KjB

Some days, when I’m facing something unpleasant - looking down the throat of an uncomfortable-sounding doctor’s appointment, or before a job interview, or before having to meet someone in a part of town where parking is as easy as passing a 3-inch gallstone - I think to myself “this is the most difficult thing you’ll do this week”. And then I go do that thing, and happily reap whatever tiny breath of relief I get. Even if the thing itself is minor. It just keeps stress low.

I say it a lot when I have to go interview people - for an article, for a case study, etc. Though I don’t feel like I’m bad at it, per se, once I get going, the spontaneous jockeying for nuance and meaning and ‘getting a good quote’ that is necessary in such things just makes me nervous. Especially if I’m talking to someone mildly famous.

Today, I did the hardest thing I’ll do all week.

Dan and i were sent to interview/photograph a local family. They’re building a giant eco-friendly house, we’re doing the website for the enterprise (an online e-zine of sorts), and it’s good PR all around for a decently honorable venture. I won’t mention names - but I’ll say that one parent is the child of an incredibly well-known media mogul. The other is a sports-team owner and atlanta-centric businessperson. They’re both nice to a fault. Their kids are very cute and cultured and smart. It was my job today to pry into their lives.

And here is where you might expect my revelation about how ‘normal’ they are. How much I see my own upbringing in the lives of these kids.

Yeah…not really. The kids say ’sir’ and ‘ma’am’ and are about as media savvy as your average hotel-chain heiress. They smile and mug for the camera professionally. In every room we put them in, they created a perfect Norman Rockwell portrait - evenly-spaced, perfectly arranged, ‘good-sides’ to the lens. Dan was probably thrilled. He hardly had to say a word to get them to play monopoly on the floor like it was a cold night in the ol’ log cabin, play with their dogs (they have 5) outside like a commercial for the humane society, and generally look cute and mannered precisely on cue. It was kind of scary. Which made me hyper-aware of the little breakdowns.

The dogfight in the backyard during our last shot. (dad smacked one purebred pup on the butt, and sent it yelping.) The nanny burning the oldest kid with the frying pan - making their real lunch for our staged kitchen shot. The frazzled mom hurrying two kids out the door - mid sentence in my interview - for orthodontic appointments. The dog poop in the back yard. The dining room table, indistinguishable under piles of paperwork. The loud father-son argument and semi-meltdown in the kitchen before everyone made their grand entrance.

ok. maybe they’re not so far off from the rest of us. Man, I hate it when i kill my own train of thought.

drunk guy to the right of me at the bar:

10:15PM -
“can you do me a favor? if i turn to you and say something like ‘you remember the name of that girl we sat next to in 8th grade math?’ can you play along and pretend to be the guy whose seat you just stole?’

10:19PM (precipitated by my friend asking him for a cigarette)

“F**K YOU. Damnit. I mean you F**King cute girls come over here and ask me for cigarettes and i don’t even know your NAMES and, NO, you can’t having F**King cigarette…” (he then gives her a cigarette and waits, presumably for us to give him our names. She thanks him. I smile winningly, and turn around.)

10:25PM (the live band has started playing 70s TV show themes)

Authoritatively, mock-scholarly - “You hear that song? Now THAT is the theme from Welcome Back Kotter. (It’s not. It’s the theme from Barney Miller.) You hear it? Welcome Back Kotter was a really popular show in the 70s about these cops and this guy…you remember it? How old are you guys? You remember that show?”

Me: “I’m 29. Yes, i remember the show. It was called Barney Miller.”

10:32PM

Just as authoritatively - Drunk guy is now trying to convince me and my friend that he’s not an idiot. (We have, since the Sanford And Son theme has begun playing, been discussing something nerdy - the social ramifications of Red Foxx’s character on 70s black culture…or something of the like) “You hear THAT? That’s the Sanford and Son Theme. Red Foxx was on that show. Red Foxx was a comedian who was the first guy to say cuss words in a standup routine. You remember that? You remember?” (I say nothing, and instead give him a dead-eye look and an empty smile). “Girl, you’re going to have to help me out here…”

Me: “I think you’re talking about George Carlin. And on the help front, no. I don’t F**king think so.”

Moral of the story: Hostility does not play well when picking up girls at the bar. Nor does an incredibly shoddy knowledge of television trivia.

He was french. A verbal terrorist setting little bits of plastique against the conversation of the two americans with him - confidently mangling diction, running over their comments, refuting every word. He was right - about everything - and everyone in the bar apparently needed to know.
“She was a bitch. She complained twenty-four by seven.”

And at that point, despite the decibels, I loved the arrogant little dude.  Twenty-four by seven is, I suspect, the exact size of the square day. Time is math, and life is always 3-D (love by hate, action by reaction, anger by remorse), but this for me, consistutes the perfect vision of time in space.
Little square calendar units, filled out - crammed to every corner - with friends and food and work, color and smells and sound.

regarding getting older - and working in an industry like mine, where being ‘fresh’ and ‘up-to-date’ is seemingly important - today, this crazy work-laden, insane day, I have some thoughts.

It seems to me, the harder you work to stay ‘relevant’, ‘cool’, or ‘with it’, the more you try - desperately, clingingly - to keep up with the newest ideas and fads and buzzwords, the less likely you will succeed - and the more likely you are to look like a fool.

in fact, this advice would apply to anyone, at any age. From a teenager who has to have the newest cell phone, to a 45-year old ad exec who’s just starting to feel ‘out of the cultural loop’ because they’ve spit out a couple kids, or bought their first minivan, or just hired a crop of hungry design students who ooze ‘new and improved for 2006!’ out of every pore.

the point, i think, is to revere the fundamentals. Craft. Timeless design. Words - just words - not stylistic tricks-of-the-moment. Not buzzwords. Not industry jargon (it all changes anyway). History. Science. Continued education - on any topic. Decisions made by those who are considered ‘masters’ of their trade. Clean style. Black and white. Analog technology. Working with your hands. Pure, unpretentious, unconditional relationships. Things your granmother knew to be true. And above all, your own inner compass that tells you what looks good and tastes good and feels good.

if you listen to those things, and ignore the background noise of culture and trend and fad, you’ll never go wrong. you’ll never get old. you’ll never be ‘out of date’. fickle style will come and go. technologies and trends will creep into your life, and line your periphery - and you’ll use some and discard others along the way - but you won’t care that you’re not ‘on the cutting edge’ anymore. you’ll just Be.

and i think that will make you (meaning you. me. anyone) ageless. and ‘relevant’. and happy.

well, i didn’t wear any. And that’s my final position on the matter. You can count the green purse, the green ipod mini, the great, green coat i bought off ebay a few weeks back, and my green blood. my brother figures the ratio in our lilly-white veins is about 75% german, 25% irish, so this is apparently one-quarter my day. What it means, i’m not sure, though.

At the pub at lunch (we thought we’d eat there in reverence for their gigantic patio, not, consciously anyway, for the pint-goggled implications of the day), several tables of green-clad revelers that had been through Killians to Bass to Guinness, and back again probably twice. They were loud. We were just ebullient about the weather and the impending weekend, and the lag in work that we’d all created for the day. Well, except me - i was due back for a 2:30 conference call with a publishing house, but the sentiment was there.

that’s all really. things are speeding up around here. publishers are biting down hard on this new secret project we’ve been working on. Three meetings next week, and one early-adopter ready for us to take over and run with their magazine. It’s crazy. Long hours, lots of stress.

This is startup-ville. Maybe that’s what the blog should document for a while.

Yeah. That’s it.

happy saint patrick’s day. to my ancestors, to christopher (who boasts a respectable 50%), and to Dan, AWOL today, but here in spirit.