music, media & other random musings

Friday's Random Rant

When my brother was blogging consistently, he incorporated a Friday rant into his repertoire. As my mind sometimes tends to work in that way, one thought running into the other, I thought I'd steal his concept and use it myself. As Pablo Picasso said, "Good artists borrow, great artists steal." And with that, my first Friday rant…

On TV: Steven Colbert's Wheat Thins Sponsortunity clip last night should make all of those in branding, marketing & advertising wince. I did. Jon Stewart seems to be tired the last few weeks. Nothing truly inspiring for me. Downton Abbey's season finale was true to the series, predictable, while still being well-crafted, smart, and thoroughly enjoyable. Time Warner Cable has decided to spend lots of money making commercials like the ones with Ricky Gervais and Mary Louise Parker. I think most New Yorkers would agree that they should invest their money instead on improving their services, including the customer kind. In the last 6 months I have gone through 3 DVRs. Each one deciding on it's own, 'it's my box and I'll record if I want to'… TW sucks.

On the political front: The more I listen to Mitt Romney, the more I think that George Bush scared me less. Does he rank right up there with one of the worst campaigners ever? His insightful thoughts on trees in Michigan, proof positive. As for Rick Santorum, I say "Run Rick Run." The more this guy talks, the more he too digs himself into a very deep hole. IF this guy actually were able to pull off the nomination - which I don't think is possible - he'll NEVER be able to win the national campaign with views like the ones he's been espousing on education, women's health, homosexualty, etc. So, I'm all for the Rick Santorum's surge. 

Pinterest is all the rage.  I haven't gotten the bug yet. 

Great article in Vanity Fair on Diner this month. If you haven't ever seen (gasp!), or not in a while, very worthy of repeated viewing. 

"For a little movie without special effects, dramatic reveals, or cutting-edge sex scenes—a movie about nothing at all, really—Barry Levinson’s 1982 comedy,Diner, caused a tectonic shift in popular culture. It paved the way for Seinfeld, Pulp Fiction, The Office, and Judd Apatow’s career, and made stars of Mickey Rourke, Kevin Bacon, Ellen Barkin, and Paul Reiser."

Also fantastic article in the NYTimes Magazine section this past Sunday. "How Companies Learn Your Secrets." Truly fascinating (and scary) how retailers are tapping into your online behavior to target you into buying more - predictive analytics. But also just incredibly interesting from perspective of how our brains work & the habits we form - and why are our bad habits are so difficult to break. 

Celebrated my 48th birthday this past Monday. No birthday party, cake or candles - just a few good scotches and dinner with my brother at the excellent John Dory's, while the better part of my day was spent in my pajamas, reading, writing, doing the crossword & listening to music - a few of my favorite activities. Couldn't have been more enjoyable. It's incredible the number of people who follow the birthdays on Facebook. Heard from tons of people I never speak to… FB friends we call them.. but still nice… As my friend Rich said, Facebook is the largest birthday card in the world. 

As for old friends, must be the season… Met up with, Liz Blumberg, my oldest BFF from "home" (as opposed to camp). It's been 30 years, although we were inseparable from elementary school through to high school. We probably wouldn't be friends if we met today, completely different lives and interests - but it's impossible to break the bonds of the past. And sometimes, that's a very good thing. Most certainly is in this case. 

Great quote from Jerry Colonna in a guest post on Fred Wilson's blog. His post was focused on management. But it is true for all of us, in finding ourselves everyday: We forge our truest identity by facing our fears, our prejudices, our passions, and the source of our aggression. 

Oscars on this Sunday. Seen almost all the nominees, except for a few. Predicting The Artist will win Best Picture of the year. 

 

Old Friends

We've all had the experience of meeting up with people we haven't seen for years, where the the connection picks up immediately and the conversation flows easily. It's as if it had only been since breakfast since you last spoke. So strange and awesome. And then not so strange at all. 

Last night I had that night with Lisa Levine. While we couldn't figure out exactly when it was we last saw each other - sometime between her wedding in Seattle 18 years ago and the time I left music video production 13 years ago - it had clearly been a "forever" ago. But yet we knew small certain details about each others life. I knew her husband, Eddie, had gotten gray, that she had two kids, was still a foodie and into cooking, and was still a music fan - and listening to new. (yeah!) And she knew details about me too. Those of which are escaping me at the moment. (Could have been the combination of the 5 hours spent gabbing through a meal, a walk through the West Village, another bar and many drinks.) So, how did we keep tabs on each other? Facebook, of course.

At this point in time almost everyone (well, at least 800 million of us) has a FB account and is something we include as a "must have" along with phone number, email & physical addresses. (Even if not a frequent user.) While social media has kept some people in our lives way past the expiration date, and reminded us of others we'd rather have forgotten, we also have been able to keep in touch and/or find "real friends," in ways that only a short time ago wouldn't have been possible. Ten years ago, if you moved cities, moved career/industries or just lost touch, you'd have known nothing about them and maybe not ever reconnected unless there was a reunion or you happen to have run into each other.

Although in the scheme of things, it isn't all that important that I know that Eddie got gray, but seeing his pictures and those of their kids, peripherally viewing their lives has not only made those long lost meetings more likely - and more fun, but made life richer. I'm not the most social person out there (online or off), but I know the people I like, respect and care about. And if I can be a part of their world, and them to mine, using FB or other social platforms, I'm good with that. 

I do believe new friends and true, intimate connections can be made at anytime through our lives, if open to it. Having said that, I do find it rarer as we get older. But there really is nothing like picking up where you left off with people you've known for years. Of course, there is the chance that you meet up with someone from long ago and realize the only thing you have in common is the long ago. But that didn't happen last night. It was almost as if we were more connected now than we were then. It's incredible that something so "old" can feel so new and comfortable at the same time. Like pulling out an old pair of jeans that still fit. Not impossible.. But certainly rare.

 

Harry, RIP

Friday, my sister wrote a sweet post about my dog, Harry. Aside from a few minor mistakes in some of the details of Harry's arrival on my doorstep, she got it right. Harry most definitely had the life and was treated like a prince. Lived in LA and the West Village, vacationed in upstate New York and the Hamptons, and for years was the office dog, always with lots of love - and crumbs of food. He had it better than a hell of a lot of people.

He was a sweet, quirky dog. Although he was in a little body, he always had a big personality and an even bigger heart. He clearly had stamina like no other - 18 years. And he could have lived longer. But what we're allowed to do with dogs, and not people, is decide when life isn't really living any more, but just getting through the day. Harry was leaning towards the latter - and probably for far longer than I wanted to admit. But death is pretty fucking final. And it's not so easy to make that call for someone who won't tell you if that wag of his tail means he is happy and wants to live or his inability to find me in the apartment was causing him serious amounts of anxiety and unhappiness. I know it would have been hard to make the call at any time, but since my mother died only 6 months ago, I think the indecision was a bit more pronounced. After two cancelled appointments to "put him down," I called in my sister. Since she and I went through my mom's tragic ordeal together - her consistently more accepting of the inevitable - I had to have her "make me do it." I made the third appointment knowing she would be at the vet waiting for me - so theoretically couldn't not show up...    

In all the years I had Harry, I can't count the number of times people referred to Harry as my child, me the mother. It's a weird dog person thing. It always annoyed the shit out of me. I loved Harry to death (literally, it seems), and he was a definite member of the family - but he was a dog, not a kid. Never going to be able to talk, to feed himself, to venture out on his own. Other than caring for someone, tending to their needs, and wanting for them to be happy, I never compared the two situations. Caring for a child is clearly way more intense and wrought with decisions never have to be made for a dog. But on the flip side, a dog is essentially two years old forever. Harry never said let me do that myself or I'm off to hang out with my buddies, can I get some cash.

So for 17 years, I've been planning life around Harry and his schedule. His walks, his feeding, my travel, and any last minute invites... it was all about Harry being tended to. It sounds like I minded - but I didn't. I adored him, and him me - unconditionally. It is what we love about our dogs. They are always there, happy when you come home, happy when you pet them, feed them, walk them - happy to follow you around the house. And I loved him for it. But 17 years of doing - and having - anything is a very long amount of time. That 18 pound dog filled the house in a way that made him feel gigantic. And now his absence makes the place feel vastly empty.

Walking into the apartment without him is as odd as knowing I don't have to get home to tend to him. Friday afternoon I stopped by my friend Christina's to visit with her and see her brand new baby girl. I stayed through dinner into the early evening - no need to rush home. Yesterday I took my friend Jane up on her offer to come out to West Hampton - because I could, for the first time in 17 years not having to decline a last minute offer because what was I to do with Harry. 

It's all something to get used to. And I won't lie that there is some freedom to it. Especially as the last few years Harry's doggy dimentia worsened and his interest in me lessened. Less relationship and more resonsibility. But it didn't stop me from having a good cry on Saturday morning as I had to throw away his unused dog food and dog treats. His collar still sits on my counter - which, eventually, when I get around to it may be a bracelet for myself. And so too remains his dog bed. Couldn't seem to throw that out yet. It's like the seat for Elijah. I know he's not coming back - but a little reminder of what he was.  

Only in New York

Probably not, but knew that if it existed at all, it would be here.

Last weekend I was looking at my shaggy, panting dog thinking time for a little trim. But now in Brooklyn, and with him being 102 (not exactly, but close) - and not being able to walk much farther than about a block, the idea of getting a car service (cabs sadly aren't readily available on my block) and schlepping to a "doggie spa" somewhere nearby - somewhere new, didn't sound appealing. Bring him into the city & to the local place near my mom's and office? Also, not something I really wanted to do.  

Thought bubble: There must be someone who comes to your house & does this, right? I used to have someone cut my hair at my apartment... Sure enough. Results above. 

From a few to choose from, I chose The Pet Maven. Why? The site was easy to use. Cutesy and not all that modern, but still professional. (Proving again, websites do matter.) But mostly because the woman who owns the company, Helen, had a previous career doing marketing research for top Fortune companies. And because of that, had the feeling she'd be capable, professional. And she was - from the first call, scheduling, getting there on time, the work she did...  (or Harry allowed her to do.)

As far as the vendor choice I made, it was the right one. And trying something new, that too. But with an old man like Harry, getting him to do anything - especially standing for a few hours while he is washed, dried & shaved - isn't so easy. Maybe it never has been - and no one ever told me the truth when I asked how he dealt. But then, I just dropped him off and came back to see, and enjoy, the results. Watching the ordeal, holding him down at times, not as much fun. To put it mildly.

Not sure if I'll do that one again. I guess part of the decision will be whether or not Helen will come back and deal with the ordeal that is Harry. And the other, deciding which hassle I want to put myself through to keep the old man clean...

 

 

  

Nostalgia

Thursday night I went to Joe's Pub with my friend Rich to see Justin Currie play - an artist we worked with at A&M many moons ago. So many moons ago the label actually existed.... Justin and I were good friends - and for a short time more than good friends. I hadn't seen him or his manager, John - also very dear - for at least 15 years, and it was a real treat to see them both, catch up.

As is often the case when meeting up with old friends, except for the time spent inquiring about each other's friends and family, it felt like the conversation picked up right where it left off. But while watching Justin play, hearing familiar songs, standing next to people as familiar - I felt myself looking down on it all. I was consciously trying to "be there," to be in the moment, but found it incredibly hard to do. At first I remember thinking, maybe I'd had one too many tequilas - that the Mexican cloud was somehow impairing my ability to see and feel clearly. But I made the official call, that wasn't it at all. Yeah, sure, maybe heightened the sensation, but this wasn't the same 'floating above a conversation' feeling. It was more similar to the feeling I've experienced when visiting an old house I grew up in or walking a street I played kickball on for years. All so familiar and recognizable, but also a fleeting spark, something unable to grasp, touch or completely embrace.

A few years back I visited the sleep-away camp I'd spent eight summers. I loved camp - everything about it. The summer sun, my friends, the countless 'firsts,' the sports & competition, and even the pathetic playing fields right out of Meatballs... And on that day, I sat there on 'the hill; as we fondly called it, trying to connect to that time and place, to be present, to relive it - maybe. But somehow the years stood in the way. I sat looking down at the pine trees, through to the pool and the dining hall, thinking I know I'm physically here, as countess memories rushed through me, but it was just that - one bundle of sensations, with nothing I could hang on, or define. I felt close, but not close enough. And being at that show the other night, I felt the same way. There, but not. Present, but distant. 

Some people pooh pooh the whole nostalgia thing, reasoning that by somehow having the bittersweet yearning of the past, it is by definition the opposite of moving forward. I refuse to see things so simply black and white - at least with regards to this. Generally, I'm a big proponent of the moving forward, but I also love a rearview mirror. I always have - even when I was younger and didn't have as much to look back on. Remembering the people in my life, who I was, how they made me feel - about life and myself - I find somewhat grounding.

As I stood at that show, it wasn't as if I was wishing I could go back to that time and place. I did love those days, those years. But they were a long time ago - a time when I made mistakes I wouldn't make today. The beauty of age.... Standing there I really felt quite happy to be in the here and now, enjoying the reune with people from the then. Maybe it's true, for a moment, I was trying to feel it again - to relive that time, that connection I had with those people, the true feelings I had about them, myself. But standing in the disconnect, I realized that it doesn't matter how much you remember (or don't - having to be reminded about the many details you've forgotten), or how easily the conversation comes to life after all those years - or even how many tequilas you drink - you can come close, and enjoy the past, or at least the memories and the people from the past, but you can never really relive it - not really.

I don't know if it's good or bad, or even why. I've just found it is.

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

I'm not sure how this is even remotely comfortable. But Harry is an old man - 17 years and counting - so he can do whatever the hell makes him happy. He may not walk as well as he used to. Nor see, or hear much of anything. And from what I've been hearing, he now growls like a mother-fucker at the dog walker who has the audacity to wake up him and take him off his throne. But he does still possess a stellar sense of smell. And if I could capture the very amusing sight of him with his snout up in the air, sniffing and salivating for something even remotely edible (his all time favorite being red licorice - go figure) I would. But this is the position he's in most of the time these days. 

I've had Harry since he showed up on my doorstep 16 years ago while living in Los Angeles. He found the sucker on the block - and he's been with me ever since. Just when I think his days are numbered, like suffering an odd stroke in January, he seems to bounce back. Even thought about planning the Friends of Harry going away party... but he continues to surprise. The dog's got heart - or likes his life way too much to give in. 

Surprisingly the expression it's a dog's life (clearly liking the dog idioms today) refers to a miserable and unhappy existence. Somehow I always thought it meant the opposite. A life centered around food & sleep, what's not to like? For Harry though, aside from bumping into walls once in a while & not being able to jump on the sofa anymore, I think this old dog has had it pretty damn good. And in his finer, more lively moments, still does. 

Everyone says you'll know when they're "ready to go." I imagine that's true. But sometimes his feebleness really does break my heart. I'm just hoping he's happy until then - even in the most awkward of positions. 

 

To Blog Or Not To Blog?

I stopped blogging on April 1st. It wasn't particularly a special day - other than it being April Fool's Day. And I only know the date because the last post's time stamp is clearly marked. But that was the day I last wrote - on the topic of the then soon-to-be released iPad - and the show Modern Family. Two loves - technology and television - wrapped into one. 

It's now nearing the end of June. The iPad has sold more than 2 millions units to date and Modern Family is on summer hiatus. But the world still spins madly on. Even when I wasn't writing, my world did too. Funny how that goes...

So, what was I actually doing, if not - gasp! - writing about it? How important could any of it have been if I didn't find the need to share? A tree falls in the forest thing, and all... I jest, of course - somewhat. Laying ones soul to bare in the ether, although now commonplace, is still odd for many. And sometimes laughable. Even for me, who gets it, appreciates it, and mostly even enjoys it. 

When I started this blog I didn't do it for anyone else but me. I imagine that's the case for most, but what I mean is that I didn't have a particularly focused goal. I wasn't trying to plant a flag or make a mark in my professional career, start a dialogue or develop a community around any of the topics I wrote about, or to create my own worthy googleable digital footprint. All worthwhile and noble goals - and much the idea behind social media. They just weren't mine. 

I started this blog because I wanted to write. I had been actively writing about some very personal topics for a while, purely for myself. But it became too intimate - mostly too difficult and painful - and I just stopped, not unlike I did April 1st. But I knew I liked the practice of writing, the challenge of collecting thoughts and putting them together cohesively - not so easy sometimes. So I decided I wanted to 'practice' with topics easier on the soul. Blogging and sharing became the chosen platform, and so, Music, Media & Other Random Musings was born. It was focused enough on what I like, enjoy, do, think and talk about. But not committed to any one thing - like Digital, the media of current choice and (professional) focus for the last 10 years. I've always really been, at heart, more a generalist than anything else, so it felt right... 

But then came this hiatus. I've had mini-lapses over the years, but not for a stretch of time this long. I stopped, I think, because I just couldn't get the words out. Laryngitis? Letharthy? Take your pick. Maybe a bit of both. I was between work (staff jobs to be more specific) longer than I had wanted. And anyone who has been out of the work force for a while knows that the feeling of being left out or excluded is fairly common. (A topic deserving of a longer, separate post.) All I can explain is that the sense of feeling unwelcome, didn't inspire much in the way of contribution on my end. 

Now, that I'm back to the office, 'officially' a working member of society and feeling engaged - and included, I felt it was time to get back on the proverbial horse and put the fingers to the keyboard. But then paused. What do I want to write about? Do I want to plot out a new set of goals for what this is, what I want it to be? Do I change the name? The look? The design? What is my focus? Should it be as random as it has been for the last, almost 3 years? 

And because it's me - and just part of my DNA - I kept asking those questions. I knew I needed some answers before I could find my voice again. My friend Jerry urged me to stop asking all the questions and to just start, start writing. He was right, of course. But also, much easier said than done. And as he is rightly an official member of the heady tribe, knew this to be true, even as he provided his sage advice. 

In the end, what I realized is that I needed to figure out the context before the content would flow. Where my voice had went was impossible to figure out. But to figure out where it would go, I needed to wrap my head around why I was doing this, starting this again, and what I wanted to focus on. 

And the answer: I've determined that this blog is, was and will still be, just for me. Writing it, keeping it current, posting music, pictures or thoughts - are for no purpose, other than to amuse and stimulate myself. Although I absolutely welcome comments, dialogue & sharing - it's getting out my own thoughts - as relevant, irrelevant, stupid or insightful as they may be, day after day, that matters to me - in the context of this blog. Do I think that this blog - or this particular post for that matter - is of any interest at all to anyone other than me? Probably not. Maybe, possibly, a few others? But not much beyond that. And I'm okay with that. If it starts me writing about the shit I like to think about, or most importantly, just gets me to start writing - period - then therein lies the goal. Will this thing, this blog, turn into something else as I venture into new business opportunities in the very near future? Possibly. I can't say it isn't something I don't think about...  And if it makes sense, and I'm so inclined, the evolution will happen. 

So for now, starting again - 'til who knows when - with a semi-updated, cleaner look, under the same name and title as before, I'll be writing about the random shit that amuses, intrigues and outrages... me. 

Escape From New York

This week New York Magazine featured those escaping the recession-addled city to head for greener, cheaper and sometimes warmer pastures. Apparently I wasn't the first to think of this.

While bundling up in the depths of the February chill, I came to the same conclusion, deciding it was the right time to take a break from this economy, this city and my career to trek across the globe, explore the world, myself, and just wander through the summer months. And so, in six weeks I will be off. Off for 3 months, joining the ranks of the unemployed and (somewhat) irresponsible.  

Determining where and how to travel has been quite an adventure in itself. When you can go and do anything you want, with the only restriction being a budget, it can be somewhat daunting. It's a big world out there... Initially I had planned to travel to South America, Australia and New Zealand with a good friend, who is also taking a "sabbatical" from the daily drain. But unfortunately, no matter how many attempts we made, somehow we couldn't sync up schedules. "It's winter in Peru come July, you know," I told her.  As Liz hails from Dublin, she's somehow accepted the realities of cold, wet, shitty weather. But for me, missing an entire summer, just wasn't an option.   

And so, onto plan B - or C or D, depending on how you count. In short, I'll be in Croatia, Turkey, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand - and if my mom decides to join me towards the end of summer, Vietnam and Cambodia. It sounds like a lot - and it might just be.  But the good news is (aside from the trip itself), after three weeks in Europe, I'll fly into Singapore, and then, no set schedule at all.  Just a flight back to NYC from Bangkok in August.  And that flight, as well as all the others, can be changed. So some structure, but really, none at all.  Just what the doctor ordered. 

So, come mid-May, I'll be escaping. A Netbook, a Kindle, a camera and a relatively small bag is all I'll have. That and a handful of plane tickets.  Whether a trend setter or a statistic, escaping New York is a good idea.  As will be returning, just as the leaves are ready to fall. 

Jamie Livingston

I didn't know him well. I met him through my brother in the early 90's.  He was an music video editor and photographer who lived on Morton Street in the Village. His family had an incredibly sad and tragic history with cancer. And Jamie too, was stricken with it and died at the age of 41 in 1997. But during his life, and for 18 years straight, he took a polaroid every day. Whenever I walk down Morton I think of him.  And again today, as an article, "The Days Of His Life," was in The City section of the NYTimes.  

Before Jamie's death, friends Hugh Crawford and Betsey Reid promised they would not let the project die with him.  Ten years after his death, they had an exhibition at Bard, his alma mater. Crawford put them online here. Although a much better way to view is on this site: 

It's incredibly powerful to see all these images of someone's life all together. Not just because he was far too young to die, or that I knew him, or that I recognize some of the faces and locations in pictures.  Risa Mickenberg, a friend of Jamie's, who wrote this shortly after his death, articulated it far better than I ever could.  

 

A Still Moment From Every Day

It's strange for someone to leave behind a record of every day of their life. Or to obsessively follow a project whose only perfect completion ends with their death. 

Our work is always ahead of us. It starts when we are born and it ends when we die - this work of seeing, touching and affecting the world. 

Jamie spread this collection out every year and examined it - reviewed it. 

Our lives are a flood of images and we are collectors who keep a strange assortment of images: moments of extreme emotion, pain, beauty, and fear stand out. Events we're taught to remember: weddings, graduations, births, deaths.

Then there are the millions of images that we can't shake out of our heads, that come to us at strange times - things we can't remember why we remember: the gold threads in an old stereo speaker, the way the light hit a thousand cars in a parking lot by the water, the face of a stranger in a restaurant, a friend standing in a pool - you can't remember where, slapping the water with the flat of her hand. 

Memory is a sieve that holds curious things. A life is a trail of strange, colorful memories. 

Jamie's Photo-of-the-Day works like a life. A still moment from every day for years. Remains of the day, immortalized. It is a selection: what we choose to remember, what we add to our collection of days. 

There was no set time of day.  It was when the mood struck: this is what I will take. 

It's an accumulation, a collection, a life's work.

Obama tees

Yes, more on Obama.  My brother in-law was wearing this tee over the weekend.  I love the design.  A handful of variations at the store...