Nose, Nose, Nose

Just Hanging Out

You have nothing to do'
And all day to do it
Might be a good time 
To get to doin' something
To get it together
To get things done

Or maybe not

That Area Of The Brain Laughing Behind Your Back

Your brain

Is responsible for every decision

You have ever made

Every last one of them

Good, sensible decisions

Bad, irrational decisions

It would be logical to assume

That your brain being, well, you

It would have your best interest at heart

But how many times have you

Asked yourself

"What was I thinking?'

How many times have you

Said to yourself

"I must have been out of my mind?"

Your brain

Must thrive on embarrassment

And feast on regret

How Not To Get Rich

1) Don't pay yourself, ever.

2) Let greed be your guide

3) Let fear be your guide

4) Ignore index funds

5) Low-ball your own worth

6) Always be an employee, never an employer

7) Blindly trust financial advisers. doing your own research is too tedious

8) Try to time the market

9) Don't bother learning the difference between price and cost

10) Never have a prudent reserve

Gribouillage Et Barbouillage*

                           Lisa, quick (30 minute) sketch in oil on black canvas, CRB 2014

                                 Another 20 minutes spent on the portrait exercise

*Scribbles And Smears

The Oldest American Film And Television Editor is Elmo Williams*

This afternoon an odd question was posed. The question was, "Is there an agency that keeps track of when the last person born in a specific year, dies?" 

That question came about due the conversation centering around who the world's oldest person currently is. Not only is the world oldest person known (Misao Okawa of Japan, born 1898), every single human on Earth older than 100 is known - you can look them up in various Gerontology journals.

That may seem like an undertaking of staggering dimension, but it's actually not, as not a whole heckuva lot of people make it to 100 or beyond - currently, 316,000 people are older than 100 on this planet, out of a population that exceeds 7 billion.

The vast majority of them live in three countries - the United States, Japan, and Great Britain, with France and Italy accounting for a significant percentage of the rest. 

The interest in centenarians, and super-centenarians as well (super-centenarians exceed 110 years of age - there are maybe 350 of those worldwide) is understandable. Aging is a universal condition, and long-lived people are interesting if only to figure out how they did it.

So various governmental departments in just about every country, and even in the United Nations, keep tabs on those that have made it to the magical *100*.

And those agencies break down the lists they make into every sub-category imaginable - by gender of course, but also by lifestyle, ethnicity, cultural identity, education (or lack thereof), personal attributes, diet, exercise, career choices - even entertainment preferences.

So the answer is yes with a capital Y. There is not just one agency keeping track of when the last person born every year dies, there are hundreds. Those agencies know when any of the 17 people in Iceland who are older than 100 pass away, or if any of the 53,364 people in the United States older than 100 fails to make it to 101.

The natural follow-up question is, how do you get a job keeping track of really old people?

*I share a birthday with Mr. Williams - April 30th. He's just another entire lifetime older than me.

Damn That 20/20 Hindsight

He didn't know what to think when he looked at her. He asked himself, for probably the thousandth time, "Was this really the same woman I had married seventeen years ago?" He saw a big woman who once took pride in her appearance, to a point that most people thought of her as pathetically vain.

But she hadn't really been vain, not in the slightest. She didn't really care what other people thought of her, which was intrinsic to vanity - she simply cared about how she felt, and her appearance was secondary to that. She liked to feel good, and for her that meant sitting down in an economy airline seat without feeling like an anchovy in a tin, it meant wearing clothes without fear of bursting a seam. 

But now...now she didn't care at all about how she felt, almost as if she was numb to sensation. The drivers seat in her Camry had broken down on the left side, and the clothes she wore seemed to wear out before she tired of them. It had been at least five years since she had looked at the nutritional information on anything she prepared for dinner. it had been at least four years since they had actually gone out to dinner.  

Elliot tried his damnedest to remember the last time he actually enjoyed being around her. It had to be at least six years ago. "What," he thought to himself, "happened six years ago that led to this?" His mind raced, attempting a review of the past six years in chronological order. 

Was there some major event that could have triggered her descent into slovenliness? Had he done or said anything? Elliot cross referenced everything he could remember - where they lived, the people they lived around, his job, her job, their friends, their family members, arguments and heated debates that had engaged in, gifts they had bought each other, vacations they had taken, people even remotely close to them who had passed away.

He made lists of every major and minor occurrence in both of their lives and tried to figure out how any of it could have affected her in such a way that she just stopped caring about herself as she once did.

And then he saw it. Just about five and a half years ago, a fairly minor event, but one that could have definitely affected her adversely if taken the wrong way.

It was August and they had gone to the beach. It had been years since they had spent a day on the shore, and he recalled how nice it was to be out in the sun, how nice it was to once again see kids playing Frisbee or tossing footballs.

Two young kids, part of a group that had been playing a game of touch football, had come barreling towards their spot on the beach, and tumbled head over heels right into them. One of the kids had gotten up almost immediately, apologized profusely, and went to pick his friend up off the sand and almost on top of her. As the friend was being helped up, he quipped to the other kid, "Man, good thing that whale was there to break my fall!"

She had reddened worse than an Irishwoman with a sunburn, and turned to him with a "Aren't you going to say something!" glare. He said nothing. He just put up both of his hands in a gesture that he hoped said, "Kids, whattaya' going to do?" It didn't, not to her. 

He realized that now, five plus years too late.

February Painting Of A Sunflower, Step One

                           
This afternoon I finished painting over the charcoal sketch of the sunflower I had put down awhile ago. I used Burnt Sienna thinned with Linseed Oil, primarily because I had run out of Burnt Umber. The painting is on an 18" X 24" pre-stretched canvas that was treated with a thin coat of gesso. With the underpainting complete, I will start with the background as soon as the underpainting is dry to the touch. 

Drivel About A City Of Concrete

It's a city full of over-achievers 
                 When what it really needs is more street cleaners
If you hate the subway, hail a taxi
                 Get a translator, might be handy
Go uptown to visit the hoi polloi 
                 Don't let on you're an average poor boy
Take a stroll through Central Park
                 Be careful though, get out before dark
A visit to the Garment District is in fashion
                 Or maybe trip on down to Gracie Mansion
Have lunch with a stock broker in Hanover square
                 Make him buy, he's probably a millionaire
Walk through Chelsea, take in an art gallery 
                 (maybe buy a painting if you win the lottery)
Need an idea for a date?  
                 Take in the view from the top of the Empire State
Craving a Reuben in your belly?
                 Pop on by the Carnegie Deli

A Handy Travel Tip

Let's say you're a visitor to New York City. Let's say you're alone, and in need of something to do, so you get online and search out trivia night at bars in Manhattan. Let's also assume you find a calendar for such, updated for the week you're visiting. You find a trivia game listed at a bar a mere 20 minute subway ride away, so you jump on a train and off you go.

But upon arrival at said bar, the bartender informs you that trivia nights were cancelled a few months ago, as the crowds were getting too boisterous. 

The tip? Call ahead. No matter what you read on the internet (I know, I know, hard to believe anything on the Internet isn't 100% true). Call ahead and confirm. Always.

Quick And Easy Subway Navigation In New York City

The New York City subway system is fast and efficient. Unfortunately, it is not very tourist friendly - it was built for the people who live in and around New York City (and rightly so). Which means it was built for people who know where, and which way, they are going.

If you are a tourist in New York City, and have not committed to memory a street map of the area, or at least the locations of the major tourist attractions, here is a handy cheat sheet for you (a "Life Hack" as the kids are calling it these days).

On the island of Manhattan, East is "Downtown" (not necessarily compass east, but towards the Atlantic Ocean). West is "Uptown" (towards the Pacific Ocean).

If you are in Mid-town, that means you are close to Penn Station/Madison Square Garden (Madison Square Garden is on top of Penn Station). If you want to go to the Statue of Liberty, Staten Island, Wall Street, the World Trade Center Memorial/Freedom Tower, that requires going east, which means downtown. Take the 1 to the Ferry Station. You are blocks from the aforementioned attractions from there.

Want to go to Central Park? The Natural History Museum? (trust me, you do). That requires going west (again, not necessarily  compass west, but towards the Pacific Ocean), which is uptown. Take the 1,2, or 3 - they'll all get you there.

Oh, subway rides are $2.50 a pop in one direction.

Kickin' It At The Affinia Manhattan

                                                      On the corner of 7th and 31st

I mentioned in yesterday's post that I am staying in a hotel located on the corner of 7th and 31st in Manhattan, on the opposite side of 7th from Penn Station. What I failed to mention is just how great a place I am staying in. It is not a Michelin Guide 4-star hotel, but it has certainly earned top marks in my book so far.

The wine social hour is from 5:00pm to 6:00pm everyday 

Being one of those idiots who is quick to criticize, slow to praise, It's a surprise to myself that I've fallen so fast for the charms of this quirky little place, especially since I've spent relatively little time awake there.

But fallen I have. The hotel is a successful renovation of an older, somewhat stoic building (erected 1927 - '29). What makes the renovation successful is that the designers at the helm of the renovation respected the old lines of the building and incorporated elements that, while truly modern, did not distract from the timeless elegance of the original decor.

The 5:00pm to 6:00pm wine social hour in the main lobby

Without resorting to the lazy designer's standard "rip it all out and start over" approach, the people who freshened up the Affinia Manhattan did so by bringing in decidedly contemporary elements that, while presenting a juxtaposition of old and new, do not unnecessarily jar the senses.

The main lobby without the wine social hour 

The look is fun without being frivolous.

The ornate ceiling of the Affinia Manhattan's lobby

It is rare that I have ever returned to the place I'm staying after a day of work and actually had my spirits re-energized by the ambiance of the building. So rare in fact that I can't actually recall it ever happening before.

Half of the elevator lobby

It has happened everyday I've been in Manhattan this week. The lobby is the antithesis of drab, alive with a terrific energy. The 5:00 wine social has people gathered in the lobby being, well, social.

The other half of the elevator lobby

The elevators have thankfully been spared the popular brushed stainless steel of most newer buildings and feature what must be the original doors, with a look that mirrors the ornate rococo plaster work in the ceiling. It's hard not to feel like you're in an early '40's Cary Grant - Kate Hepburn romantic comedy as you wait for the arrival of the lift.

The ceiling of the elevator lobby

One would not look out of place in the lobby wearing a gray flannel suit with a stylish fedora, overcoat draped over one arm, while conversing with an elegantly dressed woman sporting a hat adorned with at least one large pheasant feather.

Spacious accommodations

My room is a little larger than the standard room of a chain hotel, but with quite a bit more character. The furniture is modern, and both the bathroom and kitchen appear to have been outfitted by Ikea, but again, it's a look that works.

An extremely comfortable bed

Beds are an item that I am very particular about, so it was a terrific (and very welcome) surprise to discover that the bed is comfortable. Being in the business of furniture, I've learned a few things about beds over the years. They didn't skimp on the beds, at least not in my room.

La kitchen petite

The adequate kitchen has everything necessary to prepare and serve small meals. For anyone who has never dined out in Manhattan, I cannot stress how much more economical it is to dart on down to the Whole Foods on 7th & 25th, the Trader Joe's on 6th & 21st, or even the Costco on 1st and East 117th (as I did yesterday) to pick up provisions. Plus, no waiting for a table!

Sure, there are a few drawbacks to staying in the heart of Manhattan. You will hear car horns, police and fire truck sirens, as well as church bells in the morning. Those are the sounds of Manhattan.

However, being able to walk across the street and get on a Subway train to just about anywhere you might want to go, and quickly, is well worth the trade off. If the noise gets to be too much when you're trying to get to sleep just put in the earplugs the hotel provides - you'll sleep like a rock.

East Harlem Costco

         The East Harlem Costco...pretty much like every Costco, but with Nathan's Kosher 'dogs

This afternoon I made the decision to pay a visit to the Manhattan Costco. That decision came about due to me being right smack dab in the middle of the Body For Life program, and making great progress - that and the fact that the hotel had upgraded me to a suite, complete with a little kitchen, which of course meant I could store and prepare my own food.

And if I was going to get the results I was shooting for from the program, I was going to have to stick to the program, which meant I would have to avoid the fast foods I usually eat when I'm on the road, and pick-up the foods I've included in my BFL diet plan that are at Costco.

The bong attached to the gas mask...that's hardcore

Costco closes at 8:30 on Fridays, no matter where you are. Our store closed at 6:00. That gave me 2 & 1/2 hours to get back to my hotel on 31st and 7th (from 25th and 7th), grab some cash, dart across the street to Penn Station, catch the E train to 53rd & Lexington, transfer there to the 6 train that stops at East 116th and Lexington, walk one block over to East 117th, and then walk another half mile down to 1st and East 117th to the Costco. I was pretty sure I could make it.

It being just after six when I left the store, I had to wade through a lot of people heading for the trains and subway just to get to the hotel. It had snowed more than a foot just the day before, but now the sidewalks were fairly clear. There were even a few sidewalk vendors back out and busy hawking their wares.

It being St Valentine's Day, the street vendors have appropriate wares for sale

The subway was as jammed as it always is during the rush hour, which put my schedule back a little. I had to wait on a second train as the first one that came in to Penn was stuffed to the gills with commuters.

Just walk about a half mile down East 117th street...

All told, I spent about 30 minutes on the Subway, arriving at the East 116th & Lexington street stop around 7:00pm. After getting my bearings I walked one block to East 117th and then headed North towards 1st . The city hadn't done much to rid the sidewalks (or streets) of snow in this area of Manhattan, but enough residents and businesses had done so to make the walk fairly obstacle free. Saw a big New York City rat on my journey, always a plus.

Odd street shrine seen on 2nd and East 117th.

Now, at this point some of you may be wondering what the hell is wrong with my white ass, walking through East Harlem by myself late in the evening. Well, It's not like you see in the movies or on TV. It's probably safer than most major cities - people are fairly friendly. I'd rather walk through East Harlem than MacArthur Park in LA, I'll tell you that.

Just like home!

I made it to Costco in plenty of time, about 7:25pm. Know what's different about the East Harlem Costco? Absolutely nothing. I bought a bag of turkey meatballs for $10.99, a rotisserie chicken for $4.99, and a bag of mini cheese wheels (light) for $8.99 - same prices as the Costco near my home in Colorado or any other Costco I've ever been too.

I retraced my steps to the Subway and made my way back to the hotel by 9:00pm. Not bad time, and now I have enough good (for me) food to last through Monday.

Mid-Air Static Discharge

Today's fight to New York was as event filled as I think a flight ever needs to be. It was a tad of an inconvenience when the first flight, the one that was to land at La Guardia at 1:58 in the afternoon, was cancelled. When the 10:19 flight that would have put me in New York around five was scratched...well...the weather on the Eastern Seaboard was not my friend today.

The 2:55 flight was a go though, and if all went well the plane would touch down at La Guardia at 8:30 or so. All went well...sorta. The turbulence as the plane neared NYC airspace was mad, with 25 minutes or so of yaw and bumps. That wasn't so bad though - I've been flying for over 30 years, I've endured some bumps. 

What was so bad was the static discharge, something I had never experienced in my over 30 years of flying. The interior lights on the plane were dimmed, so it was fairly dark. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light filled the fuselage and a loud crackling snap seemed to slap the exterior of the craft. It was a very intense second or so.

Everyone on-board gasped and there were even a few screams. We all looked around as if to make sure everyone was okay. Then the pilot's voice came over the intercom; "This is your Captain speaking. We just experienced a rare static discharge. Nothing to be alarmed about, they are rare but they do happen. I have experienced about 12 of them."

There was an audible collective sigh of relief tinged with a little awe. The plane continued it's approach to La Guardia, and as we landed a large number of passengers, probably 80% of those on-board, started to applaud.

  

Walking past the Captain while disembarking I felt the urge to fist bump him. I settled for giving a thumbs up and saying thanks.

After I made it through the terminal and discovered buckets of freezing rain were falling from the sky, and we had landed amid wind gusts between 20 to 30 MPH, I really wished I'd fist bumped the Captain - maybe given him a hug.

I Liked The Movie, But Not Buy-The-Jeep Liked The Movie

                                                   Parked outside the gym yesterday

The personalized plates make it.

Light Joke For A Tuesday

An old man is visiting his home town after many years away. He is walking along the main street when he is approached by a man with a wild look in his eyes. "Tony! Tony Huntsman! It's been decades since I've seen you! How the hell have you been!" 

The old man looks at the guy and says, "Wait a minute, I think..." "Oh geez," the man interjects, "You look like hell. I remember when you had all the girls falling over you - broad shoulders, head full of hair, strong chin - what the hell happened?!" "Well, look," the old man says, "I'm just..." "And what is with the way you're dressed? Dude, you used to dress sharp! Have you hit the skids? I'll tell you the truth, I barely recognized you!" 

The old man draws himself up and says, "Look, let me get a word in, I'm not this Tony Huntsman guy you think I am, I'm Joe Cantrell."

"What the hell Tony," says the man, "Not only do you look completely different now, you've even changed your name!"

Still Not As Cool As Moe, But Gaining A Bit Of Ground

                                       I need this coat...do not brush until Spring

The cat is growing on me. When my sister brought the kitten over two years ago and told me I needed a new cat, I was, I thought, fairly justified in my objections. I may have been wrong. The cat is...well, hell, even the dogs like him, or at least have shown him the courtesy of not attacking and trying to disembowel him. Always a plus.

Ninja Larry. Badass cat.

Want To Succeed? Here's The Real Question

The question is not "Do you have what it takes?"

The question is will you put in the time, effort & energy to develop what you have until you have what it takes?

And So It Begins

This evening I found myself on the 16th street mall in downtown Denver. It was around fifty degrees warmer today than it was just two days ago, so there were a lot more people out and about. 

Like all major cities, Denver has it's share of panhandlers. I'm quite used to them, and for the most part just ignore them - yes, I am a cold-hearted bastich. You want to give panhandlers your spare change, knock yourself out. Myself, I do my bit in a way that I am comfortable with.

Also like most major cities, Denver has laws prohibiting aggressive panhandling. Meaning a panhandler can stand (or sit) on a sidewalk with a hand or cup out, but a panhandler may not approach a person and ask for change. It's not the most strictly enforced law, so occasionally one does get approached.  

This evening as I waited to meet a friend in front of a restaurant, I was approached by a fairly young man - early to mid-twenties would be my best guess. His request and the reason for his request: "Hey man, can you spare a few bucks so I can get some dank? I swear I'm not going to spend it on alcohol, I don't drink man."

I stared at this kid for a few seconds and then said, "Go away. I could care less if you smoke out, but I sure as hell won't be paying for it."

To which I received the reply, "That's cool man, I'm outtie."

Then the kid walked away from me and headed towards a young couple coming down Larimer.

That's just great. Now I have a whole 'nother reason to avoid downtown Denver. Baseball season is going to suck. 

Try Not To Move And Keep Your Eyes On That Tree

How unimaginably fantastic was the first portrait?
The very first painting by a human of another human
             And it looked just like its subject matter
Not an oval or circle with wavy or curly lines for hair 
Or almond shapes with circles in them for eyes
No small triangle for a nose or a line for a mouth
             This portrait, this rendering of another humans face
                              Adequately captured the features
                                        The jawline, the forehead, the hair
All were well-enough represented to be readily identifiable
                                                                          By everyone
Thousands of years ago
Maybe in a temple in India
Or a tomb in Egypt
Or a bathhouse in Rome
                    A person with the first known talent
                    For capturing the likeness of another person
Had a piece of charcoal or a stick with a charred end
And a suitable material to draw upon
                    He or she said to someone 
                    With a face they thought interesting
                        
                   Hold still
                   The light is perfect
                   It'll just take a few minutes
                   Your hair looks great

The New Breed Is The Old Breed

Listening to the radio as I was driving to the gym I heard the DJ comment that the next song he was going to play was over ten years old, and it stunned him to make that realization. 

However, he wasn't stunned because he hadn't realized ten years had passed since the release of the tune, but rather because, as he put it, "It sounds contemporary, as if it was a new song."

It hit me then that the DJ had it backwards - it wasn't that song that was sounding contemporary, it's the new releases sounding stale, dated.

Popular music is in a rut.

If you were listening to the radio in 1970 what you would be hearing would be dramatically different than what had been playing on the radio in 1960. Anything on the radio in 1980 was a far cry from what had been popular in 1970...and again, in 1990, the music on the radio had a decidedly different sound than what you heard in 1980.

However, about that time (1990)it was becoming evident that popular music was beginning to become overtly imitative of itself. The phenomenon started sometime in the mid '80's, as rap acts started lifting rhythm tracks and riffs from older songs, everything from old Motown R&B baselines to samples of Heavy Metal guitar solos.

Sampling became the primary means of composing songs for a number of Rap acts, from the Beastie Boys to Tone Loc to NWA. 

Musicians have "borrowed" from other musicians since the dawn of recorded music - hell, one of the songs deemed crucial to the formation of Rock & Roll, Johnny B. Goode, recorded by Chuck Berry in 1958, features an opening guitar riff that is lifted note-for-note from the song Ain't That Just Like A Woman recorded by Louis Jordan in 1946.  

These days, the more I listen to new music on the radio the more I find myself saying, "Man, this group sounds just like _____ from 1983" Or some such variation of that observation.

Music needs another shake up, needs another Chuck & Elvis, another Lennon & McCartney, another Motown & Stax, another Strummer/Jones.

Music, to swipe a line from the Nicholson Joker, needs an enema.

Popular music has always had people, usually agents or producers, who would immediately hop on a bandwagon once it was rollin' and put out something similar. Music is a business, and there is nothing more common in business than imitation of success. Whenever any style of music becomes profitable, er, popular, then someone is going to find a singer or a band that can sound enough like it to cash in.

And cash is king. It has got to be tough for a band with a new sound to get a break these days. 

Nowadays it seems that, instead of just a song style or a band/performer that is being mimicked, it's an entire genre. I have heard recent music that has reminded me of specific quantified sounds. For example, Bruno Mars, who I like a lot, is basically a hybrid of Motown and early '80's New Wave. 

Listening to the radio has gotten a lot like going to the movies. The influences are so prevalent, it's hard to find anything original.

Walk The Line Or Walk Away

The world is full of people who have a history of relationships that didn't work out. I'm one of those people. 

Having a few relationships in your portfolio that, while at one time stellar, enriching, full of meaningful conversations and Sunday morning coffee, feeling-like-it-could-last-forever, etc...but just didn't work out is, truth be told, quite problematic at times.

Problematic because eventually one gets a bit introspective, starts wondering - is it making bad choices or being a bad choice?, etc.

At least that's how it is for the first few decades of dating, at least in my experience. Eventually there comes a time when you realize that the probability of finding a partner that you can put up with who can also put up with you is closely tied to two decidedly important factors.

Those factors are 1) How screwed up are you?, and 2) How screwed up are they?

Now, if you are the well adjusted, sane, rational, raised-by-two-loving-and-attentive parents type, that last bit may not make sense to you.

But in the world of relationships, nurture beats the holy hell out of nature. By that I mean the environment you are raised in, the interactions between people that you witness and assimilate every day as you grow from child to adult, well, that's the lions share of what forms your ideal of a relationship.

The desire to mate is one of the basics, but the process of choosing a mate...that's not so basic. It's one of the more important and complicated decisions a person will ever have to make. 

It literally is a life or death decision for some people - relationships don't work out, people kill themselves or each other - every day a Lifetime Channel movie-of-the-week gets a dry run in reality.

Which is a damn shame. Perfectly good, normal people getting so emotionally twisted by a relationship gone sour that suicide or homicide becomes the only way to cope.

Those are people that I must assume were never taught that all things, good and bad, eventually pass. That is a crucial life lesson that an amazing amount of people never are taught, or if they are taught, never grasp.

I'll confess, it took me awhile to understand fully what that meant, but eventually it sank in. Letting go means letting go - don't just tear up the ride ticket, throw it away. The ride is over, time to move on to the next thrill.

Of course, becoming a master of that skill does make commitment a little challenging...

Like A Traffic Cop In A Street-less Town

Some days
Some people 
Get up
And do not feel
Like getting up
Their world
Has gone to hell
In the proverbial
Hand basket

This is when
Those who are not
Feeling down
Or even grumpy
Need to shut up
Swallow the words
"Cheer up"
And just stand there
Like a fellow human
And allow the person
To feel your presence

It's a tough thing to do
But it's essential
It takes a while to learn
this essential skill
But to be able
To stand 
Or even sit
Silently
While a friend
Works it out
Is a gift

Took me awhile
To figure that out
But I think
I've got it down