Brian Dettmer appeared on my radar some time ago. When I first saw his work, a flash went off on the inside of my skull. WOW! What gorgeous stuff!! Those of us who make books for a living have long revered the craft and fine art of bookmaking.
Obviously so, since we make it into a career. For many of us, it's also a vocation seemingly without choice, since all paths lead us back to it—despite resistance within the workplace, practical obstacles like time and budget, and being underpaid next to workers of comparative expertise, skill level, or educational background.
You might have surmised by now that when I saw one of our beloved objects elevated to the height of a painting, I felt a sense of pride and vindication. Brian gets the dimensionality and inherent beauty of the book, worthy of appreciation like any other art form.
The only question that remains for me is this: how can I afford to buy one on my salary? I'm open to a deal ;)
Stay sharp and focused out there in the world today.
Sometimes, as kids, we longed for an ending that never happened on some of our favorite shows. The Roadrunner would get his due, and Bugs would finally get offed by Elmer. Luckily, Seth McFarland's Family Guy has provided us with just such an outlet to express our more, uh, mature attitudes about life. Experience has it's rewards.
Needless, today's post is most definitely NOT suitable for the kiddies. Enjoy the thrills ;)
This clips runs a bit long, but hang in there. The punchline is killer.
My introduction to music came early. After all, it surrounded me throughout my childhood, playing constantly as an accompaniment to family life. Me and my brothers were allowed to select our very first album to buy in a store. My oldest brother wisely chose The Jackson Five's "ABC", which was a favorite cartoon of ours. It was also one of our first important decisions together as a group.
Our exposure to classical music was also through cartoons, like the opera "Barber of Seville", in a version for kids that starred Bugs and Elmer Fudd. Besides the t.v., we had one of those big furniture consoles that had a radio, cassette player, and turntable, in the dining room adjacent to the living room, which was almost always in rotation. I had a little plastic 45 player of my own in my bedroom. I remember quite clearly playing The Knacks 45 "My Sherona" over and over, downstairs in the t.v. room.
I inherited my first stereo from an older cousin when he outgrew it, which played 8-track tapes. He also tossed in some tapes he didn't want anymore, like Cheap Tricks' "Live at Budokhan." When the Walkman came out, I was entranced. I was, and still am, an early morning riser.
While I waited for the rest of the household to wake up, I would spend hours in bed with my headphones on, listening to favorite cassette tapes and scanning the dial of the radio. I used to hide in my closet to listen to Dr. Ruth give out sex advice. Though I barely understood most of the talk, I realized it was above my current stage of development, which made it all the more fascinating for its glimpse into adult life.
My 1st dance recital, to the Star Wars soundtrack!
Music was folded in my daily life in other ways, too. Growing up, I was a dancer-in-training. I was taken to jazz classes around 3 years old, and then I continued with classical ballet until 13. I learned that choreography is the art of matching movement to music. The two art forms accompany and complement each other in perfect harmony. Or, if you do modern dance, discord.
Dancing was a large part of the entire household. My parents were part of the disco craze of the 70s, dressing up in glamorous evening outfits to hit the town. My aunties taught us all the old standards in our living room, like The Mashed Potato, The Jerk, and The Twist, while records played in the background. Me and my best friend in elementary school loved to rollerskate in the garage to "Blondie", skate rinks also being a huge craze back in the day.
Waiting in the auditorium hallway, before hitting the stage.
Later on, one of my brothers picked up the guitar, teaching himself by ear off of his most coveted albums. More unfortunate was his near-constant and daily repetition of Led Zeppelin tracks to learn certain riffs. It has taken me years to fold some of their songs back into my listening repertoire. We became experts at dropping the needle to the record at certain key points in a song.
I was also exposed to a lot of what I call "boy's music": hard metal from the likes of AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult, and Judas Priest. My siblings and I bonded over a shared love of the Stones, which continues unabated to this day. Later on in high school, I made day trips to New York City to get prized possessions like the first U2 vinyl imported to the US, for their "Gloria" single. I had heard them on a Long Island radio station, WLIR, which was famous for playing punk and new wave.
I could write about this topic all day long, but for now, I'll leave you with those two favorite cartoon themes as a primer. Part II coming soon to a blog post near you!
Wishing you many musical moments on this Wednesday.
The first time I saw Baby Godzilla as a kid, I kind of lost my mind. Out of the entire lexicon of rubber suit monster movies, nothing was faker, stupider, or funnier than watching a shorter, weirder version of Godzilla make ridiculous donkey sounds and blow smoke rings.
(the sound is dreadful on all these clips, but you knew that already)
When one contemplates that an entire media industry was centered around dudes in costumes doing pretend battles dressed as freaky creatures, it just boggles the mind. It's so out there, so fabulously bizarre, that it excited my already feverish imagination beyond belief. I realized that these were adults making these movies and getting paid for it. What a glorious way to entertain! The inane silliness of it all delighted my child's mind.
I've never forgotten the magical, gut-busting laughter elicited by these films while we watched them growing up. Me and my brothers still know most of Godzilla's foes and allies by heart, and we each had a favorite (mine is Mothra). Do you?
Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I love subcultures, and the freakier the better. For me, they are exercises in cultural anthropology. I am a big fan of all things National Geographic, for the access it gives me to minute and possibly threatened societies, some of which may teeter on the brink of extinction. How could one not be intrigued by obscure myths and their accompanying rituals? It's the main reason I haunt PBS—for this exposure to the rare and unique.
So, one could imagine my delight as I stumbled upon the odd practice of sun-gazing while channel surfing. "Eat the Sun" is a film made by a man who becomes obsessed with it. Practitioners gradually build up a tolerance to looking at the sun, believing their daily adherence gives them enormous health benefits. The most controversial aspect is a decrease in appetite, then loss of hunger. A particularly shocking account came from an 11-year old girl on a sun-gazer message board, who felt her hunger decline to the point where she stopped eating. Even the least judgmental among us would question that.
It is a fascinating glimpse into a rediscovered subculture. And it seemed fitting to mediate on the sun, with the waning of summer, as we head into our hemispheres' fall and winter orbit through darkness and cold. Also, I skew further away on the scale of sun worshipping, towards the fairness of my naturally born skin tone. Plus, food is far more than simple nourishment to me. It's about family and culture, people gathering in communion, and the art of cooking. But, I loved to gaze at this world of willful disenfranchisement, anyway.
After all, who among us doesn't love a freak show?
"Spaghetti Cat" remains one of the funniest clips I've ever seen on television, the weird byproduct of a production glitch during a live morning shows’ segment on drinking and driving: https://youtu.be/o2IgI--pCfY
It also solidified my fandom for The Soup's Joel McHale, who generously bestowed this gift upon me: once for airing it, and then for continually spoofing it on his show. It's the gift that keeps on giving. Hello! It's Friday, people!!
Many of you savvy ladies out there will know what I'm referring to about the New Zealand rugby team, the All Blacks. Not only are they amazing athletes, but they also tend to skew towards the rather attractive side.
The team draws from their roots to perform what is the most awesome "psyche-out" I've ever seen in professional sports, the Maori war song called the Haka. Check it out, and enjoy the view. Seize the day!
As kids, me and my brothers learned fast that nothing trumps the humor of an actor in a rubber suit in sci fi and horror films. We thrilled to the delights of the obviously fake for its' high camp value and the insult dealt to an audiences' intelligence. After all, how can one lose oneself in a character so ridiculous?
You can't, so we didn't even try, but rather, we relished in the gloriously cheap production values. I submit to you, dear readers, one scene that has withstood the test of time for par excellence. Naturally, it comes from the King of Camp himself, William Shatner as Captain Kirk, in the grooviest show on the planet, the original "Star Trek" series. Live it up today!
The month of September shines like a jewel here in New York. The skies are a bright blue, the air cools gradually, and rainstorms blow in the change of weather, hinting at the crisp nights of autumn to come. Here's some scenes from my lunchtime walk yesterday. Rule the day!
When I was a kid, me and my brothers flipped for the 1981 movie Clash of the Titans. We were way into monster flicks—we had subscriptions to magazines like Fangoria and Monster. We ordered King Kong models to make our own stop-motion films with a Super 8. My oldest brother was the driving force on most of these projects, acting as director, while my other brother and I were relegated to script changes, scene details, and other menial duties most production assistants perform on sets. Each of us had a favorite monster we loved to watch and be frightened by. They were, in descending sibling order, Frankenstein, the Werewolf, and Dracula.
We had other nerdy interests, too. There were the Star Trek conventions and our subscription to the requisite companion fan mag "Starlog". I learned to make tribbles using fake fur and pillow stuffing. There were also the Renaissance Faires, which skewed a little too girly for the boys because of the men in tights walking around, but I loved to look at the women wearing pretty dresses with corseted waists and flower garlands decorating their hair. As a kid, I sometimes made my Halloween costumes, too—one year, I took old pillowcases and created a Court Jester outfit. It's a holiday that still remains a favorite within our family, for it's rejoicing in the creative spirit of costuming and role-playing.
I naturally started diverging into more artistic endeavors like claymation and stop-motion animation. My "Irish Twin"* brother and I did a hilarious version of the werewolf tale, using fur from our Samoyed to transform him into a white wolf (in reality, our dog Snowflake), which we filmed in our kitchen. When COTT came out, we each attached ourselves to a different point and character within the mythology. For me, Bubo was the cutest and coolest mechanical companion anyone could want. He made a series of hoots and clicks, and he had a great sense of humor. Despite his tiny size, he packed a wallop as a sidekick, becoming the pivotal distraction to beat the Kraken at great risk to himself. He was noble and brave.
Looking back, I cannot believe we didn't own a toy version of Bubo. What happened to marketing synergy? It was all over the Star Wars franchise! Never fear, dear readers, for years later, I have found my Bubo replica, and can rejoice. http://www.kaboodle.com/reviews/gentle-giant-clash-of-the-titans-bubo-statue (Ahem, Christmas is coming up quick)
Here's wishing you an epic start to the week.
* Definition: The term is used to describe two children born to the same mother in the same calendar year or within twelve months of each other. The phrase originated as a derogatory term associated with Irish immigration to the United States and England in the 1800's. The implication was that large groups of close-in-age siblings were the result of uneducated, poor Irish Catholic families' lack of birth control as well as self-control.
In modern use, the term is not intended as an insult, but rather a description of siblings born close together. Irish twins are not actually twins and they are not the same as having twins, which are defined as two siblings born from the same gestation.
Also Known As: Irish triplets when three children are born to the same mother within three years.
Examples: A mother gives birth to one baby in January of 2007 and another child in December of the same year. Or, alternatively, a mother births a child in August of 2007, becomes pregnant again in October, and gives birth to another child in July of 2008.
Photo courtesy of http://catholicmanhattan.blogspot.com
My local parish turns 125 years old this year, with a special celebration taking place on Sunday. I had thought about returning to Catholicism for years. It is the religion of my birth, and as such it holds a dear place in my heart. I went through the rites of passage growing up, and then I went out into the world.
Me with my Grandfather on Communion Day
I'd often felt conflicted about the views of Catholicism I encountered through popular culture. There's the wacky demon-hunting movies and t.v. shows (fun as they are, I'm not sure they're accurate or good press), wild stories of dramatic exorcisms, and awful, heart-breaking accounts of clerical abuses towards children and other parishioners. Quite the dim view. Not to mention the urban disdain one encounters in the working world as an adult—it's as if any person of faith is some naive rube led to believe through cultish brain-washing techniques that a spooky old man somewhere in the sky is looking down upon us in sour judgement.
Me on Confirmation Day
And yet, none of it reconciled with my real life experiences. Naturally, as an artist, I'd always been drawn to our churches and art. Many of the historical masters I studied in school drew heavily from Christian traditions as inspiration. For me, cathedrals are sacred spaces that serve as beacons we utilize to tune into our spirit, and tap into the greater good, the source from which we all sprang—the Creator of life, the Big Bang that set off a chain of events so powerful, we are still hurtling through space at a speed unfathomable to the human imagination. What is there not to be thankful for?
As we travel on this planet together, through the enormous universe around us, let us stop and think about the many blessings we have. Enjoy the ride.
Photo courtesy of St. Francis Xavier
I Just Want To See His Face The Rolling Stones
That's all right, that's all right, that's all right.
Sometimes you feel like trouble, sometimes you feel down.
Let this music relax your mind, let this music relax your mind.
Stand up and be counted, can I get a witness.
Sometimes you need somebody, if you have somebody to love.
Sometimes you ain't got nobody and you want somebody to love.
Then you don't want to walk and talk about Jesus,
You just want to see his face.
You don't want to walk and talk about Jesus,
You just want to see his face.
The online user experience has rapidly become highly refined. For heavy, expert users like myself, who work with computers daily to make a living, I remember the days when the internet resembled an old PC—blocky, squarish coding on a black background—not inviting, intuitive, or user-friendly. We now have the most targeted tool known to humankind so far. What an advance!
Instead of the random junk once sent to the masses, we get highly researched and developed niche marketing. Our online search patterns define the type of potential buying product we receive in our email inboxes. And that is a great change. I have long espoused the benefits of using a specific buying demographic as the premier marketing model, because it is much more effective than casting a wide net into the world, hoping to garner a few sales.
Enter into this climate, the nifty amazon.com cookie bot, which takes browsing and creates a teaser email along the lines of "...if you like this, (and I see from your history here that you do), then check this out, too". It mirrors the behavior you use while on the site, like the band of product that scrolls underneath the item you are currently viewing. The email sent to you after your shopping experience is directly linked to your interests, based on nothing else but you. It's smart, and it works.
My inbox delivered a blast from my surfing past this week in the form of a book about a doggie I had forgotten, and was delighted to rediscover, Mr. Winkle. I now know that my love for all things Boo (http://www.facebook.com/Boo) was germinated by a serious dose of the Winkle. He's more on the quirky "What the heck is that?!" side of mini Poms, but still way appealing on a grand scale. And, dear readers, here's the kick. He's quite illuminating, as well. Happy Friday, people!
The night was warm, the Shake Shack double stack was killer, and the beers were cold. What a great way to end the summer—with food, family, and fans at the Mets game. See you next season!
One of the biggest challenges about designing books is working with people who may or may not know art and design, because clients often use personal preferences in lieu of actual critique.
Art and design criticism is taught to us at school, under the watchful eyes of our professors. They guide students into developing the vocabulary used specifically for visual problem-solving, which can be a painful exercise at work. I call them I Love Lamp "non-versations" ala Steve Carrey's character from Anchorman; a man so clueless and in-over-his-head, he randomly picks out objects as good examples of a concept.
Don't get me wrong; we love the work we do. Design is a collaborative experience that should stay positive, as much as possible, all the way through the process. So, to maintain our composure in meetings and to help keep our perspective in focus, we use humor, as you the reader may have gathered by now.
Injected into this climate of crushing deadlines and non-artistic scrutiny, we take our laughs where we find them. Naturally, when I happened upon The Tiny Art Director site, it fit the dynamic perfectly. The author is a talented commercial artist who takes picture requests from his adorable toddler, and his experiments with her typically fail. The exchanges they produce is laughably close to the rejections most professional, working artists experience daily.
Have a good chuckle, at work or wherever you are working in the world today, and know dear artistes, that you are far from alone!
Long Beach was once a rather quiet haven for native New Yorkers. It has become a major destination, with lots of exciting changes. In addition to the Quicksilver Pro, there was a volleyball tournament, plus a sand castle competition. It was somewhat overwhelming.
New Yorkers can't help but feel a little rueful as these areas develop anew around us. We have always known our area rocked big time, and now you do, too. Hidden gems are being "discovered", one by one—we may fear losing a foothold on the land of our roots, or being priced out of popular areas, as so many newcomers relocate here to enjoy the safety and relative prosperity of the American good life alongside us.
Let's encourage and support our extremely talented pool of designers, architects, and urban planners as they find solutions to accomodate every sector of our population. I know they can do it, because we deserve this wealth of beauty that surrounds us. Have a great start to the week, and don't forget to vote in the Primaries tomorrow!
The Quicksilver Pro has finally reached New York waters for the first time, and it is long overdue. Many of us have grown up with the awareness of horrendous shows like "Baywatch", which portray southern California as the epicenter for all things related to American beaches. This is a serious misconception.
The original 13 colonies here in the Northeast have had a strong and thriving beach culture for as long as the coastline has hugged our shores. I have been a swimmer my entire life, as are many of my friends and relatives native to this area. We relish our summers as that time specifically devoted to being near the ocean, a pull so innate to our natures, we wouldn't be home without it.
Though the events may be held in stormy weather, I implore you to go out to Long Beach this weekend and support the athletes who are finally getting the respect and recognition they so deserve, and that they have earned through their sheer, hard work. This is not a competition to miss.
What are wild parrots doing in Brooklyn? It's a long story! (photo credit: Stephen Baldwin)
Upon my return home from out west, where I had lived for several years, I took an interview at Brooklyn College. The publications director and I got along well, and I believe it was then that I first heard about the colony of wild parrots nesting in the campus' clock tower.
It has become the subject of many delightful urban myths. The most enduring tales are those of the wayward pet store owner who accidentally released their catch, or the private owner with an unattended open window, thus providing an excellent escape hatch for their pet parrots.
Nonetheless, they have become a colorful fixture in our borough, adapting and thriving in this climate. Take a tour, and see for them for yourself. Happy hunting!
For anyone learning the ropes about the art of storytelling, I submit that there is no better authority and teacher than Joseph Campbell. I remember when I first discovered his series with Bill Beutel on PBS, and I was instantly enraptured—by his eloquence and articulation, the depth of his knowledge, his frank, energetic passion, and excitement for his subject, all of which marked him instantly, in my mind, as a master to learn from.
It becomes even more poignant when you realize, as I did watching the series unfold, that Mr. Campbell was in the last stages of his life, and he knew it. There are several parts which were filmed at The Museum of Natural History, here in New York, where Mr. Beutel asked him about his ending. It is as moving a tribute to the spirit of life as I have ever heard.
No words of mine can ever do justice to his incredible legacy. Please discover Joseph Campbell and his works, and be profoundly changed, forever, as I was.
As we drink up the last rays of summer sun, many of us turn our minds towards what is perhaps the most beautiful and celebrated season in all the world, Autumn in the Northeast.
Cool, crisp, clear nights, with a hint of woodsmoke in the air from long-dormant fireplaces, a riot of colors from trees of every kind that is unparalleled elsewhere in nature, let's look forward to the beginning of another glorious season on this fair planet.
As we head into this holiday weekend, many of us may take time off to recharge our batteries, so that we may attack our work anew Tuesday morning, refreshed and invigorated. We may also use this time to meditate on the nature of "work" and what it means to us.
Certainly, those of us in professions with a more humanitarian bent do not always reap great financial rewards from our careers, so we may ask ourselves, "Why do I do this work?". And for some of us, the fulfillment must come from other sources besides the income we receive, which has to sustain us through challenging work days and economic downturns, like our current recession.
I cannot think of a better expression of this daily devotion to a vocation with a higher calling than The Monks of New Skete. Not only have they written the best book on dog training I've ever read, it's also a powerful testament to their calling.
Every act of their day, no matter how small, is utilized to hone their ability to connect with something greater than themselves. As they engage the animals in their training, and work with the people who care for them, they are aware that every act can be a expression of faith, a platform with which to share their joy of this life we have all been granted.
It can be awful to try and manage tasks which have great meaning to us while we try our best to fend off the negativity and distractions which surround us in the workplace, especially when it seems directed our way. Know this, you are not suffering for naught. You are performing a labor of love. And that act alone is all the manifestation of spirit required to get the job done.
One of my favorite celebrities is Koko, a highly intelligent and sweet female gorilla in her 40s. She can express her feelings and accurately describe the events around her, as they unfold, to her caregivers through sign language. Koko has favorite celebrities, too—Betty White and William Shatner.
Koko is also an excellent caregiver. She has a fondness for kittens, which she handles gently and with great affection. She has communicated her desire for a baby of her own with her handlers. They are currently assisting Koko with her goal by providing a male mate, or perhaps artificial insemination.
It's impossible not to be charmed by Kokos' kindness and her sense of humor. If you are plugged into social media, the updates are a cute uplift to your day. I'm certain you will become as big a fan as I am.
Please show your support for the foundations' incredible research by visiting the websites below. Let's help spread the word through sharing their wonderful, fun world with others. As Koko would say, that would be most "polite".
Obviously so, since we make it into a career. For many of us, it's also a vocation seemingly without choice, since all paths lead us back to it—despite resistance within the workplace, practical obstacles like time and budget, and being underpaid next to workers of comparative expertise, skill level, or educational background.
You might have surmised by now that when I saw one of our beloved objects elevated to the height of a painting, I felt a sense of pride and vindication. Brian gets the dimensionality and inherent beauty of the book, worthy of appreciation like any other art form. 
