Animal Magnetism

A beautifully conceived German ad campaign for ültje uses Safari animals to entice you to go grab their nuts.

Ready for a smile? As an adman, I must say that I am pretty jaded when it comes to most American advertising, American culture is pretty uptight when it comes to things like humor, perspective and sexuality. So when I skim through online ad resources of international advertising forums for inspiration, I commonly run across gems like this campaign for ültje Crispers; 'Chakalaka', a flavored brand of coated peanuts that claims to make you "feel like you're in Africa" (that's from their web site). While I don't fully understand the motivator behind the line "Discover Africa's spiciest secret", I kind of don't care.

The real beauty of this campaign comes in the form of African wildlife revealing their naughty side as a qualifier for the sensual, lust-filled sensations you will experience when popping ültje's nuts in your mouth (yes, American reader, I just wrote that).

Aside from the sheer inventiveness and compelling quality of these three illustrations (and the fact that Giraffes are my favoritest animal ever!), the suggestion that eating these coated peanuts can take you to another place – one of ecstasy – is just terrific. There is nothing shameful or wrong about the messaging and what's more, the ads need our own, twisted familiarity with fetishes, lingerie and adult toys to complete the messaging. Some of my favorite kind of messaging by the way (the personal connectivity part – get your head out of the gutter!).

This campaign won't win a Gold Lion at Cannes or sweep 'best of show' at the Art Director's Club in Hamburg (much less New York) but it does remind us that the world of advertising can be wild, untamed and fun. I applaud a consumer company – albeit a European one – to take a "position" like this. If you feel offended, please don't. It's just an ad – an ad with entangled Giraffes licking each other. What's wrong with that?

Advertising Agency: Kolle Rebbe, Hamburg, Germany

My Random Life–Installment One: On Deck in San Diego

Note: The following blog is the first in a mini-series (a 'sub-blog' if you will) tracking the totally random events that happen in my life. Branded "My Random Life", these postings chronicle some pretty interesting – if not utterly haphazard – things that happen to me, something we can all relate to. They will eventually feed into a forthcoming web published compilation, some time from now.

Now enough with all that Felgurcarb, on with the blog!

Saturday, August 16^th, 2011. I was in San Diego for a weekend tradeshow hosted by the new company I create marketing for. After the day's activities were done, I shuffled around to several of my new co-workers to see if anyone wanted to hang out in San Diego, near the convention center. After all, even though everyone else would be there through Wednesday, I was there just Saturday night. No kids, fun ocean-side town. Who's with me?

Apparently, no one (insert sad emoticon here). Evidently, everyone else was tired from working two days of prep beforehand and had NO interest in hanging out with the big guy. Was it me? I showered right? Well whatever. Off I went into the cool early San Diego evening, in search of adventure.

Walking down to the waterfront, I hailed a man-taxi (one of those three-wheeled bicycle dudes who pedal you anywhere for a fee). "Take me to the Aircraft carrier!" I stated and off we went. If you must know, I’ve had an odd fascination with Aircraft Carriers since age 8. I love the idea of a floating airfield – but that's another posting.

My new pedal pal lets me know he has moved to America from Turkey (Istanbul, actually) and begins to share his impromptu comparison of Istanbul to both New York City and San Diego. Okay, why not.

So my new friend-on-wheels takes me to the USS Midway aircraft carrier Naval Museum. Complete with a deck full of fighter planes and cool historical war installations! I am sooo there! I tip bike-boy and head down the pier to pay my way to Midway.

As I approached, I noticed the admissions window is closed. Damn! I wanted to be on the Midway. I was about to turn tail and call it an early night but the commotion at the elevator to the gangway caught my notice. People were going in! Maybe I still had a shot. A card table was set up with two people situated to take money and dole out tickets. I made my move.

"What’s going on?" I ask. "The museum is closed for our theater company’s musical review of the 20th century," said a very grandma-like elderly woman with thick glasses. A Broadway-esque musical review on the deck of an aircraft carrier in San Diego Bay? I'm all in! "How much for a ticket?" I ask her as I reach into my pocket, ready to plunk down nearly any amount for this experience (wouldn't you?).

"We're all sold out, dear, I'm sorry." she said, my heart sinking like a 40-ton Anchor. "Tell you what, though…" she says in what could only be described as a Mean-Joe-Green moment, "…there's almost always someone who doesn't show, so if you can come back in an hour or so, I just might have a ticket for you." Sold! I hung there, not moving a muscle (let's face it, where was I going to go?), waiting. The hour ticks by as I make calls on my cell phone, briefcase and sport coat slung over shoulder, still looking super duper in my trade show threads.

Fifty-five minutes later, the woman waves me over letting me know a bleacher seat has opened up and I was welcome to take that one if I would like. How much? “No charge, dear” Free? Of course it is. You can’t go wrong with that price, so I make my way through the innards of this way cool, decommissioned super-warship on my way to the hanger deck and the evening’s entertainment.

I settle in and start chit-chatting with the family next to me. The weather was a perfect 70º so I was happy to escape the blistering 112º of Phoenix. Moments later, the man that was seated at the admissions table (some six decks and two flights of stairs and a two-story elevator ride away) came to find me in the bleacher seat. He said someone had seen me waiting to get in and donated their unused ticket to me, obviously sensing I was a distressed fellow theater lover. Again, free find me. So, as I say goodbye to my bleacher buds and mosey on down to the second row, I take measure of my evening. Someone saw me waiting, patiently, off to the side of the admissions table and donated their ticket to me. How cool is that?

I am sitting – thanks to a free ticket – in front of an elevated stage, with lights, speakers and a full 19-piece band against the conning tower on the deck of the USS Midway, watching a sold-out singing and dance review of the musical influences of the 20th century. Folks, does it get any more random than that? I didn't think so, either.

The show was stunning and afterward, I had opportunity to hang out on the flight deck with an entire armada of naval military aircraft, from an F4F Hellcat to an F-18 Hornet. And to top it off, as I walked back to the hotel that evening (it was easily 10pm by this point) I witnessed a fireworks display put on over San Diego Bay by none other than my company's trade show. I thought to myself "boy, I’m hungry!"

And thus began the next phase of my totally random evening.

I asked the doorman at my hotel where I could find a good burger and a beer that wasn't where all the nightclubs and crazy party activities were. He sent me on my way to a standing-room-only sports bar dive with Hip-hop videos playing on every screen. I ventured in and wouldn't you know it? In a place packed with night-clubbers, obvious first dates and random groups of people who had already drank waaay too much, there was an empty booth, right in the back of the restaurant, beckoning to me.

As the waitress serves me a juicy burger, crispy onion rings and a frosty beer, I reflect on the events of the evening while people-watching as the clock ticks toward midnight. I reminded myself it was time to get back to the hotel since the next day was slated to be a long one.

I shared every detail of that evening with my kids when I got back home. There were two key points I emphasized as they were fascinated to hear every detail of the evening. First, though I tried to join others, the evening yielded quite an adventure for me all by myself. The point being that sometimes, the only person you need to have a good time is yourself.

Second, sometimes – and I do mean only sometimes, here – the best plan is to have no plan at all and let life take you where you were probably headed all along.

Reliving our modern "Day of Infamy"

This past weekend realized something that is probably difficult for many Americans… the reliving and remembering of the events of September 11th, 2001. I was working out at the gym the day before and I realized I was not 'over it'. A roll of those who had lost their lives on that awful morning came up on CNN, thousands of faces; Moms, Dads, Sons, Daughters, Uncles, Aunts, Wives, Husbands, Friends. White, Black, Asian, Hispanic along with representatives from more than 80 countries.

I began to tear up. I mean I began to get really emotional.

While a romantic at heart, I am NOT easily moved to tears and even when I came home that terrible evening and watched and re-watched in horror the tragic events unfold endlessly on cable news channels – as did every American – the gravity was lost on me. I was in too much shock. How could this have happened? And why? I'm not sure we have those answers even today, but I do know I have a deep, incredible sadness in my heart that may not ever go away.

To that I say "Good". Those poor people died for no good reason and those events have torn a lasting hole in the very fabric of our cultural memory. And they should NEVER be forgotten.

So you could imagine how breathless I became when one of my sons told me he wasn't really sure what 9/11 was. I was floored. How could he not know? Granted he was all of 16 months old on that day, but had schools and the general media eluded him for 10 years? Regardless, we got right down to it and hit the internet.

Previewing the news reports of the plane impacts, the towers collapsing, the Pentagon attack and the thwarted hijacking and crash-landing of Flight 93 in a small Pennsylvania township, made me remember it all over again. The footage of these events have been branded into my memory but reliving it this way made them no less moving.

I will never understand these events fully, but I do know one of the best ways to honor the fallen is to remember them. We can all at least do that.

And now, so will my son.

Four Wolves in Sheep's Clothing Make Me Nervous.

In our Family, as in nature; trust in the pack... but watch your back.

Being the Alpha is tough. You keep the others in check, not just by your ferocity, but by your cunning, your stealth and your intelligence. No other animal on Earth lives in as complex a social society as wolves. The cast of characters is deep. The Alpha Male and Alpha Female rule the pack. Keeping dissidents in line, ensuring the integrity and structure (and therefore well being) of the pack in check. Then there's the Beta wolf. This one acts as a Lieutenant and a sort of second-in-command. This one is always there to settle scraps in the name of the greater good of the pack, but is always keeping one eye open for when it can take over in the endless struggle for power.

Last is the Omega wolf and you guessed it, this one is at the bottom of the totem pole is often ridiculed and even attacked by fussier pack members.

Any of this sound familiar? In our home, these positions constantly shift but not to a great extent. They are, mostly, fixed to a member of our family.

For my part, I play the role of the Alpha Male. I am in charge. I have the strength, knowledge and cunning to do so and remain in charge. For now.

I first made the observation that my four children essentially made up a wolf pack a few years ago. Constant in-fighting, struggles for power, temporary alliances – it's all there. It has all the makings of a Rudyard Kipling tale. And conflict resolution becomes a matter of overcoming adversity by either (literally) barking the loudest, or by taking your adversary out. Conflict in our household is almost a given and is NOT resolved by eliminating a sibling, parent or offspring (though the temptation has arisen). So we resort to more refined means of argument conclusion. Or so you would think.

Enter: the Ambush. The attack in the name of sport or of establishing one's place of dominance is epic. The ambush comes in many forms. Many of them cunning and all of them unexpected. If I hand down a consequence (I try no to use the word 'punishment'), each of the non-offending pack members will taunt the afflicted or remind the Alpha (me) of the specific details of the reprimand (if only homework and chores could be remembered and executed with such meticulous detail). Heaven forbid I fold on following-through on a consequence, I am besieged with an endless shower of reminders of how the child in question has NOT been properly scolded.

And it's not just each other they attack.

I am continuously told of how the grandparents are "mad at me" for doing something or for my not following through on something. Or how an aunt, uncle or grandparent are told something incomplete – if not untrue – and are relayed details to sensitive topics like what someone is getting for a birthday or Christmas or why I can't invite someone to a recital or play. I have had more long-winded over-explanatory conversations with family members than I would like to say trying to clarify things that were misinterpreted, relayed out of context or weren't correctly conveyed info of an event or conversation that some child has inaccurately shared. In short, my children (the Pack) inadvertently attack the alpha (me!) as well as each other.

It's biblical to refer to your followers as a flock of sheep. It is also a common business term. However, in our home, I can't help but think, the pack has overtaken the flock and are waiting to pounce.

"Was your boss mad, when you said her ideas sucked?"

How I took a stand for what I believed in essentially lost me my job — and landed me a better one!

So I shared something recently with two of my kids that seems worth talking about. It was a lesson about passion and creativity. I hope you'll indulge me a bit.

I recently lost my job of two years as a copywriter for a small business-to-business ad agency in Phoenix, AZ. In this economy that might not be big news, but it was for me. Now as a creative professional (10 years as an Art Director, six years as a graphic designer/illustrator and four years as an advertising copywriter) I have dedicated my entire professional life to being a creative problem solver. It's not just a hobby for me, or my career. It's deeper than that, it's in my DNA. Honestly, it's hard for me to even conceive of a professional position that did not ask me to continuously require that I engage the right side of my brain. So the following scenario should prove to be, at least, an interesting read.

I watched the client roster for the agency I worked for slowly evaporate. The line-up of clients who "paid the bills" dried up like a spilled cup of water on hot summer concrete. Even after 34 years in business, the agency – and it's relationship with it's final remaining client – was on the ropes. The end, it seemed, was inevitable.

Now in all honesty, I tried everything I could – as a creative – to jump-start new business. I proposed email campaigns, direct mail initiatives, new web site direction(s) and design, smart media campaigns and even good old fashioned ads (we were, after all, and ad agency). The (agency) owner was having none of it. She wanted old school (which translates to cheap!), phone calls, solicitation letters and self-promo pieces created more than 15 years ago.

This became the pin pulled from the grenade.

The promo pieces were (among other conceptual train wrecks!), a box of Cracker Jacks™ and a laser printout wrapped around it that said "Cracker Jack Creative". Oh, wait, they get better! Another was a [tin] box of Altoids® that said "Refreshing Creative". Honestly, I can't make this stuff up! If you're thinking to yourself "what does that even mean?" I'm right with you. My daughter (14) and eldest son (13) even turned their noses up at hearing these less-than-stellar promotional ideas.

I was then asked, since there was no work, to consider a new business position, at a 60% cut in pay and no benefits. The job would be to follow up on these promotional efforts and try and drum up new business. I declined. I said there was no way I could follow up on these embarrassingly bad ideas. Not only were they insulting to the recipient (sending a box of breath mints, to me, says you have stinky breath), their was no strategy, no follow-up plan and no creative (all of which are reasons companies look to ad agencies to help strategize and best spend their marketing budgets). My boss was mortified and insulted. After all they were her ideas.

It shouldn't be a huge leap to note that my time as an employee in this place was coming to an end. I managed to keep the conversation professional, on point and about what was in the agency's best interest. Regardless, I needed to start my search for new opportunities. Two weeks later, I got an offer letter from a company who couldn't WAIT to hire me – a larger company with greater opportunities and a little more money. All because of my creative track record.

I told my two oldest kids a high-level version of this story. They were wide-eyed and full of questions. "Were you scared?" "Was your boss mad, when you said her ideas sucked?" "Was that why she fired you?" (Aren't kids great?) Me; "... well, what I told her was not untrue guys. I am a creative professional and when someone asks me to do bad creative work, it's no different than when someone else is asked to do bad work doing something else. You just have to know your do's and don'ts. I won't develop (or follow-up on!) bad creative, even if I think it will loose me my job."

Maybe it's the "Cracker Jack" creative in me folks. Though this discussion centered around conceptual thought and professional integrity, the final take away, for the kids, is that Dad stands by what he believes in. If I end up seeming a bit of a rogue cannon to them, so be it. Because good enough, at least in my world, never is.

The runaway train wreck known as Hollywood is coming, again. Kids, cover your eyes!

Dear reader, I am going to tell you now, the coming rant will have a dose of irony, if not downright hypocrisy. First, the good news! I have enjoyed nearly every part of this summer's offerings from the film industry's latest arsenal of summer distractions. Movies like Sucker Punch, Green Lantern, Thor, Super 8 and Priest. With the final Harry Potter, Cowboys & Aliens and everyone's favorite patriot, Captain America still forthcoming as the time of this post. Like the proverbial kid in a candy store, I am overstimulated and under the spell of each new story. I sit mesmerized by the cavalcade of special effects that assault my senses each week on the silver screen (check out my comic book/Superhero/Sci-Fi movie blog, The Boxed Office for my reviews of said movies). And the kids? They are right along with me (minus Sucker Punch & Priest).

The dark side to this flurry feature films is the effects these movies have on our kids.

Yup, I'm gonna go there.

Over the past 8 - 10 years, many movie trailers have begun following the same flash-cut formula. A slow, mostly dialogue-laden intro to the story, then a gradual increase in action-scenes and increase in both sound and music, not to mention the pacing – until things are moving so fast, I actually have to look away to avoid vertigo or an all-out migraine. Like our kid's generation (my kids are between the ages of 11 to 15), there is NO attention span to these previews whatsoever.

A few years ago, I was mortified when the kid's grandfather took my twins – then eight years old – to see 300, the movie adaptation to Frank Miller's ground-breaking graphic novel. The movie was one-third cheese ball acting and narrative, one-third over-the-top special effects and one-third blood, guts and gore. NONE of it appropriate for the age group. Now, Grandpa does NOT get a pass on this but he too was sucked up into the frosting-covered glitz of the movie's previews and promise. After all the movie's historical context meant it was based on actual events. How harmful could it be, right?

Well anyone who saw that movie, love it or hate it, you know the answer to that question.

I remember in 1999, being horrified while attending the midnight movie premiere of Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut (Tom Hanks & Nicole Kidman's weirdo film-noir trist). There was a couple there – with a newborn. Are you fricking kidding me? C'mon folks, I paid for a babysitter so I could hear the dang movie, not listen to your baby wail through have the film. Hey can't get a babysitter? Then stay home. "Make a Blockbuster Night!" Look there are tons of clinical studies that demonstrate the harmful effects violent media has on young minds. It doesn't take a clinical psychologist to figure that one out. But a newborn? At THAT movie? At midnight? Isn't there a line?

I suppose when each movie looks cooler than the last, how can we hope to convince them to consider alternate activities – or alternative film watching experiences? How about the film adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird? Maybe my favorite John Wayne movie, Stagecoach or my all time favorite Alfred Hitchcock thriller, North By Northwest? I realize all of these movies are from a different generation but they are all great films and – certainly not irrelevant. Look I understand we're talking movies here, folks. I know there are many more important, relevant topics to consider (and I will!) but what the kids and I do in our free time, helps mold experiences and expertise in their coming years and the conversation bears merit. At least to me.

So here's the grand experiment. Once a month, the four kids and I will sit down and watch a movie of Dad's choosing. No flash cuts, slick CGI/SFX or big budgets. Just some family time and a discussion directly after the movie on what we just watched. And I will throw some popcorn in for good measure. I am banking that experience will matter a great deal more than movies offer today.

Even though I love movies – like 300 – there is no way my kids need to be exposed to that kind of content. The cost is just too great. And maybe learning about the 300 hundred and the epic Battle of Thermopylae is a lesson we should learn from the history books, not the box office.

My kids don't need a phony Dad – do yours?

Technology's sweet, siren call lures me away from the people and the things I love the most... and tragically, it's just beginning.

Remember when you would call someone and if you didn't get them, you would hang up and call back later? If you do, you are probably smirking that little "Oh yeah" smirk or the nod of "Boy, those were the days".

I thought I was going to be like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, standing on the bow of the ship, shouting "... I'm king of the world!", at least that's what I thought when, in late 2009 when I gave up a fairly sweet cell phone for what we all have come to know as... a Smartphone. You know then, the iPhones, Andorids and Blackberrys with touch screen technology and the ability to download a blinding number of games, sings, applications (or "Apps"), GPS and even movies.

The power in the common Smartphone is staggering. It has been noted multiple times that there is as much as ten times the computing power in the common Smartphone as was used to calculate and run NASA's entire first moon landing mission.

In a recent CNN article, the dilemma of 'distracted parenting' was identified. Apparently, 21st century parents are at odds when trying to be/stay/get connected and having to attend to, sometimes basic needs of their kids. You can read about that travesty here; http://www.cnn.com/2011/LIVING/06/14/phone.addicted.parent/index.html?iref=allsearch

Got Angry Birds? Facebook? Twitter? Four Square? RSS? Blogger? I do. Yep, every one. These Apps have taken over millions of phones. Millions. And I can't keep up. Between Facebook, XBOX 360º's XBOX LIVE (which by the way, not only has real-time voice chat but also has video phone capability), Skype, two phones, home & cell, three desktops and two laptops (work and home), numerous email accounts (currently five, not including work email), learning Four Square and that good old standby, texting. My Smartphone is constantly blowing up. Several people in my life, including my girlfriend, are astounded that I am not Twittering more. Shame on me.

I agree, how am I able to survive from moment-to-moment without reading the random thoughts and the dizzying array of commentary of a legion of family, friends and celebrities? My life is somehow compromised, I'm convinced. But I am reaching a threshold. There is a coming Singularity (no not the artificial intelligence doomsday, that blog post is coming, though), no, I mean there is only so hyper-connected I can be. Even with two blogs going (oh check out my Sci-Fi movie review blog, The Boxed Office and contemplating a third plus two new web portals, I think I am hitting the limit.

The kids want in on it. "Dad, can I use your phone?" they ask. "Why?" I respond. "I want to play Angry Birds." My daughter interfaced Facebook with her cell phone until I cut the service. The truth is, to participate in the new world economy and social media revolution, we gotta do this stuff. Or do we? Can I live without my phone's GPS, camera, gmail pings or texts? The thought of being without them gives me slight tremors. But, haven't we all done it before? And at what cost?

Hard to say.

I'll bet, though, my kids would rather I look them in the eye when I speak to them and not be permanently pre-distracted with incoming, texts, Tweets and Blog/RSS feeds. I'm guessing, and I am going out on a limb here, it's OK not to pick up the phone every once and a while. After all, there is... wait for it... voicemail.

Dear daughter; I have influenced you into becoming the perfect girlfriend. You're welcome. (P.S. You won't be dating anyone until you're at least 20)

Every Dad who has raised is raising a daughter faces that frightful day when he is at least aware of his daughter as a sexual being. Puberty comes (too frackin' soon if you ask me!) and then it's boys, who's "Hot!" usually followed by high pitched screeching and low-level confessions of undying adulation. (sigh)

As of the writing of this blog post, my daughter is infatuated with the singing/dancing Canadian boy teen super-star, Justin Bieber. This spiky-haired soft-faced boy-phenom has captured the hearts, charts and imagination of the world. Love him or not, he's here to say.

I remember the lessons of generations past, the parents generation loathes anything that isn't "theirs". I chose a different route. I have chosen to embrace him. Yes, I have become a member of "Bieber nation". Laugh if you want, he's go all the money (sold out Madison Square Garden in 26 minutes!), all the girls (undying love and propositions from Kim Kardashian and Selena Gomez), all the fame (Justin Timberlake and Usher duked it out over who would mentor him) he's worth and estimated $100 Million and he's 17. (I see a VH1 "Behind the music" episode in the making but that's a different blog).

Now recently, in a round of harmless teasing, my oldest son tried to corner me on this topic; "Hey Dad, if just Bieber wanted to come by and take Jessica on a date, would you let him?" All four kids look at me to see if I would do the customary "Hell No!" response. Instead I said "Duh! That's a no-brainer – of course!" Jessica explodes into a series of giddy giggles and jerky movements and incomprehensible uttering. The boys are dumbfounded. Really? Think about it; the Paparazzi? $105 Million (yes, he just made about $5 million since I wrote the number above about three minutes ago)? I'm realistic, it is highly unlikely that JB is headed to downtown Phoenix to sweep Jessica off her feet. That said, if he's interested, (and if you're reading buddy) I approve – big fan! – but let's have a chat first, eh?

I have digressed quite a bit from my primary topic so let's get back. Jessica, now months away from being 15 is a beautiful young girl. She is spiritually grounded and is very creative (has aspirations of going to Art School). But those aren't the qualities that will make her irresistible to boys and later on, male suitors.

To start, she kicks butt at HALO on XBOX 360. She plays Call of Duty, Fallout 3 and Final Fantasy. Don't know about these games? I GUARANTEE YOU every 15 year old boy does. She has three younger brothers, she has no misunderstandings about the, uh... inner machinations... of boys (she holds her own against a younger brother who has her by 60 pounds, easy). She knows Photoshop better than some people trying to make money at it and she loves Vampire books and movies. What else? Well Dad is an old-time comic book fiend. Do you know who Sinestro is? How about Ms. Marvel? The founding members of the Avengers? She does. She knows and plays hoops. She follows Patriots football and loves hockey. Yet, at any given time she can toss on some heels and make-up with a dress and a necklace and look – well – mature beyond her years. She can carry a note and has bright-eyed imagination that empowers her creativity. A voracious reader yet still gives me flak for not taking her and her brothers to church on Sundays when I would rather roll over and the hit snooze button.

Music? Down with Hip hop, Motown, R&B and Hard Rock. She knows every_single_song_on_every_single_station. No joke. In short, she is the ideal girlfriend for scores of guys. (sigh) I mean, seriously? When I was 15 I would have killed for a hot girlfriend that could hold her own in video games, sports and music. Artistic, a decent little cook and can carry on a conversation about movies, current TV shows, art, comic books and video games? My phone should be blowing up anytime now.

Don't get me wrong, she has her shortcomings (seriously could we please clean that room now?) and she has her own insecurities and struggles with grades, etc.

Last fall, I took Jessica [back] to Massachusetts where she was able to see and meet many of my old friends and stomping grounds. We even had lunch one afternoon with Deena, essentially my little sister (yes I am only child but have two women who are little sisters in spirit). 20 minutes and Deena looks across the table at me and say "Atha [New England accent] she's gorgeous... and you're screwed!" (sigh)

Rest assured, mounted infra-red machine gun turrets will be stationed at all access points to my home by the fall. Also, all three boys will be undergoing para-military training. All non-related males will need to fill out background check forms, in triplicate and will be shadowed by family members or family-loyal agents at all times. I'm thinking, after college, she will be considered for limited exposure to non-family, pre-approved males.

Yeah, that will work... wait! Why are you all laughing? I'm a "boys", I know what boys are thinking... always! Danger Will Robinson! Danger! I mean it – No boys! Why are you all shaking your head and grinning... ?

The Burning Dress (No, come to think of it, I don't want to live forever, that would remove the urgency of now)

Back in the early 2000's, my ex-wife, our children & I moved in to a new custom-built home in south Phoenix. Her Grandfather, Ivan Welty, a journeyman electrician from Indiana was a reluctant new member of our home. At age 91 he wasn't the most fun guy to have in a house full of toddlers and adolescents, but he lived a rich life. Hyper-opinionated, ornery and set in his ways (a fate I fear will befall us all, eventually). Well aware if his surroundings and well versed in life, he had adopted my ex's mother and he and his wife of like, 70+ years, raised her as their only daughter.

In his last years, Ivan struggled to understand the world around him. It was new. It was redefined. Countries he knew (and even fought against in World War two!) were no longer seen as enemies or no longer even existed.

He literally went from playing pick-up sticks and watching Model T's speed past horse & buggy carriages rolling down dirt roads to seeing the US interstate system become a reality, to watching jet fighters break the sound barrier, to men walking on the moon. He lived through World War I, World War II, The Korean War, The Bay of Pigs, The Viet Nam War and saw, at least the beginning of both Desert Storms. He watched as the industrial age gave birth to the age of information. radio replacing newspapers, television replacing radio, computers overtaking television.

One day he comes into my (at home) office and sits down on the love seat I have set up for the very few visitors that came to my over-glorified man-cave.

The ensuing conversation becomes a life event I will carry with me until the end of my days.

Ivan: Arthur, how are you?

Me: Ivan! Good, thank you! How you hittin' em'?

Ivan: Oh, all right I suppose. What are you doing?

Me: Oh I 'm on the internet doing some research on a project I'm working on... (my answer trails off as I am half-engrossed in the results of the latest content search, probably info regarding some free-lance ad project at the time).

Ivan: I just don't get it! (My head and eyebrows lift slowly...) What is it? How does this dang-blasted [he spoke like that] internet thing work?

Me: Well (I ponder), I suppose the easiest explanation is that you can think of it is a world-wide network of thousands and thousands of servers – or fancy computers – linked up wirelessly to talk to each other all over the world. The information in one is available to all and vice versa.

Ivan: So what do you use it for?

Me: I suppose just about anything (not having ever been cornered with such a direct question about such an indirect thing)... information, news, books, music, movies, whatever you might want to find, it's there... or something close to it.

Ivan: [Stares quizzically] I just don't know that I will ever understand it. I want to understand, but just don't. I feel like... sometimes... that I have just lived too long.

Me: Really...? (The rest of my words chokes off as I have no real response to this. I just didn't know how to respond. Then I decide to change the mood and his perspective.) Ivan, lets do a little experiment. Give me the name of something or someone you always wanted to know more about.

Ivan: (As if he was waiting for this) You know, when I was boy there were three of us who loved to play together back in Indiana. Me, my old pal Tom and little Sarah Bordeen. We played in the thickets by the stream, in the fields and the porch of the general store. Not a one of us older than eight. [The fondness in his voice leaving me to feel compelled to hear more]

One time we got a hold of some fireworks, and started pouring kerosene into empty cans... just stupid. Not a lick of sense in our heads. Well, we start lighting these fireworks and poor Sarah's right arm and her entire sun dress is soon covered in bright-white flame. We panicked. Tom & I both ran to her, pushed her to the ground and started rolling around with her trying to douse the flames. Her whole forearm was burned with 2nd degree burns but she lived, we got her to her folks right away, who then rushed her to the town doctor.

We thought we'd be in trouble, but when they came out – we ran to the Dr's office and waited outside a good half a day, yet – Sarah came out and hugged us both, thanking us for saving her. We still got the whuppin of lives later but we were happy she was ok.

Me: Wow! That's quite some story. Would you like me to look her up?

Ivan: No. no she's passed on some years ago. She did have a son though his name was Steven. I only met him once, years ago, when he was a just a boy. I always thought that I sure would like to know what happened to that young man...

Me: (Tapping keys)

Ivan: ... he was a musical prodigy. Smart boy, always learning something new, as I ...

Me: Found him.

Ivan: Huh?

Me: I found him. It says here... wow... he is a part-time conductor for the... hey!... the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Would you like to call him?

Ivan: .....

Me: Here's his number. (As I hand the written down phone number to him, I notice now that two things have happened. Ivan is absolutely speechless and has just begun to grasp the real power behind the internet). You should give him a call.

Ivan: ... you think I should call him right now?

Me: [I hand the phone over to him] Give it a try!

Ivan dials the phone number. It rings, Steven answers.

Ivan: Hey young man, I don't know if you remember me? I am a long-time friend of your Mom.... Ivan Welty... that's right the burning dress, that's right! I wanted to call you for so long.... I know, I.... (begins to cry) I thought so many times 'whatever happened to that boy after his mom died'... how, how are you? what? (Ivan had a hearing aid in both ears) Oh, yes fine, fine thank you! I live in Arizona now with my daughter and grand kids and their family... oh, yes, quite well... (it is evident at this point that both men are crying on each side of the phone call) ... I am, so blesses, blessed... and thankful to be bale to hear your voice, boy. Oh yes, when you return... yes... two weeks... ok, ok .... ok then, you take care young man. God bless...

Ivan composes himself and then shares with me how Steven told him that his Mom spoke of him fondly and often and how he always wanted to thank him for saving his Mom's life and in turn, saving his. The gravity of this statement embeds itself into Ivan's mind. Stephen then went on to say that he and his wife and new child [all news!] were heading to Europe for several weeks with the BSO (The Boston POPS as we in the Bay State affectionately call them), and that when he returned he wanted to have a long phone visit with Ivan and catch up. Ivan thanked me, gave me the biggest hug a 91-year old could muster, and then went off to his study, emotionally drained from a phone call he never knew he could make.

Ivan died several years later at the age of 95. He did indeed live long. His life afforded him living through arguably the most fantastic century of human development in recorded history. He saw the birth of four grandchildren and 10 great grand children. In my eyes, Ivan, you did not live too long. You lived out your time in this world you were meant to. Rest now, your eyes were very busy taking all that in over the 95 years of your life.

Congratulations on a life well lived, Ivan. We would all be so lucky to see and experience half of what you did.

Everything I need to know, I learned from the Japenese

You remember those posters that were big in 1990's that had huge laundry lists of basic life affirming thoughts? You remember them 'Everything I need to know I learned in Kindergarten.' Fun and filled with truisms, they reminded us of all the wonderful little social tidbits we would do well to remember daily; Wash your hands. Share Everything. Clean up your own mess. Well, the recent natural disasters that have overwhelmed Japan in the last few weeks have shed light on how an entire country – and culture – can overcome the unthinkable.

In the wake of last week's devastating dual Earthquake/Tsunami onslaught on Japan, the country has suffered total loss of coastal cities and towns, whole towns washed away, the possibility of three nuclear power plants near or at meltdown and literally tens of thousands dead or missing and millions displaced from their homes.

These highly industrious and down-right inspiring people did not loose face but instead, went right to work, saving lives, clearing debris, finding survivors or casualties and even volunteering to help shut down two nuclear reactors that had been severely damaged (even leaking radioactivity!).

Granted, the Japanese economy is a strong, first-world economy and they are some of the most focused builders in the industrialized world. But it is hard not to admire their steadfast resolve and intuitiveness. This country has withstood two atomic bomb droppings, numerous attacks by giant fire-breathing lizards and now this. These people know how to take one on the chin. I will honor their resolve with a Sushi and Saki dinner and watch some classic anime from the 1980's. Hey, just doing my part... and to the Japanese people I say "meiyo" [I honor you!]. You have shown us all that when the going gets tough, dive headlong into that failing nuclear reactor to save the lives of millions. My slice of humble pie is going to be pretty thick for while...