bags of mulch across the yard to the garden, so I plop him down on the rock bed by the side of the house by a strange toy that involves pushing boats and water and little spinning wheels and set to work. <br /><br />I walk by with the first couple bags and he's playing just fine. Drop the bags, trudge back, think about how I should be using a wheel barrow, pick up two more bags and trudge along. Pig Will is still playing, but he's shifting around a bit. Wonder if he needs a diaper. Mental note -- check later. Drop bags, trudge back. Pig Will is waving his arms, but this is nothing unusual for a two-year-old. Who knows what's on his mind? I sling another bag over my shoulder and trudge back to the garden. Now Pig Will is grunting, still waving his arms. His voice is starting to sound like a kind of whimper, or something. Never heard that particular sound before, actually.<br /><br />Now, my little guy is a pretty good talker, so when he grunts and whimpers and waves his arms, well ... it's time to go back to the garden and drop off another bag and see how he is when I get back. So I do, and he's still doing it -- the whimpering, the grunting, the waving of arms, the confused and possibly horrified expression. Something clicks in the parental part of my brain -- perhaps I should check this out!<br /><br />I bend down and look at him, and he looks up at me sadly and says, "Ahh!". Oh, hey, there, I say, it's okay!<br /><br />Then I notice an ant on his leg. Actually, a couple ants. I brush them off. "It's okay -- it's just a couple ants! Brush, brush, brush!" Then I notice the ants on his other leg. And another crawling on his foot. "Ooh...lots of ants...wow...it's okay. Brusha brusha." And I brush them off his other leg.<br /><br />But I'm starting to get a feeling that there's a theme at work here, which is when I notice about a dozen ants on his overall shorts, two on his left hand, a few more on his right arm and one on his forehead. <span style="font-style: italic;">Wow,</span> I think. <span style="font-style: italic;">That's a lot of ants. </span>That's when I decide to pick up Pig Will and see what's going on here. And then I say it aloud: "That's a lot of ants!"<br /><br />Because it was a lot of ants. Where Pig Will had been sitting were about half dozen very large little sandpiles with holes in the middle -- ant hills -- hundreds of ants swarming about, no doubt in a frenzy over the giant diapered create sitting atop their homes. It's at this point that I realize that the giant diapered creature had been mostly stoically enduring a swarm of dozens of ants crawling over his entire body -- up and down his legs and arms and even under his shirt. <br /><br />"Wow, kiddo," I say. I call him kiddo sometimes. "You've got ants all over you!"<br /><br />"Yeah," he says. "Ants. On my legs." <br /><br />"Yeah, and on your nose...beep, beep. Let's get these ants off of you. Do you like ants on you?"<br /><br />"Nooooo."<br /><br />"Yeah. Daddy sat you down on an ant hill. Sorry 'bout that."<br /><br />"Yeah," he says, giving me a very stern look as I peek down his diaper to be sure I haven't missed any stray ants. "I don't like ant hills."<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1150214032576042882006-06-13T10:33:00.000-05:002006-06-13T10:53:52.596-05:00In Search of a Rose<span style="font-style: italic;">Where will I wander and wonder?<br />Nobody knows.<br />But wherever I'm a'going I'll go<br />In search of a Rose.<br /><br />Whatever the will of the weather<br />Whether it shines or snows,<br />Wherever I'm a'going I'll go<br />In search of a Rose.<br /><br />Don't know where it's found,<br />But I don't mind.<br />As long as the world spins around,<br />I'll take my time.<br /><br />I'll savour the softness of summer;<br />I'll wrap up when winter blows.<br />Wherever I'm a'going I'll go<br />In search of a Rose. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">--Mike Scott/The Waterboys</span></span></span><br /><br />Idleness and depression are often the direct result of idealism. For some, the Ideal is all that is worth doing. Anything less is not. Idealists quickly find that they have two routes: They can devote their entire being to reaching the Ideal, turning life into a quest for Perfection -- excellence at their job, the perfect mate, the ideal home, model children, the perfect life. Or, they can lay their hammer down and give up the quest, knowing that the Ideal is impossible...<br />choosing, through inaction, the perfect path of least resistance, perhaps hoping that the Ideal will find you. Counter-intuitively, perhaps, both ways are equally effective.<br /><br />The "third way" is to choose the Journey over the Ideal, knowing that Truth and Beauty can be discovered along the way. To keep searching for the Rose, not because you expect to find it, but to savor the boundless paths you'll take on the way to Wherever.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1149885092643603322006-06-09T15:04:00.000-05:002006-06-09T15:31:32.686-05:00In a Curmudgeonly Spirit of Sharing...Vacation has come and gone, and I'm back, ready to take on the world and stuff. Or at least to blog and blog again. In the spirit of sharing, here are some things that I've been thinking about...<br /><br />> I hate summer. There's too much pressure. "Oh what a nice day! We can't waste such a nice day!" There's a lot of pressure in a nice day. You have to <span style="font-style: italic;">embrace</span> it. You have to <span style="font-style: italic;">plan</span> for it. You have to have <span style="font-style: italic;">amazing experiences</span> during them. You have to <span style="font-style: italic;">go outside</span> on nice days. Sometimes, I'm perfectly happy in my air conditioned family room watching the damn television. I shouldn't have to feel guilty about not meeting some artificial standard of nice day ecstasy. <br /><br />Oh yeah: And it's too damn hot.<br /><br />> My new-ish Blackberry email machine came pre-loaded with a game called "Brick Breaker". I've discovered it. This is a bad thing. But amid my assault on the digital bricks with my digital ball and laser blasts and what have you, I am being careful this time around. My old Palm Vx has a broken Calendar button as a result of my heavy-thumbed obsession with a handheld Asteroids game.<br /><br />> My oldest son finished kindergarten yesterday. Nothing terribly remarkable here, but it brings back memories. Putting him to bed last night, he suddenly says, "Why do we have to be done with school? I like going to school." I'm glad he can say so, but feel sorry as well. Later, he'll discover, as I did, that it's not politically correct to admit that you like school and that you actually want to learn something.<br /><br />> Credit the <a href="http://blog.newsarama.com/2006/06/09/alienwares-supercomputers/">Newsarama blog</a> for this one: Check out <a href="http://www.alienware.com/Special_Edition/Superman/main.aspx">Alienware's Superman Notebook computer</a>. A sign of the apocolypse? Or of the coming rapture...?<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1147806353709746492006-05-16T13:17:00.000-05:002006-05-16T14:05:53.780-05:00Motivate MeBack in grad school, my friend and periodic reader Gary and I created what we called "The Intensity Sign." It was, simply, the word "INTENSITY" hastily scribbled in pencil on a sheet of yellow lined paper as a reminder to be... well... intense. Focused. Driven. You post it over your desk and it reminds you that the time has come to get the damn job done and move on. <br /><br />You might guess that I'm in need of such a sign right now, plunking away these workday hours on a blog, and you'd be right. But these days I'm in need of deeper motivation than a reminder to be motivated, so to speak. I'll note a few... perhaps you, the reader, can share a few of your own. <br /><br />"My family" -- yes, yes, of course. I'm working really hard because my family needs me to. OK, now that this is out of the way...<br /><br />"Stickin' it to The Man" -- I have this theory that I could, if I wanted, get done most of what I <span style="font-style: italic;">have </span>to do in any given week in about two days. This would leave me three days a week to obsessively pursue useless activities -- expounding on the media and politics, writing and reading comic books, surfing the Internet for online comic books, drinking coffee, sketching comic books -- while being paid a healthy salary. Downside: Amusing in the short term, mind numbing and self destructive in the long term. <br /><br />"Becoming The Man" -- if I work really hard, I could get promoted, gain more responsibility, make more money, and buy a cute little cabin up in the woods by a lake and hide there during my infrequent vacations. I could be The Man, the guy in the office that people humor because they have to, follow because they must and fear because, well, because I'm The Man. Downside: Hating myself.<br /><br />"Completion of Current Self-Loathing Cycle" -- (or, Avert My Chronic Impending Disaster). Even though my blog gets updated much more often, I don't like myself when I act like this. Usually it happens after I finish some big projects and I'm not sure what to do next. I should go on vacation. Fly a kite. Stick my feet in a river. Catch a fish. And then come back. <br /><br />With Intensity!<div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10876767.post-1147019089441557682006-05-07T10:57:00.000-05:002006-05-07T11:27:53.136-05:00What to Do in Cerritos, CaliforniaAnd now, the long-awaited review of my latest business trip. I recently spent three days and two nights in Cerritos, Calif., a non-descript town of unknown size about 30 miles south of Los Angeles. Let's get right to it!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Place to Stay</span> -- <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sheraton Four Points</span></span><br />I stayed at the luxurious Sheraton Four Points Hotel in Cerritos. It was very conveniently located. We could walk to numerous local restaurants, like Macaroni Grill and Starbucks, as well as shopping like Old Navy and Borders.<br /><br />The hotel itself was well appointed. The shower left something to be desired -- while competently designed, it took a little over an hour for the tub to drain. My feet certainly got a good soaking!<br /><br />However, it didn't have wireless access in any room, except the lobby. Look, Mr. Sheraton, Motel 6's and Holiday Inns have wireless -- you can spring for Wireless, too!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Restaurant -- Arte Cafe or something like that</span></span><br />On night 2, we had a late meal at this restaurant in the mall across the street. I ate the lamb chops with mashed potatoes and some vegatables. They were suitably delicious, but through the entire meal, I kept thinking about how I was eating <span style="font-style: italic;">lamb, </span>which is, as you may know, a baby sheep. A baby!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Ribs -- The Wood Grill<br /></span>Shout out to the Wood Grill, where I ate a full rack of baby back ribs. From the chest cavity of a pig! Why was I thinking about this all weekend?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Best Long-Form Magazine Article -- Harper's</span><br />The previous might have something to do with the article in the May issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Harper's</span> which discussed how the modern pork producer must engage in rather disturbing forms of artificial insemination to breed pigs, since the old-fashioned way carries high risk of disease, which, due to the lack of genetic variation among pigs selectively bred for their large size and deliciousness, would be disastrous. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Best Movie -- Mission Impossible 3</span><br /></span>I have a colleague whose example encourages me to embrace my inner geek. His office is an ode to the tech gadget, decorated with comic book posters. So, traveling with him for the first time, I rode his wave. First, we made the pilgramage to Fry's electronics, a geek warehouse par excellence, and where he beat me out for a $60 2GB flash drive, and where, I must admit, I could have spent a lot of money of I so desired, but I didn't. But he got the flash drive, USB hub and a power strip, because, you know, you can't have too many.<br /><br />Then we had dinner, indulged in three little bowls of tiramisu, and then trooped off for the 10 pm showing of MI: 3. This was a popcorn movie if there ever was one, and we each stuffed our faces with a medium popcorn and Coke.<br /><br />The popcorn was stale, the Coke unnecessary, and the movie incredulous but fun. My eyes are still popping from the glare of Tom Cruise's teeth, but frankly, I went there to see unbelievable stunts, explosions, high tech gadgets, more explosions, gun fights and more explosions. Ka-Boom! Mission Accomplished!<br /><br />That's about it for my trip to the Los Angeles metropolitan area. I hope you'll clip and save this advice, and you can do what I did in Cerritos! <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">All stories copyright me, Chronic, 2005, 2006</div>Kadethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04848524995790737404noreply@blogger.com0