I’ve come to learn that there are certain individuals holding jobs in the respectable business world who should never be allowed to come within 100 yards of anything created by a conscientious graphic designer. To say that these people don’t “get it” would be kind. Very kind. “Yes, madam, I understand your e-mail is down, but it would not be acceptable quality for publication if you photocopied their logo off a cocktail napkin and sent it by FAX…”
One of those Friday afternoons
January 28th, 2005Taking to one’s bosom
January 27th, 2005I was only half paying attention to a sound bite on TV featuring the new Mrs. Donald Trump, and in some sort of accent she gushed about “all the wonnerful mammaries” associated with her recent wedding. When I told Dana why I was laughing so hard, her reply was, “John, she was saying MEMORIES.”
Various & Sundry, part two
January 26th, 2005— While watching a bit of today’s White House press conference, I thought about the meaning of leadership. Leadership is not saying, “We’re all in this together; I understand and appreciate where you’d like to go; Believe in me, because I’m the person to get us there.” Now, that may be the mark of an organizer, a facilitator, or a consensus builder, but a leader, by contrast, is one who says, “I’ve thought about this and I have a vision; We need to go where I’m pointing my finger; Do you see it, too? Follow me and I’ll get us there!”
— When I was in Middle School (used to be called Junior High in those days) I had a teacher who stayed after school to help young guys who wanted to start building their bodies… not the acknowledged athletes, but just ordinary guys who didn’t know anything about weightlifting (and who did in small-town Ohio in 1964?). He showed us how to make our own barbells out of scrap pipe and coffee cans filled with wet cement. He called it “Muscle Club.”
— Jack LaLanne turned 90 last year and he was still working out every day. Here are three of his maxims: 1) Do something healthy and positive each day; little things make a difference. 2) Concentrate on the moment; put all your energy into what you’re doing today and what you’ll do tomorrow. 3) Be a role model; motivate your friends and loved ones by being supportive.
— At lunch today I put a leftover salmon patty, tofu, broccoli stems, soy milk, and two raw eggs into a blender and mixed the resulting goo with oatmeal, wheat germ, and brewer’s yeast, hoping to create some type of health burger. I think I’ll just end this little story now, if you don’t mind.
Swim-Bike-Run
January 25th, 2005I’ve settled back into a decent fitness schedule that should have me back in triathlon shape by spring, and then I’ll start thinking about my first summer event. It’s back on the bike again tomorrow. Today’s morning swim went well, with my year-end concentration on strength training paying off with improved stroke pull. Swim coach mentioned to me that I should finish my workouts with harder sprints, so I’ve been forcing that on myself each time I get in the
pool. I refuse to just space out and not count laps, but I wish there was a better way to keep track, because I miss that feeling I got in my long lake swims last year, when I could just get in the zone and find a good endurance pace, like being out on the road running for distance, letting the imagination fire at will.
A visit to the cellar
January 24th, 2005After the open house for David’s retirement from National City, Dana and I had dinner at Freddie’s with David, Lee, Gary, and Trish. Afterwards we regrouped at the Town House for dessert, so I opened the 1997 bottle of Nichelini Cabernet, which had been waiting patiently for a celebration. My goodness, it was even better than I was expecting. RWB certainly knows his wine. We all enjoyed a welcome break from recent tensions. David asked me to show Gary and Trish my first wood engraving, and so I made my typical awkward attempt at juggling personal pride and sincere humility. You’d think that by now I’d feel more natural when it came to discussing my art.
Cold fear
January 23rd, 2005This morning I decided to go out to the Jackson farm before sunrise to run some of the cross-country trails before friends gathered around the wood fire in the cabin for “shared silence.” I suppose I’ve run in more frigid conditions, but not recently. The raw intensity of these workouts are impossible for me to verbally capture, but they come loaded with rich sensory moments, like the crunch of refrozen thaw under foot, the visual pattern of animal tracks in the dusty snow, the sound of startled ducks temporarily fleeing the nearby wetland, and the massive heads of the horses as they surround and nudge me, wondering, perhaps, if I’ve come to deliver their overdue ration of hay.
It goes without saying that these stimuli make me feel very close to nature, and her power. I can’t say I particularly enjoy the cold. I realize I don’t have the same resilience as my father had. I know that, because I spent too many hours shivering, watching the steam of his breath, as he repaired rabbit pens or some other winter task, when I desperately wanted to seek the warmth. On mornings like today I think about whether he might have had similar experiences as mine, moving through nature on his cold, all-night ‘coon hunts (ventures that I was never equipped to endure at the time).
Years ago I came upon the words of Robert W. Service and shared them with Dadbo at Christmas, but we never got to talk about those poems of the Yukon. I just knew it was his life-long dream to visit the far North Woods. He never did, but I like to think that my gift enabled the same vicarious experience that Service provides for me with lines like these:
"The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
The white land locked tight as a drum,
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
The silence that bludgeons you dumb…"
On mornings like today I think about my friend Mack, the man who created the trails. As he confronts the foe of cancer, much too far from his cabin, I run them in the bitter wind for him, because I can.
Because I must.
Vic Vega vs Napoleon Solo
January 22nd, 2005My grandson Marty has discovered Quentin Tarantino, so first of all he screened Kill Bill: Vol.1 for me and then Reservoir Dogs. I didn’t know what to expect, since I’d never seen one of his films, not even Pulp Fiction. Marty has watched an alarming array of violent action flicks, beginning too many years ago, and now, at the age of thirteen, he can calmly dissect and critique motion pictures that have trailers I might not be able to handle so well. I’m not quite sure what to make of Tarantino. Marty finds his work more complex and intriguing than the typical fare he’s been used to, and I don’t doubt that’s true. For me, his movies mesh artistry with depravity like the teeth of a rusty zipper. A generation ago they said the same thing about Peckinpah, I suppose. Good Lord, when I was thirteen I had my hands full with The Wild Wild West and The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Various & Sundry, part one
January 21st, 2005— I’ve gotten a week into this experiment and have yet to properly thank Brendan, my undaunted sponsor and kind host. So far so good. I managed to solve most of the anomalies I was experiencing by updating the firmware on our Netgear firewall/router. Although I began my first private journal in 1971 and have maintained regular entries for the past 20 years or so, this online record of thoughts is a new and stimulating venture. In time I’ll gain a better sense of how its public nature affects the tone and quality of my postings.
— Last weekend our family gathered at Kelley Ridge for a mighty demonstration of Clan-Power to achieve as much physical transformation as possible. Uncle James mused that it was the kind of event that could inspire Clan legend. With the bitter wind knifing through us as we split and stacked firewood at the edge of the ridge, Seth replied, “You won’t ever hear me talking about this day.”
— There hasn’t been much of a downside to my accepting an invitation to join the Rotary Club ten years ago, but I am beginning to notice something. One of the serious drawbacks to building relationships of affection with a bunch of great old guys pushing 80 is to witness their failing health. What have I gotten myself into?
— As true as it is that there’s no greater love than to lay down one’s life for another, I want Josh to accomplish in Iraq what he was trained to do and then safely return to his family. That is my simple prayer. I’m not precisely sure what he was trained to do, but I know that living and working each day in harm’s way is a given. I’m reminded of the closing line in The Bridges at Toko-Ri, “Where do we get such men?” The answer to that question is the same with every generation, and, as far as I’m concerned, no poet has described this vital breed more eloquently than Katharine Lee Bates when she wrote, “Oh beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife, who more than self their country loved and mercy more than life!”
Liberty will come to those who love it
January 20th, 2005I’m glad that the President has been inaugurated for another term. Anyone who knows me realizes that my admiration for him has grown over the past few years. It can be too easy at times to expect perfect leadership from someone who holds this office. I have numerous friends who believe that the performance of George W. Bush has been a far cry from perfect, and perhaps a far cry from adequate, but it isn’t difficult for me to disagree with their assessments when “Dubya” supports so many ideas and policies to which I’ve long given my support. Am I always satisfied with his appointments and decisions? Of course not. I’m even certain he’ll do things over the next four years which won’t please me. Nevertheless, I won’t make the mistake I made with President Reagan and hold him to an unrealistic standard that, with maturity, I have lived to regret.
Critical mass
January 19th, 2005Everything is entering the studio meat grinder at once: a Chamber of Commerce Website, a new visual campaign for the Great American Brass Band Festival, major volunteer projects for the Salvation Army and Rotary Club, plus several other jobs that have spilled over from 2004.
This is when I call in my crack team of talented design assistants and issue a few soft-spoken but well-chosen directives, delegating on the fly, sending them fully motivated to do battle with every deadline… One minor problem, though. Last time I looked I didn’t have any assistants.
Deep sigh
January 18th, 2005Today’s Anacrusis story made me think of seeing Ben Shahn’s work for the first time as a callow teenager, when I took the Famous Artists School’s home-study Course for Talented Young People and discovered the concept of creating artwork in service to the advancement of social justice. The whole idea seemed so phlegmatically self-evident at the time.
Commando Bandsman
January 17th, 2005On TV today I watched some clips about preparations for the inaugural celebration and I had to laugh when I saw a drum major in camo. Oh, I get it. “Was that a drum major? Wait a second. No, I guess it’s a shrub with a bear’s rump sticking out the top.”
…continuing
January 16th, 2005Well, I think I’ve made my point to myself here. Hmmm? Perhaps I need a blog like the proverbial hole in the head. But, come to think of it, Cap’n Lice did have that missing piece of cranium where a musket ball glanced off the side of his…
On blogging
January 15th, 2005Today’s a good day to initiate this log. Actually, I have no idea what a “blog” is meant to accomplish, or whether this online journal will meet the definition of that term. I supposed a true blog requires the kind of obsessive drive that keeps the generator of posts relentlessly coming back to the keyboard, so visitors can rely on a daily stream of new entries, thoughts, and observations.
But it occurs to me that if one is a creative person, and one is blogging, then one is not doing something else, since one is blogging, and therefore not engaged in a non-blogging priority, if you follow me…
I think that true blogging would necessitate a careful process of finding the best way to balance one’s creative imperatives, keen powers of compartmentalization, and a certain level of mastery over the daily resource of limited time. But what do I know about “true blogging?”
It’s just important for me to recognize that if I’m blogging, I’m not designing, and if I’m blogging, I’m not drawing, or painting, or engraving wood, and if I’m blogging, I’m not running, cycling, or swimming, and if I’m blogging, I’m not working on my house, and if I’m blogging…