Tis' the Season

David Burnett often makes me laugh. Not often enough lately, but today he had me in stitches. If you reuse this line you must credit him. We were talking about the number of strangely self-important people and unimportant things are on Facebook and he said: “It’s so random – hell, that I have FARTS on Facebook.” Now that is bathroom boy humor, but it made me belly laugh for ten minutes. Maybe I had too much to drink yesterday.

Tis it the season to be jolly? When we were kids, me, my cousin Stevie, Andy Hurwitz, David Levine, and Steven Fraum had to stand in the back of the room when the class sang Christmas Carols. Instead of the act being considerate of the fact they we were Jewish, it made us feel like we had the plague. My cousin Stevie would have none of it, and he ran around the classroom singing loud and intentionally off key. Finally, as was often the case, one of the teachers would grab him by the shirt collar and hang him from a coat hook in the front of the class. This is not a whine about my being discriminated against during the happiest season of the year. Quite the contrary. While we did not celebrate Christmas in my house, I always spent Christmas Eve and part of the next morning at my friend Pam’s. We decorated the tree, sang songs (often a Hannukah ditty), ate a great meal and opened gifts. So, despite bad judgment on the Boonton school system, it was easy to get in the spirit and love the holiday.

As if good feelings weren’t enough, the Economy proudly presents Black Friday. When did this start? I don’t remember it when we were kids, young adults or even grown-ups (which clearly hasn’t happened yet.) As far as I can tell someone on Wikepedia said “The term Black Friday itself was originally used to describe something else entirely — the Sept. 24, 1864, stock-market panic set off by plunging gold prices.” Newspapers in Philadelphia reappropriated the phrase in the late 1960s, using it to describe the rush of crowds at stores. The justification came later, tied to accounting balance sheets where black ink would represent a profit. Many see Black Friday as the day retailers go into the black or show a profit for the first time in a given year. The term stuck and spread, and by the 1990s Black Friday became an unofficial retail holiday nationwide. Since 2002, Black Friday has been the season's biggest shopping day each year except 2004…. when Bush was President—now there’s a happy memory.

Anyway, people now line up days in advance at retail outlets for special discounts. I do my research (I am a genetically perfect professional shopper – all my aunts were as well.) The truth is that, if there are big discounts, there are usually only 3 of whatever product the store is using to bring you in. If you happen to be fifth on line you are just out of luck. This has made people angry in the past. But rather then staying home, they now go out prepared to do battle. This morning, a woman at an LA Wal*Mart (accompanied by two children), was armed with pepper spray, which she used liberally on the crowd in front and in back of her as she grabbed an Xbox. (Note: apparently according to Fox News, she was just spraying a ‘vegetable.’) Rather than calling this a hostile act, most of the media called it ‘aggressive shopping.’ No it wasn’t shopping at all. It was some lunatic, that wanted one of the three Xboxes on sale, so without any regard for the spirit of the season, or true purpose of the holiday, she opted for terror instead of love, kindness and giving.

What does that say about who we are as a nation. We know what it says about the economy – people are so desperate to get a break they will resort to all manner of behavior to get it. But what kind of people have we become? We’re surely not nice, or civil, or well mannered anymore. We are reduced to feeling entitled to take what we want by any means. David says, it was just one incident. But I’ll bet if you asked people who went shopping today, they will tell you that it was neither a pleasant or jolly experience. The gift of giving be damned – let’s take what we can for the least amount of money and tell our kids that the gifts we acquired were purchased with love in our hearts – and pepper spray in our back pocket. We’re just sayin….Iris

Thankfulnesses

This is the beginning of my end of the year blobs. They will neither be coherent nor will they be orderly –I am only hoping for an occasional laugh.

Sometimes I just feel like an old fart – which we all know, I am not. Well, at least not old. For example, I spend more time thinking about what happened to being polite? There was a time when good manners and simply being nice, were the standard for how a person behaved when other persons are involved. That civility seems to be absent when dealing with people who feel entitled. Young, old, it doesn’t matter. They would just as soon knock you over as they would share personal space. But, they have no sense of your personal space – all the space in th entire universe is theirs, so you just better move over. (Yes I did have had a number of encounters with the entitled).

But that’s not what I wanted to blob about. Last week we were in Montreal. We met with the Segal Center for the Performing Arts about, GFCtM. (For those of you who don’t pay attention, Gefilte Fish Chronicles, the Musical). They would like to produce it for their Yiddish Theater. Would my bubbe not be kvelling? So their vision is to do it in Yiddish and travel all over the world. We are all ok with this. I asked Paul, the artistic director, if he knows a great many young people who speak Yiddish. He doesn’t but they learn it phonetically and then they use subtitles (as for the Opera) in English and French. Hopefully, they will decide that the material is perfect for their program – but we will see. Fingers crossed everyone!

David is convinced that we are watching the end of the United States unfold in fast motion and right in front of us. He is a journalist and totally apolitical, but he is a concerned citizen and he is convinced that, as someone –anyone from Cicero or Shakespeare – said, when the time comes that the leaders understand how powerful they are and use it for personal gain, it is the end of that civilization. (I didn’t put it in quotes because I believe I paraphrased what was an astute observation). Oye Vey.

Speaking of Oye Vey, or in the In the realm of either “What were you thinking?” or “Are you kidding?”. Marthena ran over herself with her car. She is bruised and sore but she is fine. There was a time when I was going to write a book called “Oye Vey Es Mere Marthena,” because ridiculous things seemed to happen to us. But this one pretty much runs away with the prize. A bus hit her car, or she hit the bus. When she leaped out to see what damage had been done, she forgot to put the car in park and yes, it sneaked up behind her, and before she knew it, it had taken her down. When I say she’s OK I mean, while on the gurney, she made sure to get her purse, shoes, coat, call her husband and probably had a sandwich. Her foray to the hospital, although painful, was, considering the severity of the bruising, fairly brief. Her son was with her to take her home, get her into bed and administer drugs. Get well cards are unnecessary but prayers and good wishes can’t hurt.

It is one day away from Thanksgiving. This is the time of the year we think about the things for which we are thankful. Of course, I have a list. But it’s much too serious, rather predictable, and not the clever I like to be. Things like, wonderful family, incredible friends, good health and Medicare are on the top. But what about the middle and the bottom of the list? There isn’t a middle or a bottom. I am grateful that my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, (all those genetically connected), gave me the good sense to make the right decisions—although somewhat questionable at times – mostly they turned out to be OK. Almost no regrets, (except I should have been medicated when I was twenty one) Almost no apologies (except to my son and that’s nobody’s business). Life is good. The glass is half full. Maybe even five-eighths. Who really cares about the pilgrims? Happy eating…. We’re just sayin’… Iris

What the ????

What the……?

There must be something in the air, aside from general air schmutz. If you need an explanation of schmutz, just try taking a deep breath. Here’s what I mean: Conrad Murray, despite the testimony of an 86 year old loving patient was found guilty. The speculation was that because jurors don’t like to convict doctors – I believe the description was “he is quite a presence in the court room, he looks like a doctor.” Now there’s a good reason to set him free. Clearly, there was a need to blame someone for Michael’s death. Clearly, Dr. Murray did not understand the consequences of having Michael die on his watch. They certainly weren’t going to blame the ‘plastic surgeon to the stars’, who may have caused Jackson’s addiction – but has too many important patients. And besides, he said he loved Michael, he only wanted him to be beautiful. And I say, what the….?

At one point, before my mother died, she was 86. There is no way she would have ever testified against her doctor. It wouldn’t have mattered if he gave her pep pills or cyanide, she loved him. We found that love (i.e. catering to an old person’s need have attention) is not enough reason to be confident about the kind of care she was getting. But there was no way she would leave her doctor, so we had to physically remove her from his care. Which is to say, looking like a doctor and presenting testimony from an elderly person, isn’t a reason enough to find someone innocent. At the same time, who is really guilty? Michael was a grown up person, who did not take responsibility for himself. It seems unfair to blame anyone who was really trying to help. Regardless of competence, Michael thought Dr. Murray was that person.

The other day, and I may have mentioned this before, I saw the Kris, walking down 3rd Ave and about 61st street in NY. (Yes, that Kris). It was after the marriage to Kim, and before her decision to divorce him. There was that 10 minutes. One has to assume it was her decision because according to E!: "He's just training and working out again, getting ready for basketball season. He's taking it day by day and surrounding himself with family and friends in Minnesota." Who would go to Minnesota (with the weather being what it is), if it wasn’t to recover? What the…? Why would she have put that lovely guy through all that crap? (I don’t know him personally, but he was awful cute, and tall.) Yes, she’s a media whore. And yes, she’s good at her job (being a media whore.) Encouraged by her mom and family (what did they do to Bruce Jenner’s face?) she made such a fool of that wholesome all American. (I don’t know him personally, but he looked clean cut.) Is she just incredibly mean, or does she not understand the consequences of screwing around with someone’s head. Mom (her’s, mine is dead) was talking about it today. She thought the SNL skit was hilarious. They all did. She has always encouraged her children to have a sense of humor. (Sure, they thought it was funny.) It’s just too bad that they didn’t share the joke with Kris before he bought the ring – or was that another part of the freebie wedding package.

Obama is acting Presidential again. Better late than never. Or is it? What the….? Why did he wait three years before he decided to be the President? From what I’ve heard, there is a difference between running a campaign and running the government. The way messages are delivered is different. Politics is not good training for governing. It is excellent training for eating unhealthy food. It is also excellent training for adjusting to time change, and more than frequent traveling. But it does not prepare anyone for leading a nation or, for that matter, dealing with bureaucracy. It does not prepare anyone for dealing with the consequences of inaction, foolish compromise, or imprudent decisions.

But I’m willing to give the guy a break. Not that he needs it from me, but as a good citizen what are the alternatives? The only thing I would appreciate is if he stopped negotiating and started to kick some ass. We’re just sayin’… Iris

You Never Know.. Do You...

I m just back a week now from a wonderful week in Adelaide, Australia.. where the Australia Institute of Professional Photography had their annual "Event"... a four day get together, primarily for Portrait and Wedding photogs, but also including Editorial, and a smattering of Advertising shooters. They had a great program, and wrangled me into being the Keynote speaker [not sure why that's any different from just SPEAKING... especially at 815am on a Monday!] but the audiences were attentive and the rooms full. You can't ask for any more than that... I gave to presentations, one a walk through my career, the other having to do more with your own projects, and the kinds of things which you might do even though you're not paid for them. Great hospitality, and a wonderful group. If they ask you to come, don't hesitate. That said, be advised that the US dollar, in it's ongoing Fed-fed tumble from Currency du Jour to not quite so Current.. is about equal to the Aussie Dollar. That makes things really expensive... (it used to be .60US = 1AUS$ ) But it's a great place ... and while it takes time to get there... it's more than worth it. Yesterday I received an email from one of the photographers who attended the sessions, and I was so moved by her note that I reproduce it here. Thanks Pam!

from Pam McClure:


David,

I was fortunate enough to attend both of your sessions at the recent Nikon Event
hosted in Adelaide by the Australian Institute of Professional Photographers.

I think, as human beings, most of us hope we will positively impact the lives of
at least one person during our short stay on this earth. I certainly aspire to
that. Often though, whilst we see the overt signs, we never see how deep that
impact is. Is it actually possible for someone (besides Mother Teresa and the
like) to have such a profound effect that someone might change the course of
their lives?

In my late 40's, I am a late comer to the world of professional photography and
am still working as a paramedic while I build my photography business. Since
returning from Adelaide, I have committed to many of the practical ideas to work
towards a successful business. Your sessions however, didn't so much offer
practical, business tips but have certainly had a huge impact on me.

History is a powerful thing. When I visited Tiananmen Square, I stood and let
myself be consumed by the power of the events in 1989. I crouched down to
touch the cobblestones of the Forbidden city and quietly reflected on the
thousands of years of history that had also touched them. The significance of
the ancient history of the Great Wall and Xi'an and then all of the temples
around Angkor Wat and the modern history of Cambodia were not lost on me. In
each case I was overcome by the experience.

After your session, I approached you and asked to shake your hand. I was still
overcome by the power of your stories. It wasn't just the insight you gave us
into the 'behind the scenes' of historical events - the humour and the tragedy,
but the way you presented all of this as a 'normal' person and showed that you
had been touched by events, that made everything so much more powerful. I thank
you for your generosity in sharing your experiences and the extraordinary images
that document them. You are a living history book.

As inspired as I was, especially travelling your journey of mistakes and lucky
coincidences that made you even more real, I admit that I walked away thinking
that what you did/do was out of my reach. You had gained your reputation over
many years. Your stories were of interest to everyone and you had been in the
thick of world history in the making. I had no hope of such experiences and
wasn't sure I could apply anything.

This week, my first job back on shift, as a paramedic, I met a 90 year old man
who required transport to hospital. He was a frail old thing but chatted away
as I attended to him in the back of the ambulance. Alex talked to me about
some of his experiences in his younger days. In our short, 20min journey, he
told me about one day that turned his life around. He was fighting in Russia
with the Italian army. Conditions were freezing and he had frostbite on all of
his toes and was crawling along the ground because he could no longer walk.
The group that he was with were all in a bad way when they came across an enemy
patrol. As was the expectation, from both sides, it was shoot to kill. In a
matter of a couple of seconds, he watched the other two members of his group
shot and killed by two of the enemy patrol. He realised what was coming and
looked up to see his executioner with gun poised to shoot him. He accepted his
fate and made the sign of the cross. The enemy soldier lowered his weapon and
walked towards Alex. He never said a word but bent down and picked Alex up,
hoisting him over his shoulders. He carried him to a nearby train that was
taking 3000 prisoners to a war camp. He placed Alex onto one of the flat bed
carriages and said "Good Luck" then walked away. Alex said it was the most
powerful experience of his life and that he viewed all men as one after that,
regardless of race, colour or creed.

Needless to say, I was very moved by the stories of this old man and, 4 days
later, he is still very much on my mind.

I have decided, taking my inspiration from you, that everyone has a story and,
while it may not be significant in the global scheme of things, it is of value
to someone. I want to tell some of these stories. They will not win me
recognition or make me money but, of far more value to me, I think they will go
some way toward that hope that I mentioned earlier, of deeply touching someone's
life in a positive way. Something beyond the overt signs I see regularly of the
impact of my job.

So after that long-winded essay, my point is that, by sharing what you did, you
have had a profound effect on my life and the path I have decided to explore.
Thank you. Well, that and the fact that, as a digital photographer who had an
analogue Mamiya 645 sitting in a cupboard that I've never used, you imagery
inspired me, so that the moment I walked in the door from the airport, I
retrieved it. I can't wait to develop my first roll.

Thank you again for your generosity in sharing your knowledge, experience and
expertise.

Kind regards

Pam McLure

You Get What You Pay For

The question about why I am not writing about politics anymore was easily answered before this election season. It was because I didn’t think I knew anything. Suddenly, it struck me that this was a ridiculous reason because, hardly anyone who comments or talks about politics knows anything more than I know. And I wrote a book about the subject – “So You Think You Can Be President.” It’s a bi-partisan approach to government and politics. We spare no one regardless of party. And whoever can answer the questions should be the President because it means that they read the book, which is in itself, an important education.

While listening to the news over the last few days I paid particular attention to the pundit rhetoric. There is not an original thought. Maybe it’s because they expect to get paid for advice, so they hesitate to say anything real. There was a period of time when I wanted to set up a “Lucy” kind of political advice stand on the corner of K and Connecticut in downtown DC. There would be two signs. One would say, “Political Advice – Free.” The other sign would read “Good Political Advice --$10.” This merely means, and you have heard it before, you get what you pay for.

Because I am no longer involved in politics, I feel fine about giving good and original advice—for FREE. (You still get what you pay for). Here’s what I mean. The banter about the Republican candidates goes something like this. Rick Perry is no longer a front runner…. Well just a minute. Cain took his votes and if Cain goes down in flames, then those votes will likely go back to Perry. And maybe he can be the front runner. Newt is not a serious candidate --wait a minute. He’s the best debater, he’s stayed alive through all the controversy, and in South Carolina last week, 400 people showed up for an event at Chick-fil-a. Maybe we are underestimating the Chick-fil-a factor and he could be a front runner. Mitt Romney waffles on every issue. He cannot get beyond the 20% mark. He will never be the front runner. He cannot win the nomination. Just hold on there. Mitt is the tortoise in a race with lots of rabbits. Maybe he doesn’t waffle, he reads and learns and once he is educated, in a most thoughtful way, he changes his mind. Okay, well maybe Mitt can get to be strongly opinionated and he can be the front runner.

Then this tonight. Hillary is one of the only members of the Obama Administration who defends the President.

If I were updating my book here would be my first question.

A. Isn’t it time to fire everyone in the Administration who doesn’t.
B. If Hillary is going out of politics, what is she thinking.
C. Homeland Security’s policies on immigration are one of the reasons the economy is failing.

And speaking of Homeland Security, my second question:

If you were the President of the United States the first bureaucracy you would break up is
A. Homeland Security because they are so large the left hand doesn’t even know if the right hand exists.
B. Homeland Security -- because visas do not belong in the same place as the Secret Service and FEMA
C. Homeland Security because there is not a person making decisions who knows anything about the subject matter on which they are deciding.
D. Need I go on

Obviously no need. Here’s my point. There is no point. In the past, I would have listened to every show, every talking head, everyone who had anything to offer about anything political. It all sounds the same to me. Even people I know, like, and respect will have nothing substantive to offer, until there are two front runners or one nominee. But I do intend to keep blobbing about the campaigns, and the election and ultimately, the old or new government. Hope you enjoy it, but remember, you get what you pay for. We’re just sayin’… Iris

Yechhhhh, It's Too Early For Winter

When I lived in Massachusetts, a few too many years ago, I loved the State but I hated the weather. It’s surprising that when you are in college, you hardly ever notice the weather. Probably, because you are too busy having fun to notice anything -- but having fun. In fact, in about 1966 on May 30, we were at Dartmouth for a spring weekend, and it snowed. I hardly blinked. But once you are out of school, you do begin to take notice of things like, how to make a living, what path you want your life to take, and the fact that there is usually 10 months of winter. My first husband used to say that the weather weighed heavy on my personality – any weather, but especially the cold. Blah blah blah—Sure I was in a bad mood when it was snowy, cold, or rainy, but that’s what the majority of days are in New England. It’s one small reason he’s no longer my husband. But that’s another blob which you will never read.

Moving to Washington DC was the best remedy there was for my personality. There was cold and snow and rain, but it was different. Usually the weather was OK. It was hot in the summer, but everything was air-conditioned. It snowed, but by the time it ended it was usually melting –except when Barry was Mayor and in Florida and it snowed 3 feet. In DC there is no snow removal. We call it the “Lord giveth and the Lord take it away”, attitude about snow removal. It's not that it doesn't snow, it's just that they are in permanent denial about what happens in winter. So I learned to live with the inconvenience of snow a few times a year, but it was nothing like New England.

Moving on. Living in Virginia was splendid—in terms of the weather. Except every 17 years when there was a locust infiltration – some call the bugs by other names, but they are locusts. Okay, another inconvenience – but not like having to deal with 2 feet of snow every other week. Then, one day you wake up and you do not belong in Virginia or politics anymore. Where do you go? For me it was NYC. Ah, the Big Apple. The Great White Way. Times Square. Uptown, downtown, all around the town. But a person with as much stuff as David has cannot live in a one bedroom apartment with little storage.

We bought a house in Upstate New York. Newburgh NY. A place where half my family lived and with which I was incredibly familiar. It’s a place I never thought I would live. A. It’s snowy and wintery. B. I never liked it when I liked it. But, A. There is wonderful family there. (And for someone who hasn’t lived with family for many many years), it is quite a joy. B. The house, (which I love), is not one that I ever thought we would buy. It has too much property. It has no garbage disposal. There is septic, instead of sewers. Oh yes, and it is heated by oil.

What is all this leading to? The weather. It snowed on October 29th. Before Halloween. Geez. We had no spring, we had no summer because all it did was rain, and now we will have moved right from the non-summer to not having a fall. Right to winter. We’re going to have 10 months of winter. It’s clearly a flashback to my life in New England. But hold on. I am not miserable, or even in a bad mood. Sure it snowed earlier than ever recorded, and yes, we lost power for a few hours. But I am delighted to call it home and I am thrilled I can weather, the weather.

How Do You Spell H A L L M A R K ?

There I was riding along, on my way back into the city, and, as usual, thinking about whom I needed to call. Why do we all think we need to be in touch all the time? Further, why, when we are driving somewhere, do we think we need to answer the phone? The obvious answer is that, we ‘need’ to think we are so important that when we can never be out of touch. Someone always needs us want to connect. What horse pucky. But that was not what I wanted to blob about. As I rode along, looking at the beauty of the leaves, and feeling incredibly good about my life, I thought … ‘it’s about time.’

But there are some things from which we cannot escape.. like our mothers. Now I don’t want you to think this is a morose blob about mom, because it isn’t. But today I paid special tribute to the Rose by watching non-stop Hallmark Channel Movies.

Rosie’s three favorite shows were Judge Judy, Dancing with the Stars, and anything on Hallmark, especially the movies. In honor of Halloween the movies were about a “Good Witch.” Yes, there is a “Good Witch” series. It begins with Cassandra’s arrival to somewhere in Massachusetts…maybe. Not clear which state but it’s about witchcraft so I assume it’s Massachusetts. Anyway, much to the chagrin of the Mayor’s wife, Cassandra opens a store called ‘Bell, Book, and Candle” (how Kim Novak can you get?) Yes, there lot’s of drama, but eventually, Cassandra, with whom the police chief is in love, defeats the mayor’s wife and lives happily ever after. It turns out that the ‘Good Witch” movies are a series. How my mother would have loved that and become obsessed. The next movie was about Cassandra almost losing her home and heritage – she doesn’t. And the third revolves around the wedding of Cassie and the Chief of police on Christmas Eve.

Who knows what’s going to happen at 9:00 pm, a new and never before been seen movie about Cassie and her family. I can hardly wait. Mom would have been happy beyond words.

Mom enjoyed getting involved in stories. She hated soap operas, but she loved drama. Whether it was the drama of a game show, or the drama of a court show, she delighted in the outcome.

Now that she’s gone, and we miss all her idiosyncracies, it’s easy to watch the programs she would have loved, and pretend that we like them too. But the truth is, I do like them. They are safe. You don’t have to worry about topic or language. They are a safe place to be. And not only does it make me think about Mom, but it also takes me to a safe and happy time. Miss her, yes? Miss using her as an excuse to watch brainless TV – even more. We re just sayin’… Iris

A Celebration of Lives

"Happy, happy birthday babies". They would have been 91. It doesn't feel like they're permanently gone. The only time that the loss is unimaginable, is when you need an answer to a question and the 'answerers' are no where to be found. Things like; 'on which holiday do we light a memorial candle?' Or, "do we need to sift the flour before we make the cake?" Or," who is the person in the picture that we don't recognize?" Or, "With eight kids and two bedrooms, who slept where?" Or, "Where did you put that great black sequin dress"?

These were questions that would always lead to some kind of a discussion. While, not quite a conversation, it was also not quite an argument. Except it was usually loud and started with "What are you talking about? That is not true!" Or, "It certainly did not happen that way." Or, "Are you out of your mind". You get the idea. A confrontation of some sort, was how they expressed, not only their opinions, but their love. Yelling was an art form that they developed with years of practice. They were never yelling at you. They were just yelling... probably to be heard because there were always so many voices at once.

If you weren't part of the family, then it was likely you never heard any of these squabbles. They were particularly deft around strangers. We always said, "They were very good with strangers." Strangers thought they walked on water. So sweet, so kind, so generous, so charming.... And they were, but we were often in awe at their ability to become a whole other person from the one we knew. Don't misunderstand, they did not pretend to be anything they weren't. It was just that they had different personalities depending on the people in the room. They were, however, always consistently loving and very funny. They didn't always know they were funny - but it didn't matter. And, whether you were talking about the twins (Rosie and Peppy) or any of the eight, they seemed to have one mind. Yes, they argued all the time, but they also never needed to talk to know what one of the others was thinking.

The sibling's, Betty, Jack, Sarah, Sophie, Fritzie, Helene, Peppy and Rosie, if you take the spaces out between their names, (bettyjacksarahsophiefritziepeppyrosie), they become one character who I have always thought of as Lekish. Not to exclude their spouses, who are certainly a part of the whole picture and a good part of the color. So, today, on the RosiePeppy birthday, I will light birthday candles for all of them (and no it's not just an excuse for cake.) I will sing my heart out,loud as I can, in my terrible voice. I will think about all the joy, laughter, and "schpilkes" they brought us for all of our lives. And I will miss them.... even more than last year and probably less than next year.... We're Just Sayin ....Iris

So Many Questions

Maybe someone can explain to me how we all went from being optimistic and so hopeful about the 2008 election, to being so disappointed about what has happened over the past few years. OK, you’re right, it is likely that I wouldn’t listen. But that’s not the point.

When I awoke to the news that we were sending 100 troops to Uganda, it was like a bad dream. It’s not 100 troops, it’s a hundred people… probably young people. People we know, maybe even love. And what for? It has to be more than the Pentagon needed somewhere to send those people who were hanging around in the halls. Or maybe not. It’s clear that the Pentagon is making those decisions. The White House never does.

Yesterday at a NFL game the announcer stopped to salute the men and women who are serving in 175 countries around the world. I was appalled. Not because they wanted to salute the military personnel serving around the world. I was on the USO National Board and I love the troops. Why the Pentagon doesn’t take care of those who have served, (as well as their families) is an issue that is indefensible. We all agree that there is a need for much more than a free ticket for a football game, and a salute, but that’s not what upset me.

We are in 175 (now with Uganda 176) countries? What are we doing in all those places? Maybe they count includes Marine guards at Embassies, but where is our common sense? Martin Luther King had a dream. We can give lip service to how important peace in our nation and the world should be. And then we look around the world and we see there is not much peace anywhere. If we discount the police fighting with protestors, and we disassociate poverty and violence as part of a worldwide problem, we might find the dream. It is, however, unlikely.

We have spent billions of dollars on technology, developing weapons, and sending people and resources to people in other countries. Not all of those countries welcome our so called “support,” but we don’t even ask anymore. Well, maybe we ask corrupt leaders, but we certainly don’t ask the people. We eliminated our public diplomacy mechanism to do this. Let’s say we asked all the people in the world to raise their hands if they applauded an American presence. Then we asked all the people in the U.S. if they would rather send aide abroad or concentrate on fixing the problems we have here. Just think about the number of hands that would suggest we take care of our own infra structure, education, jobs, and health concerns. (We know no bankers or Wall Street Titans would lift their arms – but that’s a given.) As well as the number that hope we will just leave them alone and mind our own business.

It is extremely depressing to think about the consequences of our haphazard foreign and domestic policies, but think we must. And maybe even demonstrate our displeasure. And maybe even send a dollar to those brave and frustrated citizens, who have taken over Wall Street to express concerns, not only about wealth and greed, but about injustice and corporations breaking the law. Maybe we should bring all our troops home and send them to Wall Street to bond with other people who care about this country. We’re just sayin’… Iris

Goin' Home Again?

Thomas Wolf was not altogether wrong when he wrote that “You Can’t Go Home Again.” We often invoke his title in our lives, but when you really ARE trying to go home, it becomes a very different, very personal matter. I was in Salt Lake City ten days ago for the opening at the Utah Museum of Fine Arts of a photographic show of some of my work … “Too Close.” It’s a set of pictures taken from news and newsy kind of events of the last forty years, which stand back from the subjects, giving the more context to the scene, showing, more or less, just what I saw when I took that picture. Over the years when mom still lived in Salt Lake (up until about 4 years ago) we would regularly drop by the Museum on trips home, and mom would berate the poor volunteer at the front desk, beseeching that her talented son (yes, me!) ought to be on display there.
RFK at BYU, 1968
Well, it finally happened this fall. A 53 piece show beginning with Bobby Kennedy’s campaign in 1968, and ending with a picture of the Space Shuttle launch two years ago. In between are a mix of politics, news, some pretty famous, and relatively unknown folks. The most interesting thing about it is the ability to just stand in front of the picture and study all the details. Always a lousy caption writer, and envious of tough minded wire guys who would ask someone’s name, age, and hometown no matter how awful the scene, I have presented a set of pictures which are full of mostly anonymous subjects, aside from the Presidents and Ayatollahs, who we all seem to know by heart. Thirty, forty years on, I really wish I’d written down some of those names. [LangVeiGI] I’d love to know what’s happened to these people.

When you’re young and impetus, as I suspect I was, those kind of details mattered less, and the fact that I worked mainly for weekies (Time, Life …) the names seemed to be less of an issue than it would have been were I shooting for a wire service or a daily paper. Too bad for me.
A patron of the arts...UMFA

Mt. Olympus, seen from "home"
I went to SLC in time to help hang the show, work on the order of presentation, and arranging of the double-hung images (there was only so much wall space) and in the end, I think it looks pretty damn good. We had a crowd which included some cousins and my dear Aunt Esther (who will be 99 this Christmas day, and no doubt sending out dozens of emails when she does… she is addicted to email!), and at least 150 people who weren’t related to me. Yes, actual citizens. That was gratifying. I spoke for about an hour describing my early days in the Olympus High darkroom, and how it led to a career which has seemed to fly by in a hurry. I’m getting tired, in speaking about my work, of using the phrase “… well.. thirty six years ago…” everytime I mention a photograph. But at the same time, I’m happy as a lark that I’m still able to be taking pictures, and some good ones, sometimes even for the same folks I worked for 37 years ago. I realize that life is meant to fly by on its own schedule, not necessarily our own.
a "young" D-Day vet at a lunch sponsored by the French, Omaha Beach -1974 (the 30th anniversary)
In 1974 I went for the first time to Omaha Beach on occasion of the 30th anniversary, and met some of the D-Day veterans, many of whom later became every-5-year reunion acquaintances. Even know I wonder if those vets, as they grew older, would look back upon D-Day with the same wistful wonderment I do over things I did in the 70s and 80s, which seem so close, so recent that the numbers feel like lies. Stories I worked on in 1979 still feel like they might have been last year, or last month, but certainly NOT 32 years ago. It’s really true that what our parents always said… that time only goes faster, is as true as “you can’t go home again.”

the Creek and stone bridge
Well,, I tried to go home again. Or at least near home. Mom and dad sold our original Cottonwood house in about 1990. Dad’s driving had deteriorated, and without much fanfare (which always amazed me) they sold the house in the country, the one with the 300’ driveway, the big field in front where the entire neighborhood played baseball season after season in the 50s, and where my pal Jamie Atwater and I would find a surplus of dirt clods near by when we wanted to play Junior Marines. They bought a house conveniently located adjacent to the 6th fairway at The Country Club, and he was able to just “walk to work,” simply crossing the 6th, and in two minutes was at the Pro Shop, ready to report for his next round of 18 holes. After WW2, with some great degree of clairvoyance, my granddad and his two brothers bought 31 acres in what was then the june-grass covered boonies off 6200 South. It was ten miles from downtown. There was a #16 Holladay bus which would come about once an hour, and take the long, plodding trip to downtown, and which we used to go see a variety of scary 1950s horror movies in the years before my bike or a car would get me there. On that plot of land were a total of four family houses, each separated by enough distance that if you hiked thru the june grass for half an hour, plucking the sharp hay colored schrapnel from your socks as you’d go, you might see a dead deer carcass sooner than a cousin’s driveway.
Grandma Atwater's...
Dad would occasionally go into the back yard with a two-wood and a few old, cut Titlest golf balls, and aim them over the trees towards Aunt Molly’s house. She was the grand dame of the family ( a 5’ 0” version, who when she drove her oversized Cadillac gave the impression of a driver-less car, that impression betrayed only by the sight of two hands reaching up to the wheel to attempt to steer it.) I don’t think dad ever hit a window, but now and then when we’d head over to swim at Molly’s pool, we’d see a few golf balls on the lawn which had been launched from our back yard.

Once mom & dad sold the house, the rest of the cousins thought, why hold on to this when so few of us are there. So they formed a corporation, put all the land into it, and sold it off as a newly fancy soon to be gated community called Roseland. Over the last 15 years, a dozen or so gigantic homes (the 4 or 5 bay garages are as big as our house was…) which have replaced those somewhat reasonable 1940s homes which previously habitated there. On the Friday after my show opened, I drove out to the old family homestead and took a little look around. The ever moving Cottonwood creek which was next to our house was still snappily clear with very drinkable water, the stone bridge where Jamie and other neighbor kids and I would hang out is unchanged. There is a big gate at the entrance of our old driveway, and it felt absolutely extrusive (what is the opposite of intrusive?) I walked the short length of 23rd East where our mailbox (often replaced when vandalized by neighborhood kids) had stood, and peered into the grove of trees across the street where Grandma Atwater (Mary Meigs Atwater, one of the legends of modern Native American weaving ) had lived with her obstinate Doberman, Duchess. I say obstinate but Duchess really only ever bit me once, a lunged-at nibble on the forehead when I’d confronted her in the grove one day. I was too young to be naturally afraid of Dobermans, but I think that since then I have been more than a little suspicious of them. I realized that even for the people who bought ‘our house’ twenty years ago, that it’s starting to feel like a long time ago. We’ve just moved into a house which has whole set of grown ups who grew up there in the 60s and 70s, and while I would happily welcome them into “our place” to have a look around, I suspect they would see it as very nearly alien territory, filled with our tastes, our things, and bear little relationship to what they knew when they were four, watching Sesame Street. Maybe we are meant to float around from place to place, and those of us lucky enough to actually have a choice in the manner can usually turn what might be gut wrenching and frightening into a soft landing. But there is something in the human psyhe that longs for the familiar, and no matter how much we may think of ourselves as a “mobile society,” destined to be on the move, that place we think of as “home” will forever sit warmly in our hearts. We’re just sayin’… David

the Extrusive Gate at our old driveway

the telephone pole on Fardown Ave. where I first clobbered the passenger side of the Plymouth, circa 1963

Our Stevie

Dear friends. We wish you A happy and a health new year. May your year be sweet, like apples and honey. May god write you into the book of life for one another year. OK God, what are you thinking. what is the idea of "Not so fast Mr. Daley ."

It is unimaginable to think about a political season, yet alone the rest of our lives, without Steve Daley. My Stevie, as I fondly called him to piss him off, died last week. It is unclear exactly when, but the day is not as important as the loss. And it is a gi-normous loss not only for those of us who were friends, but those of us who were readers and students and just fans.

There will be obits in the Chicago newspapers, not because he lived there, but because he worked there. And then he didn't. But I'm not going to waste precious blob space on stupid people who made idiotic decisions. Steve wasn't just a wonderful talented political expert, an incredible sports writer, and an incredible story teller. He was a comforting drinking and eating companion. I could always count on him to share a vodka, some red wine and a glob of caviar or some lobster on any occasion. It is nearly impossible to imagine Stevie, as a "he was"because he will always be an "he is" for us. There are no words of comfort to offer, to make anything better. There is a permanent hole in our hearts. The only thing that makes me smile is thinking about Daley and MacNelly, riding around in heaven, in a big old heavily-finned Desoto, smoking cigars, totally lost, and unwilling to ask directions just to sooth the urge to navigate. . Because if anyone can be lost in a cloud, it would be those two amazing characters. We’re just sayin’…. Iris

EVERY Once in a While....

Every once in a while, when I watch some random TV show, I find that I am touched in unusual ways. “Biggest Loser” is often inspiring. Any of the “Housewives”, is or are appalling. And, tonight I found Extreme Makeover embarrassing. I was not embarrassed by the show, it was great. It was embarrassing because they built a new place to house homeless women veterans. ABC had to do something for which the Pentagon refuses to take responsibility. They brought to the attention of the public, that there are numbers of women, who at no small emotional or financial cost, served their country.

They paid a visit to the White House, because the First Lady wanted to be involved in the project. Her special project is military families. So there she was, Michelle giving tours and hugs, speeches and even flags. Not that I am cynical about her motives, it was very moving. It would be nice if her involvement continued to bring the much needed public attention to the issue of homeless veterans and assisting families. What happened to the Veteran’s Benefits of yore. As the children of a disabled vet, my brother and I had scholarships to further our education and my parents got a check every month – this continued long after my Pop died. When did the financial support, emotional support, health benefits, and gratitude for those who served, disappear. It seems that rather than find ways to offer ongoing help to the vet, the DOD, is now in the business of finding ways to avoid having to provide support of any kind. Just look at the number of homeless vets, and the vets who are now in the criminal justice system –yes, they are in jail fo any number of reasons – all related to their service.

It was a bit disappointing to see the White House exploited by a commercial TV show. It was uncomfortable to watch Michelle’s appearances as the centerpiece of the program. It was also disconcerting to see the hosts running around on the lawn and insisting they couldn’t build a replica White House without talking to the curator. Many things were a bit over the top. However, the volunteers (local and military) were genuinely committed to helping with the building as well as the mega adjustments these courageous women must make.

Anyway, Whether you disagree with Government policy, it is important to recognize those who served. And even more important to insist that this “entitlement” needs to be protected, nurtured and visible and not with what we have come to know as political “clap trap”. We're just sayin'...Iris

They Don't Listen, Anyway...

Sarah Reidy, Gov. Huntsman’s Presidential scheduler had this to say after the first GOP debate, (which I felt was not a debate, but rather a blood letting). “For years I have tried to prove that the GOP isn’t the Party of elitist, stereotypical people that lack compassion. When did creativity and growth become secondary to hate? Hearing the debate crowds go crazy over things like executions and the uninsured dying makes me sick and sad for my Party.”

This is what my mother would say to make her feel a little more comfortable; “Sarah dear, what is, is. Your Mr. Huntsman seems a very nice person. Maybe you should both think about changing parties.”

When I get up in the morning and go to the office to work on some theater project, you can often hear me say, “Thank God, I’m not in Washington. Sure I miss my friends and neighbors, but I don’t miss the politics. Who would ever have thought that elected officials, as well as political candidates and campaigns, would have lost not only their civility, but more importantly, their sense of humor. Everyone is angry and ready to do battle – but no longer with injustice. They are ready to kill for ideology.” And when I say kill, I mean that. Ron Paul said that sick people (old, young) without means or health insurance could just die – which of course they unfortunately will. Who ever would have thought of Social Security, as a Ponzie scheme? Or post high school education for all our children, no longer a goal for a nation that is now playing catch up with countries who we consider third world. We do not build anything, including infra structure.

It makes me sad more than angry (although I have my moments). The question about what happens to our children, their children, and generations to follow, is most assuredly, who knows – but it seems like there is no good news.

When we were in elementary school we were afraid or polio and the Communists, mostly in the Soviet Union and Cuba. We were told that they were out to get us. They hated Democracy and Capitalism. When we got to college there were classes that taught us about how the Communist countries were supporting third and fourth world culture nations by sending money and teachers. If a child learned about Communism from the time they went to school, they would grow to be good Communists. Maybe that happened in Cuba, then came the web – the technological information age. People were no longer in the dark about opportunity and other systems of government. Access to information was a key. External influences brought them down, down, up.

This is not the case for the United States of America. The arrogance with which our elected officials act, is shameful, even mind boggling. (And in a moment of supreme Irony, I’m reminded of G W Bush during the 2000 Presidential debates who thought what this country really needed was “a more humble foreign policy.” Right. The desire to run for State or Federal office for the good of the nation or constituency, is a rarity, with some exceptions (who happen to be my friends). It’s all about power and the need to stuff their ideology up an opponent’s tuchas. (The throat is easy, the tuchas is painful).

And it doesn’t seem to matter whether the power grabber is a Republican, Democrat, Independent or Libertarian. They don’t have to worry about means, or their health. They are taken care of forever and ever. In fact, even if a Congress Person chooses not to run or loses an election, they get to keep all the money they have raised. And don’t get me started about the parking passes. (No parking space was always a deal breaker for me).

Although I am saddened by where we are now. I am hopeful that these things will change. That sometime in the near future we will do something we haven’t done for too many years --- vote for a candidate instead of against someone who we think is a dope. We're just sayin'.... Iris

The Social Network: the REAL One

Last year when Jesse Eisenberg starred in the film depicting the rise of Facebook, anyone over the age of 10 could figure out that no matter how fine tuned the details of the film were, it certainly FELT like it was a fairly true rendition of those events. In a nutshell, a socially awkward geek figures out how to create online connections between people of vaguely similar interests. The film might have had any number of titles: “Poking the Ethers,” “My Face, Your Book,” or even just “Facebook Rising.” But instead, the producers chose to simply call it “The Social Network,” an almost generic name for a very specific project. And when we would mention the movie to each other in polite conversation, invariably “The” would be dropped; you’d simply say “…wasn’t Social Network spot on about ….” It’s a term that aside from sociologists or anthropologists, none of us would have used in the course of a normal week until the last half decade. It implies in a very obvious way, the interaction of humans, and in today’s context, it’s understood that this particular interaction has nothing to do with a breathing, living, drinking, exhaling, farting, grunting human being within … say… arms range. No, more precisely it refers to those people to whom you are ‘attached’ via certain interests, causes, and other similar traits in an online forum. It might be an interest in Libertarian politics, or cooking with shallots, or the neo-ancient art of wet-plate photography. The actual interaction takes place with a keyboard, a screen, and maybe a mouse or track pad, or if you’re newly hip and withit, maybe a forefinger on an iPad. It is merely perceived interaction. I can’t actually think of a case where modern day social networking is practiced without a computer-like device of some kind. Many of us have an aversion to sharing what we see as “private” information, and those folks tend to either not congregate on Facebook, or if they do, they don’t post a lot of thoughts/links/pictures. They are more browsers of other peoples’ pages than providers of their own. And then there are the kind of folks, and yes we all know them, who feel that Facebook is a place where every little scintilla of their lives should be shared. I’m constantly astonished by people who have incredibly slow conversations (you know, one sentence at a time, back and forth the over a day, or sometimes many days) about the most personal of things. One I recall was from someone who engaged in an open “chat” with her son about whether or not a certain doctor had a sympathetic bedside manner. The son had seen the doctor, and found him rather pushy. The mom “had never seen him be anything but nice.” They went on back and forth for a couple of days, till I finally was obliged to defriend her. I like her still, but I cannot keep up with the minutae of her life. Nor do I really want to. Hers is a network I don’t actually feel any obligation to be a part of. We try and choose those elements of networkness which work for us. But the last ten years have thrown a real wrench into how photographers view their work and yes, their own Social Networks.

There was a time (dare I call it the “golden age” of photojournalism?) when we photographers all still worked with that dainty and quaint material known as film. You loaded it into the camera, shot some modest amount of photos (normally 12 or 36) and then you would stuff the films into a big caption envelope, wrap it up in a bigger envelope and do one of three things: hand it off in the back of the union hall to a local messenger; leave it at the front desk of the hotel for a pick up by some anonymous courier, or drop it in a Fedex office, confident that the next morning said envelope would end up on your editor’s desk. Oh, how we long for those days. Having entered what could now be referred to as the “silicon age” of photography our lives have changed in ways we could never have imagined. Even back in the ‘golden age’ there were times when you would, usually a week after you’d shot something, pick up the magazine with your work in it. Sometimes it would turn around more quickly but often it was at least a week. You’d open the pages with great anticipation to see just what “New York” had done with your handiwork, only to discover, 5 times out of 6, that they’d chosen some crummy rendition of what you’d photographed, and completely missed the point. The first reaction would often be something like “geez, I sure wish I’d been able to edit that stuff before they got their mitts on it.” The unlikely idea of having the chance to edit our own material on deadline seemed about as likely as pigs flying. And I don’t mean the pigs that DO fly.

It was one of those pipe dreams, having that extra element of control over our work. Well, as they say, be careful what you ask for, as the ‘silicon age’ of photography started to change virtually everything. Memory cards were the new film. The need for those big caption envelopes disappeared almost over night. By 2003 the new digital reflex cameras started combining the quality, speed, and ease of use which would in a matter of a few years, render most film cameras to antique status. I’m speaking really of photojournalists who by definition are obligated to get their work to the “desk” as soon as they can. If you work for a wire service (like “A.P.”) you have rolling deadlines around the world that never end. As websites began to become popular and ubiquitous more unending deadlines would appear. The constant appetite for pictures created that giant sucking sound which you thought was jobs going to Mexico. No, it was just the world wide demand for photos, pulling them through the air towards a million websites.

What has it all ended up meaning for us poor photographers? Well, it means that at the end of a long day of shooting (14 hours on a Presidential campaign wouldn’t be unusual) instead of dropping the film in an envelope and heading out to grab dinner, you are stuck in your hotel room, transferring that day’s pictures to your laptop, editing them on the spot (oh, lucky us, we get to EDIT our own work!) and sending them on the ‘net to whatever the mother ship was, wire service, newspaper, or magazine. Even if you are quick, it adds another 2 to 4 hours to the day, sometimes more. You might get to bed before midnight, and wow, that tuna salad with the soggy bread the Room Service folks sent up really hit the spot. More often than not you jolt yourself awake, having just collapsed on the laptop keyboard with the bbbbbbbbbbbb key running amok on your screen.

The point is, for all the upside that digital has given us (basically it’s one thing: Speed) there are enormous downsides. For one, I remain isolated from my peers and pals, stuck in my room with MSNBC or Espn in the background while I try and wade through the pictures. What would I prefer? It’s easy: bring back the OLD Social Network. No, not Mark Zuckerberg’s version. The one that started operating just after my film was dropped off in its handy large envelope. The one that got us all together at the end of a long day of shooting politics, and gave us a chance to talk for a couple of hours over something more groovy than soggy tuna salad. The one that let us discuss what we had seen, what it meant, what tomorrow’s changes might be, and what sort of things we need to be on the lookout for. The one that actually let us be a social animal for a change. Talk, listen, talk, listen. That’s what real social networking ought to be about. Not clack-clack-clack-click-click-click. The kind that use a knife and fork instead of a mouse. A beer glass instead of a track pad. I want to be able to talk face to face with the sort of folks who, yes, I might “Friend” on FB. But more importantly I’d prefer spending some of that “upload, edit, and transmit” time with people whose opinions I value, and wisdom I trust.

In the world of the press photographer, those days seem to have just frittered away. You can spend all the time you want looking at your News Feed on Facebook, and updating your profiles on LinkedIn. I’ll try and get around to some of that stuff, but for me, the real Social Network, the one that makes me what I am, and helps me to be something better, is the round table at the pub, with a bunch of tired photoJ’s, their cameras piled in metallic mounds nearby, with a pitcher of Sam Adams being happily shared. We’re just sayin’….David

What is there to do

When there were no cell phones, did we still love everyone. did the 'love you, bye', just happen or was there a time when goodbye meant the end of the conversation, rather than a plea to confirm ongoing feelings. And just because you say, "bye, I love you"' does it actually mean, the call is over but I still want us to have a relationship.
don't get the wrong idea. It is not a problem for me to hear, "love you", regardless of the circumstances. For sure it is more meaningful than "I'm hanging up now, ugly pig snot". But when I hear it from people who I neither know or care about, I always find myself thinking, "geez, what do they say to people they really love? Or, maybe they don't have anyone to love, and because they say it to everyone, they never have to admit to that. This is getting far to deep, although, let me just say,(how could you stop me and just wait, I'm about to write a piece about the beauty of Colorado and the horror of the White House.) prefer a more committed sign off, like, I love you. or I miss you desperately, or, I cannot breathe without hearing you voice.
Mom, and her sisters, never said goodbye when they hung up the phone. And I can't remember a time when they ever actually told any of their kids that they loved us. Oh, there was always a kiss hello and goodbye, but "love you"' not that I can remember, they simply hung up the phone. It didn't matter if you were in the middle of a sentence or a conversation. However, we were never surprised if they picked up the conversation right where they left off, and expected you to remember what they had been saying.

In my new role as theatrical producer, I traveled to Boulder to see rehearsals for my latest production, " Slow Dance With a Hot Pick Up." It's a delightful show. Fresh, innovative, and musically worth the price of a ticket-- to what I would call, not your grandma's dinner theater. It is simply a wonderful way to spend an evening and support the arts, as well as keeping your budget in check.

Enough good news, let's talk about the White House. Ron Suskind has put down on paper what everyone who knows the players, has been in an Administration, or has friend on the inside, already knows. In 2008, I wrote a blob about the language used to announce employment in the new Obama Administration. "I'm going in" they would say--like they were going to prison. At that time, I felt this was somewhat telling. This new opportunity to serve the President and the public, was not an honor. It was a way to measure power and ego, and presented by those lucky enough to be chosen, as a punishment.

If you worked on "women's issues" (women know that all issues are women"s issues- whether it be war, childcare, or the economy), during the campaign, it became obvious very quickly, to all of the experienced female political operatives, that this group of "smart ass white boys", would create a hostile environment, for all the "girls", except Mrs Obama and Valerie Jarrod.

People in senior positions in the Clinton Administration, were often reluctant to fire anyone -- except the President, who threw any number of friends under the bus. And although we thought that wasn't nice, at least it sent the signal that right or wrong, having been Bill's friend before he got to the White House, was not a guarantee for a Presidential Appointment. So this President needs to stop surrounding himself with people who tell him what he wants to hear, and find a few people who will kick ass and get the government back on track. Firing people (even if you like them) for the good of the nation is as important as asking Congress to support a policy. We're just sayin... Iris

When there were no cell phones, did we still love everyone. did the love you, bye, just happen or was there a time when goodbye meant the end of the conversation, rather than a plea to confirm ongoing feelings. And just because you say, "bye, I love you"' does it actually mean, the call is over but I still want us to have a relationship.
don't get the wrong idea. It is not a problem for me to hear, "love you", regardless of the circumstances. For sure it is more meaningful than "I'm hanging up now, ugly pig snot". But when I hear it from people who I neither know or care about, I always find myself thinking, "geez, what do they say to people they really love? Or, maybe they don't have anyone to love, and because they say it to everyone, they never have to admit to that. This is getting far to deep, although, let me just say,(how could you stop me and just wait, I'm about to write a piece about the beauty of Colorado and the horror of the White House.)prefer a more committed sign off, like, I love you. or I miss you desperately, or, I cannot breathe without hearing you voice.

Mom, and her sisters, never said goodbye when they hung up the phone. And I can't remember a time when they ever actually told any of their kids that they loved us. Oh, there was always a kiss hello and goodbye, but "love you"' not that I can remember.
they simply hung up the phone. It didn't matter if you were in the middle of a sentence or a conversation. however, we were never surprised if they picked up the conversation right where they left off, and expected you to remember what they had been saying.

In my new role a theatrical producer, I traveled to Boulder to see rehearsals for my latest production, " Slow Dance With a Hot Pick Up." It's a delightful show. Fresh, innovative, and musically worth the price of a ticket-- to what I would call, not your grandma's dinner theater. It is simply a wonderful way to spend an evening and support the arts, as well as keeping your budget in check.

Enough good news, let's talk about the White House. Ron Suskind has put down on paper what everyone who knows the players, has been in an Administration, or has friend on the inside, already knows. In 2008, I wrote a blob about the language used to announce employment in the new Obama Administration. "I'm going in" they would say--like they were going to prison.
At that time, I felt this was somewhat telling. This new opportunity to serve the President and the public, was not an honor. It was a way to measure power and ego, and presented by those lucky enough to be chosen, as a punishment.

If you worked on "women's issues" (women know that all issues are womens issues- whether it be war, childcare, or the economy), during the campaign, it became obvious very quickly, to all of the experienced political operatives, that this group of "smart ass white boys", would create a hostile environment, for all the "girls", except Mrs Obama and Valerie Jarrod.

People in senior positions in the Clinton Administration, were often reluctant to fire anyone -- except the President, who threw any number of friends under the bus. And although we thought that wasn't nice, at least it sent the signal that right or wrong, having been Bill's friend before he got to the White House, was not a guarantee for a Presidential Appointment. one

It's Raining It's Pouring, and That's the Good News

When I peruse my Facebook page, I am always amazed at the number of people I know who are connected to me, but not with me as the common denominator. Is that too confusing. Oh well, It's a small world, isn't it... la la la la la ?

Not that you asked, but here's what I did today. It was raining - sometimes just a drizzle and occasionally, big fat drops. So I walked for hours, mostly without an umbrella. And I thought about a number of things.

The first was David's birthday. As a gift, I decided to let him go to a photo event unencumbered by his photo ignorant wife. Am I special, or what? Two, was the Republican debate, but that was actually one and a half. Two was President's speech. No matter how eloquent and comprehensive the speech turns out to be, the White House has set the bar so high (by making an inordinate number of stupid decisions), that there is no way to measure it's success or failure. Did anyone in the scheduling office get fired for the dumb ass consequences the President suffered a a result of their incompetence?

That being said, people have written to ask me if I have deserted the Democratic Party. And I have honestly answered, that I don't know if there is a Democratic Party anymore. The party that fought for women's rights, human rights, civil rights, universal health care, respecting the environment and not fighting any foolish war or wars. The party that understood the needs of the poor and did not condemn people for living out the American Dream.. If someone like Pataki ran for President, would I think about voting for a Republican? Well, it's going to be hard for me to vote for a Democratic President who doesn't know what it means to be a Democrat. So the truth is, I don't know.

In 1972, I worked for McGovern in Massachussetts, the only state where he won in the primaries. I am (and proud of it) a McGovern Democrat. With so many friends, we worked tirelessly for issues that made our lives better. We wanted peace, human rights, fairness in taxation, education for everyone who wanted it, jobs, representation for labor, and yes, "choice." No one I know, who had to have an illegal abortion or was involved with someone who did, (yes again, some were my best friends), would ever think about interfering with a woman's right to choose.

Today, I heard that the President was reshaping his image, cleaning house, and ready to fight the Tea Party on his own terms - whatever that means. I am not optimistic that anyone working in the White House, (including Chief of Staff Daley), has any idea how to turn things around. Nor am I convinced that the President's advisors (that seems an oxymoron) really think it's necessary. I will watch the Republican debate because I've always been fascinated by horror shows. And I will listen to the President's plan for putting people back to work because I adore science fiction. But to be honest I would be just as happily entertained by reading Broadway.com, and Variety. We're Just Sayin... Iris

Now, I'm Pissed....

Now I’m just pissed. The most important thing you can do a political technician is to check the schedule. Like you never schedule anything for a candidate, or the President of the United States, unless you have checked to see what else is going in the entire United States, that might intefere with your plans – such as the Republican debate (which has been scheduled forever) or the opening of football season, which comes to no one as a surprise. It’s like this White House cannot get out of its own way. First of all, if you knew there was going to be a Republican debate, why would you ever schedule the President to precede them, giving all of them an opportunity to comment (and snarkily so) of what you have said.

A joint session of Congress? What a weenie way out. A. You better have something to say. B. You better have something to say. Why not just address the public with whatever your ideas happen to be. Why not just say, “this is what I wanted to propose to the Congress, but they wouldn’t give ma a chance to do it.” Why not just kick a little ass.

Once again, the President looks like a jerk. Who in the world would schedule something at a time when there are other more interesting things going on—like a debate or the opening of football season. You wouldn’t unless your people were so incompetent or so out of touch that they had no idea there were other priorities.

Over the last few months I have found myself thinking, ‘why are we still in Afganistan,’ and ‘why are we bombing Libya, and why are we celebrating no deaths in Iraq this month.’ Why are we allowing people in this country to go without food, lose their homes, find it impossible to get jobs, and deal with a crumbling infrastructure, while we are rebuilding a country that doesn’t even want us to be there. Where are our priorities? Where is our heart?

OK oil companies, drug companies and big corporations can make all the money they want, but how do they see the poverty (poor working people) in this great Nation, and turn their backs. Yep, I am pissed. All the years of public service and political activism and we have come to a place where there is little if no civility among our elected officials, and where we can watch people lose their homes and starve to death.

When I was a young divorced mother, I lived in a car. It was not much fun. And I have always been mindful of the fact that I could wind up there again. As someone who spent a whole career in public service, I can tell you this – shame on us. Just shame on all of us. We’re just sayin’…. Iris

WeatherPorn

Steve, a friend who is also a poet, philosopher, and wordsmith said it best when he described the media reporting on the hurricane as weatherporn. There is no doubt that people needed to be warned, that another Katrina was to be avoided at all costs, and hurricanes are to be taken seriously. But, thank God, USA and TNT kept their regular scheduled programs, and TCM, felt no need to show old movies about hurricanes and earthquakes – although Clark Gable’s San Francisco is one of the best movies, ever.

Generally speaking, it was a wonderful weekend. My friends Soozie and Jane came up from Virginia to see “War Horse” and “14 flights”, a Fringe show. Both were excellent and totally different except for the level of anxiety which both shows produced in the audience. The news about hurricane Irene started in earnest on Thursday morning. When I say earnest, it means that the media hysteria started to mount on Thursday, reaching epic proportions on Friday and until the hurricane hit on Saturday – at which time the reports continued but the questions changed from, ‘where’s it going to hit?’ To ‘how much devastation did it do?’ How many lives were lost? And what were the “gruesomest” descriptions of the most horrible deaths. On the east coast, everything was cancelled, including my favorite TV shows, like “Sunday Morning.”

We merry band of maidens faere were determined not to participate in the hysteria. This was not easy when you think about the way in which Irene was described. Here are just a few of my favorite adjectives from our friends on cable and the network shows: Heart pounding, ferocious, howling, bracing, monster, vicious, brutal, cruel, vile. Clearly there was no good news. There was much ado about the path the storm would take. And, once it hit every weather forecaster took credit for predicting an accurate course of devastation.

It was when the chatter was so frenzied that we decided that we would watch the Weather Channel, but we would listen to the new recordings of “The Gefilte Fish Chronicles” rather than listen to the talking heads. We also decided not to be in the presence of anyone caught up in the weather porn. We did not rush out to buy supplies (aside from two bath stoppers at the Dollar Tree) nor did we take cover in anticipation of pending disaster. It was not that we didn’t take the storm warnings seriously. But it was impossible to take the media seriously. Talk about overkill.

Anyway, we managed to have a storm-free visit. The girls did not change any plans. They took the train home at noon on Saturday as they had planned. The only change I made was to stop at the airport and pick up my cousin Honey because she had no access to public transportation –there simply wasn’t any for her to take.
On Sunday, the pressure from escaping water, caused this manhole to imitate Old Faithful...regularly
The storm hit us in Newburgh late Saturday night. We lost a few tree limbs but not our power. It makes you wonder who is up in those trees, cutting the boughs and limbs down to a manageable size so that when they fall, they make nice little patterns on the deck. The waterfront and marina were hit pretty hard but recovery was quick and businesses were opened back up by Sunday night or Monday.




views from around the house...
Once the brunt of the storm was over, the rain died down, and the winds were no longer treacherous, people gathered at a local marina bar to share their stories, have a few Bloody Marys, and watch the Food network on TV. Somehow even with water knee deep on the sidewalks and torrents popping off the awnings, watching a Bobby Flay BBQ Throw Down seemed to make excellent sense. We’re just sayin’…. Iris

Jobs But Not Forgotten

He’s not dead yet, though in the minds of most of us, yesterdays’ terse announcment that Steve Jobs had resigned from APPLE as CEO perhaps made us think we’d lost the preeminent industrial designer of our time. Jobs laid it out in a short note, that “when” that time would come, he’d know it, and he would stand back and let the others take over. I never worked at APPLE, and besides a handful of recent promotional pieces I had only ever worked on the company photo book “So Far,” published in 1987, on the tenth anniversary of the founding of the company. For years, in the 80s the payoff for working on a “Day in the Life” photo book was to get a new Mac. Yet, like most folks who followed (and purchased) the growth of APPLE all these years, I felt a small but weirdly sincere connection with the guy whose product design seem to create goodies which, like a flower girl spreading petals in front of a bride, led us into this wacky 21st century world of electronics-running-our-lives and us thinking we run them. In the space of five years we have become a society where instead of accosting strangers on elevators or buses, the old fashioned way of interacting, we simply pull out out an iPhone, and pretend to be getting really important messages that will alter our lives for the better. Of course almost none of those important messages will really make anyones lives better, though we’re perhaps all richer for being able to call from the produce section at SAFEWAY and ask if we need bok choy, or do we have enough. Much of the stuff that APPLE makes falls into the category of ‘created demand.’ We all liked the idea, invented by SONY with the Walkman, of taking our music with us. And when Jobs turned the world of music upside down with iTunes… well that was all she wrote. (Who besides me is still trying to remember the PW on their iTunes account so old gifted songs from other peoples’ collections can be ‘legally’ played? I always just give up when it refuses to recognize my name and PW… so it goes.) But Jobs was one of those guys who was like Kelly Johnson, the legendary Lockeed designer. He came up with the P-51, the P-38 and the SR-71 Blackbird, a full forty years of world-class thinking out of the box. Not many of us are gifted with such talents. We might get to be a part of one big deal in a life time, but it’s rare when you can keep throwing stuff at the world and the world loves it.
the throngs throng to the Apple Store, 5th Ave.
Jobs might not have been THE sole designer of any of the great APPLE goodies, but his influence in terms of the constant surveillance of look, feel, functionality… It all comes down to that tag line they use: if you don’t have an iPhone, you don’t HAVE an iPhone. As a Droid X owner, I marvel at the photo capabilities of the iPhone. You can shoot a picture, and then, amazingly, just keep on shooting. What a concept. The Droid, you’re lucky to get one shot, and doubly lucky if it fires in the 5 second window you want it to. The second frame… well, its like the All-You-Can-Eat Sushi buffet, except you really only get one piece of fish until time passes and it deems you ready for a second. The damn iPhone just keeps taking high rez images when you touch the button. I agree, the button isn’t always in the handiest place, but when you look at what’s been done with iPhones in photography, it makes you want to sell your Nikon and Canon shares tomorrow. At some point, maybe Canon will add a mobile fone to the 5d Mark iii, but I’m not holding my breath.

When I think back to, say, the B-25, the twin engine bomber from WWII, I see more than just a plane which is designed to drop bombs on soldiers and ammo dumps (and, alas, a lot of cow pastures.) I see a really beautiful piece of industrial engineering, aluminum curves and deep-throated engines which are locked into a specific period of time, and which speak to the ability of people to create things which are a quantum leap beyond what went before them.
the B-25 line, circa 1944
The APPLE products are like that. They are (usually, not always) a leap ahead of what went before. They are fun to use simply because they are elegant in use. (Please, don’t beat me up about some silly IIe disc drive thing thing or early Mac which didn’t work, ok?) The point is, we have very few folks in our society who wield the kind of influence that Jobs does, and from whom you can see a long list of really hot products. Do iPhones and iPads really make us all “more productive?” It’s worthy of a long discussion, I guess. But in the end, we need a few people who are able to float really advanced designs, shepard them through the design and manufacturing process without losing the original mojo. Jobs was apparently one of those guys. And of course it remains to be seen if there are others at APPLE who have the same sense of taste, determination, and moxy.

I know the biggest mistake of my adult investing life took place in late 1997. I was in Silicon Valley, doing the TIME Man of the Year story on INTEL C.E.O. Andy Grove. Grove was the opposite of Jobs in many ways. (For example, I don’t think Andy demanded a 30$ Million Gulfstream as part of his package to stay with the company.) But he did understand the world of microprocessors and computers, and managed to lead INTEL from a company which was perilously close to folding, into the chip powerhouse of the 90s. It was during one of those afternoons when as the photographer, you’re just trying to stay up with your subject, follow him wherever he goes. Our deal was simple. He did his thing, and I just hung out and shot a few pictures. At one point Andy picked up a Wall Street Journal and started perusing the stocks page. “Wow,” he said, in a very understated wow voice. “Apple is $13 a share……”

Here is a hint: when you are hanging around with someone who really KNOWs what’s doing in a sector of business, and he says something like “Wow, Apple is $13 a share…,” take my advice. Take every penny you make on that job, and buy the stock in question. Had I done so, my approximately six grand (it was a long story!) fee would today be worth something like two hundred thousand. It’s not as if it’s all about the money, or even all about the stock. It IS about the fact that while the iPhone only has something like 30% of the mobile phone market, among the people I know its more like 75%. But looking ahead into the next decade, who is going to be the college drop-out who figures it out, and leads us all to the next step in stuff. Where is that kid now, in the computer lab? Starbucks, upstairs on his 7th espresso. I hope he’s somewhere. We need ‘em. We’re just sayin’… David