Get Walkin’

Sekhnet bought me a brilliant device that clips on a pocket, smaller than a pinkie.  It measures steps, calculates miles walked, has an altimeter that ticks off how many flights of steps, or their uphill equivalent, you walk.  It’s pretty motivational, I have to say.  We playfully compete against each other and can see each other’s stats on-line.   I cling to the slightest of leads over her in steps this week, and I see, to my chagrin, that pacing around the hovel today only netted me 1,747 steps, less than a mile.  I climbed no stairs.

Now the clock is counting down, it’s after midnight.  I’ve been nursing a bad cold all day, holding it to my breast, suckling it on hot soup when it was not gurgling out my nose, rattling in my chest.   Feeling a tiny bit better after all that and then I see my time to walk has passed.   And 29 steps on the device.   29 friggin’ steps.  0.01 miles.   So I have to go for a walk, just up the Avenue, around the hill at the corner, down to Broadway, back up the hill, down the Avenue.   3,000 steps, get me started for tomorrow.

“What are you prattling about, man, with 7:01 leering on the timer?”

Hmmmm.  Yes.   What, indeed.  I am trying to get this heavier than air aircraft to fly.  It’s said to be theoretically possible.  People tell me I’m insane.  Maybe they’re right.   Then I notice the clothes of one of their children, spattered with blood, a certain haste to kick them behind the chair.  A guilty look, picking the teeth, wiping the mouth then hiding the napkin, eyes flashing wildly from side to side, laughing too loud.  

“Cannibal,” I think to myself, swallowing hard, “and, yes, I’m insane.”

“You hang out with people who eat their children, man,” points out a shrewd one, as though it were obvious what kind of person that makes me.

Perhaps, yes, they eat their children.  But they certainly don’t mean to eat them.  For God’s sake, man, you’re not saying they eat them because they want to eat them?!

“Of course not,” man says soothingly, falsely, “nobody wants to eat their own children, surely not.  But it would seem they are irresistibly delicious, wouldn’t it?”

I hasten neither to agree nor disagree, the walls of the cabin are sweating feverishly and there is less than three minutes on the timer.   I don’t like the way this cat’s looking at me.

“What?” he asks, innocent and evil at once, “I’m not a vegetarian.  Not a vegetarian like you, Hilter of the sea.”

“I don’t feel so good about eating fish,” I tell him, but he’s already one step ahead, the fork and knife glinting in his hands, napkin tucked smartly under his chin, ready.

I’ve got to get the hell out of here, I say to myself, trying not to look the obvious in the face.  I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

41 seconds on the clock, I see, and it feels like a year.  A year in prison, I’m telling you.  20 seconds now, like a month.  And now, counting the last ten and…. ah, the buzzer.

I’m headed out to the Avenue.

A brief meditation on gratitude

I’ve been writing largely about aspects of angst here lately — when to know you’re being treated badly, fretting over war plans being made in my name, worry about life plans, (which men make as God tries not to laugh), worry over exactly what kind of idiot I might be.   In all this wrestling (no favor to you, dear reader)  I’ve neglected one of the most important things of all and one of the greatest indispensable arts:  gratitude.

It seems impossible to be impervious to gratitude for perfect sleep temperature, finally, no need for the fan last night.  I was relieved, but didn’t stop to savor how delightful it was and to feel grateful.   The many blessings we take for granted– gratefulness is a much more valuable response than a sullen yawn that things aren’t better.   Things are not perfect, true, but they are damned good.  I am thankful, grateful, appreciative.

Now to remember to carry this throughout the day, in my heart and on my face.   It is a beautiful world, many of its challenges included.  I take a moment, now, to breathe that sometimes subtle truth in. 

Visionary or Idiot?

I worry, sometimes, whether I am some kind of visionary or some kind of idiot.  Both see things not as they are but as they believe they are.

Then it struck me, with some kind of mixed relief:  it’s quite possible to be both a visionary and an idiot.

Grit and Pushing Through Fear

The most important single factor for success, we are told by those who sound like they know, is grit.   Grit is the ability to keep going in the face of discouragement.  It requires a long goal, an ability to persevere and unshakable faith in the value of the goal.

Fear is what stops us from accomplishing anything difficult.  It is much easier to do the easy thing than the hard thing.   Fear is a primitive emotion, easily accessed, and it overrides every other emotion when it is activated.   It comes from our survival mode and tells us to run like hell from danger, or curl up in a ball and pretend we’re dead.

Seth Godin makes this point about the amygdala, the part of the brain where fear lives, and how we must learn to overcome the impulse to shrink from a challenge.   He also points out that grit is essential.   He also says this, which is scary as hell:

Grit and faith in an idea is not enough.   The idea itself must be great.   A friend of his parents lived his life the slave of a single idea that he pursued with grit.  The trouble was, the idea itself wasn’t so great and it did not merit the grit and singleminded devotion this failed man gave it.

Picture Woody Allen’s father from Love and Death.  “My father was very attached to his small piece of land,” Allen’s character narrates and we see a crazed man in a cell, hugging a small square of sod.  “My father was an Idiot.”  Mmmm.

Marketing Rules Part 2

A politician’s editorial team does a sloppy job and leaves an important word out of a sentence, leaving a non sequitar where a powerful statement was intended, to wit:

We’re not going to our call for action.

The reader, if she even notices, is left wondering why issue a call to action if you’re not going yourself.  (see previous post for context of this flub)

But that was clearly a typo and not really an example of what I’m talking about– the supremacy of marketing in modern society and how crucial skillful marketing is for the survival of any enterprise that aspires to reach the public.  

I intend to give an example of my own marketing attempt below, but meantime, no less an authority on the subject than the famous Seth Godin, putting the dilemma of a person with a promising idea and a distaste for advertising, in an illuminating perspective:

“When I grow up…”

No kid sets out to make Doritos commercials. No one grows up saying, “I want to go into marketing.”

More than ever, though, folks grow up saying, “I want to change the world.” More than ever, that means telling stories, changing minds and building a tribe.

You know, marketing.

At least if you want it to be.

Seth Godin is a guru to those who would push through to the next level of success in any number of areas, his expertise is in marketing.   He loves it and he’s a master of it.  You can read his pithy, minimalist take here.

As for me, I have come to realize that my idea for a program to change the world for a few kids, and a few adults, will never flourish among the people I know.   The people I know are cool, and fine, but virtually none of them can relate directly to being in a room full of noisy kids inventing and creating clunky animated sequences.  It simply doesn’t excite them, they don’t get it, they are not the tribe to embrace and sustain it.  So, like Godin says, I need to find the tribe that loves this stuff.   To do that, short punchy pitches.

Answer the question in a way that turns on a light for those who care to see what they’ve asked about.  

Why animation?   You can read a long account on this blahg.  Or, this, still too-long marketing pitch:

Animation lets children’s play come alive on the screen.  It integrates drawing, writing, singing, speaking, painting, reading, whimsy, music, photography and computer skills.  It requires a skilled team, everyone doing their part.   Animation depends on free play and also focused attention to detail.   Animation leads to the integrated mastery of every art involved and a world of imaginative possibilities.   The workshop is a place of discovery and community building.

Perhaps most importantly, animation is like an acrobat’s work:  it can only happen in a room where everyone is relaxed, and ready, supporting and helping out as much as possible.

That said, it behooves us to show the mark how it works in practice:

Wehearyou.net’s animation workshop is portable and gets to work instantly.  With only an electrical outlet, a couple of tables and a room full of children ages 7-11, any room is turned into a beehive of child-run creativity within the first five or ten minutes.   While children watch a sixty second animated demo on a laptop computer, the camera stand is set up and an array of art supplies is laid out.  If there are no questions, and there seldom are, the children hop into the making of animation like a bunch of ducklings making for the pond.  A few minutes later they can watch the first results of their animations.  At the end of the session, if desired, their animation can be posted to the internet and shared with everyone in the world.

God bless.

Marketing Rules

People have short attention spans, give them the scoop fast.

Is there a key word missing from a key sentence in this important message from Elizabeth Warren calling for federal gun control law?  Does it not negate the call to arms for more reasonable laws about who can buy deadly concealable devices designed to kill?

This week, I stood with Boston Mayor Tom Menino, Senator Ed Markey, and Mayors Against Illegal Guns at Faneuil Hall to demand stronger national gun laws. We’re not going to our call for action.

Some people say that gun laws should be left to the states, but state laws just aren’t enough.

Neither is time at the moment enough to allow a fuller discussion of why marketing is the king in the USA, if not globally.  But soon, dear reader, soon.

Dropping the Mask

Zora Neale Hurston has a great scene in Their Eyes Were Watching God when her heroine, Janie, finally realizes that her critical grandmother, a former slave, her domineering first husband and one or two others who influenced her so much had been poisonous influences that made her doubt and hate herself.  She sees them as a row of idols, suddenly revealed not be be special at all, falling off a shelf one after another.   That moment of clarity, as the false idols lay smashed on the floor and Janie no longer was bound by their strong opinions about her life, was the beginning of her self-discovery.

People treat you the way they do because of their inner lives, not always because of yours.  Advice is as often as not given from fear, from jealousy, from resentment, things that may have nothing to do with the object of that advice.  Follow such advice at your own peril, or learn which advice to spit out.

Human affairs are not primarily guided by logic or consistency, nor are the ideals we claim to hold always what we hold them out to be.  “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, and endowed by their Creator, blah blah blah” for example.  The genius who wrote those lines owned 300 men, women and children who were his property, bought with money inherited from his wealthy parents. Nobody would seriously claim those poor souls were endowed with the same unalienable human rights their master was.  Rhetoric is one thing, reality something more rugged.

We recently celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington.   Pious, eloquent speeches were delivered, reaffirming our deepest held American values: that all humans are worthy of respect, dignity, an equal chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  The president made a fine speech, full of feeling and passion.  It almost sounded like commitment to the things he was saying.

But, please, don’t try to sell that empty speechifying to the doomed children of Harlem, Appalachia, inner city slums and rural areas every where.  Sing it from the mountaintops, from the rooftops.  Yeah, right on, baby.

I shuddered recently to see some footage from 1964 where Malcolm X points out, irrefutably, that in the ten years since the Supreme Court ruled “separate but equal” to be in violation of the US Constitution and ordered the integration of public schools “with all deliberate speed” that the schools were as segregated as ever. Now, going on fifty years later, much the same can be said about “all deliberate speed.”   The only thing moving with deliberate speed now is the determined campaign to dismantle public schools and place education, like much of the prison system, in the hands of profit-driven private entrepreneurs.

Some lament how far America has come from the golden age when there was actual democracy here, where groups of now powerless people could unite and have their voices heard.  It may be slightly worse now, or slightly better, depending on your point of view, but representative democracy is still a flawed and difficult experiment and, as a wag once had it, the worst form of government, aside from every other form.

During the golden age of American freedom we did a lot of terrible things to millions of people, many of whom died, or wished they were dead, as the great wealth of this nation was created for the enjoyment of a smaller and smaller group of people.  Advances were made toward greater equality, then backwards steps smartly taken.  

Right now, for some reason that is hard to understand, particularly in light of recent regrettable American military decisions, American warships stand poised to rain down perhaps hundreds of millions of dollars worth of powerful Tomahawk missiles, targeting with powerful explosives certain areas of Syria and the inadvertent “collateral damage” surrounding each target.  Let us not think, for a second, of the hideous irony of naming these weapons of mass destruction after the war axes of a native people our great democracy systematically all but wiped out.

Whatever thinking people might think about this course of hands-off military action against Syria, nothing is likely to dissuade those in charge from doing it.   We are told that the Syrian dictator used poison gas against his people.   We are told this is unacceptable under international law and that we must teach the Syrian dictator a hard lesson.  Let’s see how he feels about US missiles destroying a bunch of his infrastructure, killing a number of his people.   We will teach tyrants about killing people just because they feel like it.

The mask drops away as we hear the official voice of America yell:  Do as I say, not as I do.  Freedom is on the march, for some.  And democracy shall be spread, as long as it’s the democracy we want to see spreading.

“Doesn’t this make you glad to be an American?” the sardonic skeleton of my father remarks from his lofty grave on a hill outside of Peekskill.

 

Why animation?

Animation is great because it integrates so many creative and technical fields and what you can do with it is limited only by your imagination.  The best animation takes a team, everyone doing their part as perfectly as possible.

Animation involves the precise coordination of many moving parts: good ideas, the drawing, clay or other objects that will carry out the ideas, an unmoving camera that frames and focuses on the well-lit action below, a steady hand, the smooth transfer of the frames (stills) to the computer, a skilled editor to bring out the best in the frames, a good soundtrack to make it all dance.

It takes free play and also concentration and focus.  Without great attention to detail, the resulting animation will be unwatchable.  It takes precision to keep everything the camera sees registered for the illusion of movement.  It takes patience and mastery to make the adjustments necessary to correct mistakes.   In the midst of a buzzing beehive of children busy having fun, coordination, focus and teamwork are required to make good animation.

Picture the greatest drawing in the world, and the most skillful editor in the world. Then picture all the frames of these great drawings are dark, because not properly lit. Or fuzzy, because nobody took the time to focus.  Or badly framed, because somebody was too excited about shooting something to carefully line things up.  The great drawings are ruined, all the skill of the best editor in the world won’t be able to turn those frames into watchable animation.

Got to shoot the whole thing over again, carefully.   There is an art to it, and various skills to be mastered.   And it takes a team, everybody doing their part, and doing it well, and helping each other along the way.   

That’s why animation.

(Thanks, Maxine, for an excellent question)

you can see the original post here

It Should Be Noted

When delivering a low blow, timing is everything.

You can greatly enhance the effect by acting like nothing happened when the other person cries out.  If the person makes a scene, tell him to stop whining.

The opposite is also true:  I once almost took out an eye of my friends’ four-year old, horsing around at the dinner table.  I hoisted him into the air, from a seated position, and he howled in delight and squirmed in the air, until I lost my grip on him, he went eyeball first into the back of the wooden chair and began howling in agony.  

I was immediately on the verge of tears myself, as I leaned anxiously over him, apologizing profusely.   He bawled for a moment, then saw my distress and I watched him pull himself together, rather quickly.   He stopped crying and told me he was OK.  He was reassuring me.

Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen, and one of the most beautiful.

Choose Yer Poison

“Look at this place,” says the adult in the room.  “You should spend a few days clearing out 80% of this crap and then hire a maid.  You’d feel much better about things.”   

No argument here, although should is a tricky word, in our experience.

” ‘in our experience?’  Who are we, Hugh Hefner?”

“Building an organization, yo,” says I.

“Says you?” you say.

I can complain about the feeling of the walls closing in, but who am I actually complaining to?  And how would they be able to stop this process?

It’s clearly a matter of remaining healthy and staying positive.  Two good things.  

You’re better off laughing with friends than rattling a keyboard, unless you’re getting paid to rattle the keys and your friends are laughing at you instead of with you.

“They’re not laughing with you, they’re laughing AT YOU,” more than one clever teacher has told the class clown, in an adult version of “I know you are but what am I?”

Suppose there was something you could take that would lift the veil of care from your brow, let you relax and be creative?   You know, half of the magic of creativity is relaxing, getting lost in play.   I feel a trick coming on here….  

No, really, it’s a matter of choosing your poison.

“Oh, what’s the matter?  A friend thoughtlessly hurt your feelings and now acts like nothing happened?”

I’m not worried about that.  Any one of my friends can be counted on to attack any other of my friends.  “What do you expect from X?   He/she has no empathy, ridiculous to expect it.  I mean, really…” complete with full-color illustrations.  It’s uncanny how helpful most of them are in that particular situation.  Each one can so clearly see the monstrousness of the others, it’s really cool.

“Where does that leave us?” we ask, not anywhere near convinced that it is really cool.

“Who should I say is asking?” you ask.