Half Way Through

At Track & Field (cr: Thorsten Baering) with the Speed Graphic
If you don't think that snags happen along the way, you just haven't spent quality time covering big-ass organized events. The Olympics is one of the biggest, if not the biggest that I have had the pleasure to be swept away by. The Chinese have added their own organizational flavor to the mix, like each host country does. The fear of horrible air pollution which preceded this week has largely been a non issue. Well, unless you breath for ten minutes through a Kleenex and see whats going in and out. But it has been far less odious than feared: I still have a pack of masks in my camera bag, one of the legion of goodies brought along to help us Westerners cope (pocket packs of Kleenex are worth carrying.) Trying to actually get good pictures remains a challenge. You are surrounded by a bunch of really good competitive people, most of whom you' d be happy to have a beer with (not that you have the time for a beer) but who at the same time would be pleased to just shoot your ass off, picture wise. I have been trying to continue shooting in the manner I started in 2004 in Athens.. slanting my lens focus to create a somewhat mildly surreal looking effect, to which it is my intention to help the reader to look at those elements in the picture which I think or wish my viewer to see. It began using the Speed Graphic (my old press camera) and has evolved into using some Canon lenses on a digital camera. My heart is really with the Speed.. you can't imagine how it has become the poster child of all long lost former film shooters. Like a comfy old B-17 (can that be said of a bomber?) which crew pass and slap on the nose for good luck, my Speed Graphic, nearly as old as I am, is the object of much affection here in Beijing. Much like any relic from a previous age (or the favorite uncle we all adored) it gets nods of approval from those who realize that the sudden and relentless move to digital photography has a price, and unsettling question of the finality of the images.

We shoot gigabyte after gigabyte, and every 6 months search for a new and final solution to the question of archival storage. At the Library of Congress, you can still see the Abe Lincoln at Antietam photograph by Alexander Gardner which has become part of our national history. Two years ago I photographed the original glass plate for a story on Lincoln. It is amazing to ponder: a 140 year old piece of 8x10" glass, showing the President and his aides, and still it is with us. Some digital pictures taken yesterday have already been accidently deleted.

Nixon in New York, 1968


Nixon announces his cabinet, 1968
I have pictures dating back forty years (John Kennedy 1963, RFK, 1968, Nixon 1968) and my negatives, while stored in a shoe box for all those years, still have all the information on them which went through my lens at the time. True I wish I'd been better at guiding the light of those images, but that is what growth, progress, and the ability to improve is all about. Yet, if I'm not careful. some of this morning's gigabytes of Michael Phelps winning another Gold medal could easily become toast, if the hard drives on which they are stored have even the slightest hiccup. We search as a group for proper archiving solutions to the digital wave, and so far none really works with the ease of a shoe box. The only thing we now about hard drives is that eventually everyone of them has, or will die. That is a certainty. But there is something about a shoebox which gives you a little confidence that, barring a flooded basement, those pictures will continue to be around for a while.

One of the things which plagues us, those of the cross over generation, is how to bring the old ways of working into the world of new equipment. I schlep the Speed around to the Olympic venues, trying to fake the use of my tripod as a slightly overdone monopod. Tripods are frowned upon, but try and shoot a 4x5 from a monopod: Can't do it. Now and then I am actually able to score an image which just wouldn't look the same, even in digital. There is something about the physics of the big camera that make things just have a different look and a different Bokeh (the "look" of the out of focus elements of the picture... we adore soft and sweet!) Frankly the hardest thing this year is to try and get beyond 2004, and not just mimic it, and it has been a real challenge. Working both systems means you are carrying way too much gear, and that wear-down element starts to slow you down after a while. Last night at the Mens 100m final, I shot with the 4x5 unaware that I hadn't loaded the frickin' film pack. I use 5 Grafmatics, ingenious 1940s design packs which hold six shots, but here is the key news: they only hold six shots IF YOU LOAD THE DAMN FILM! Trusting my lousy intuition is no longer good enough. When in doubt, open up the changing bag and make sure the film is where it's supposed to be. It's the only way to be sure, do it yourself.

On other notes, the logistics are not bad here. The buses run on time and that's the rub. They ONLY run on time. So if there are additional needs (after Track lets out at 11pm) there are still only the same one bus per half hour, instead of a dozen or so to take care of the extra rampaging pressies. As one wag (dont you love that term?) put it.. "The Chinese are pretty good at hitting a fast ball, but if you throw them a curve or a change up.. they have no idea what to do..." I keep thinking, all the 20 something volunteers are doing a pretty fair job: Imagine working this gig in New York, and being able to tell Chinese visitors that the bus will leave in ten minutes, please have a seat while you wait. Wouldn't happen, would it. So cut em a break, and keep on moving. As long as you remain a moving target, you have a chance. I keep looking at the good work done by my colleagues, and it seems like youre in a casino here in the giant Kodak workroom. Dozens of great photographers, all gunning to get THE image. There is always someone winning, somewhere. You hear the noise of the winners slot machine (here, the sounds of cell fones take that role) and you can't imagine not being a part of it. In the end, you feel like everyone around you is a winner, and you are a slacker. That's when you head to the cafe stand, grab a latte, and chill long enough to realize that most of the folks in the room missed that picture, too.

Gymnast Shawn Johnson
I have been growing a beard the last two weeks. It's always an Olympic beard for me since it is the only time I'm gone over two weeks and the beard has a chance to get really scratchy. Iris hates the beard, so its usually shorn within minutes of getting home. But it's almost like little memory of the Olympics, this scratching salt and pepper thing I wear. Mostly salt now. So I make a few pictures with my Ricoh R8 (great little point n shoot camera) just to see how I'm morphing in the three weeks Im here. There are moments I'm happy, some where I'm a bit blue and the little camera is a perfect way to self document oneself without having to actually expose your navel. I have become the master of the one-handed self portrait. It has lead to a frightening self-appraisal: that the shorts I brought (typical, I forgot the others, and have subsisted on one pair for ten days) with great pockets, have that mid calf look which is absolutely appalling. Yet, comfort wins the day since we know that no one really cares, but it can throw you for a loop if you're not careful.

Field Hockey
The fashion cops will definately nominate you for a turn on Fashion 911. In fact if any talent scouts are reading this, I think I'm ready for my cameo. We're just sayin...

Ricoh R8, on the bus...
as always, click on a picture to see it full size

Please be my Friend on the Face Book...

After years of avoiding a relationship with the Face Book, my cousin was pretty insistent that I had to get with it and make it a part of my life, so my daughter helped me to sign on. I may now be the loneliest person on the Face Book. Sure I have friends on the Face Book. I reached out to everyone whose names I recognized. And thank God none of those people rejected my appeals to “be my friend”, but no one actually chats with me. Maybe it’s the picture. The picture might be a little depressing because it has a “Brother Can You Spare a Dime” theme. Or maybe it’s my profile which talks about my love of acrobatics. Acrobatics is a little like gymnastics, but it’s a different version. For example, it does not include anything rhythmic (like when they use the silly ribbons in a synchronized effort). Nor does it include anything synchronized like diving or swimming or trampolining. But should that impact on my face book popularity. I am in such turmoil. Should I change to accommodate what attracts other people? That would be politic but so not me.
I’m trying not to take it personally. But how else can I take it… it is personal. I mean I see people who are on the Face Book talking to 10 or 20 other people at a time. But not me. I think I’ll just go sit in the dark. And speaking of sitting in the dark, that’s where I am again about John Edwards. So now we learn in the “NY Daily News” that Elizabeth forgave him because it was really she who wanted to be in the White House. It was the way she wanted to live out her life. No one who has ever been in the White House thinks it’s a stress free environment but to “each his own” as my mother would say. The “News” went on to talk about the videographer – I can’t bring myself to call her by name, maybe (as another friend refers to her) “Webikins” is more fitting, and Edwards good friend Young, who says that it is his baby. He has a wife and three kids with no visible means of support. Supposedly, when the story broke, the gruesome twosome (Hunter and Young) fled to the west coast where, unencumbered by actual work, they lived in a multimillion dollar dwellings. It does go on and on. And the more I hear the angrier I get with all of these political, irresponsible, egomaniacal, idiots. (Am I being too harsh? Because I mean this in the nicest possible way.)

And speaking about egomaniacal, what does Hillary think is going to happen when her name placed into nomination? Sure she came close, but that only counts in horseshoes. I always hated that game and I hate this one. This new demand does not a unified Party make. First, because it is an opportunity not only to say, “We were there and supported you”. It is also a chance to say, “If it weren’t for media bias you would be the nominee and we don’t want anyone else to be the nominee.” I trust that grown up people will act like grown ups but that hasn’t been demonstrated yet. Why is it necessary to blame everyone but the person responsible. Hillary ran a terrible campaign. She made bad choices and arrogant decisions. Is the media sexist in attitudes, yes they are. I know, I worked for a network. But that isn’t why she lost. If she wants to blame someone how about Bill – he did a great job undermining her every effort.

The Obama people made a decision to let her have her way and then they expect there will be some kind of catharsis or she will just sit down and shut up. I’m not buying it. There are too many women who have said, “I won’t vote rather than vote for Obama or McCain”. Obviously those people think Hillary is more important than appointments on the Supreme Court, the right to Choose, and a clean environment — never mind civil liberties and a war we shouldn’t be fighting. The question becomes, if Hillary thinks there is any way this nomination thing might be devisive and help the Republicans, why would she put her own self interests before the good of the nation.

When Shirley Chisholm ran for President in 1972 she did it without money or Party support. She was a Black Congressperson who had something important to say about the war, poverty, and inequity in the country. She was the first woman to gain national attention in a political race. And at the 1972 Democratic Convention she received 152 votes. But Shirley Chisholm used the forum to have a voice for a forgotten constituency. Hillary’s demanding constituency is not forgotten, they are just loud, spoiled and sore losers.

On a totally different yet equally important subject, CNN reports that today in California, “Cinderella, Snow White, Tinkerbell and other fictional fixtures of modern-day childhood were handcuffed, frisked and loaded into police vans”. Now that is something to be concerned about. What will happen if Once Upon a Time, and Happily Ever After are concepts of the past because all the characters we adore, are in jail. I don’t know how I am going to break this to my kids. Forget my kids, I don’t know how I am going to live with the idea that fairy tales have become subversive literature because the characters about which they speak are jail bait. They will be outcasts and incredibly lonely. Wait I have an idea. If no one else will talk with them, maybe they will be my friends on the Face Book. We're just sayin'... Iris

Desperate, Moi?

There is something mildly frightening about sitting in a Francisan retreat chamber, masquerading as a conference center hotel, while listening to Chris Magette tell us how the traffic is in the Bronx 'on the 8s' on WCBS radio. We live in that kind of world. While the Chinese government did promise that there would be unfettered internet access, they.. mmm , well, they lied.

Shocked, I know to hear a government say one thing and do another. But a lot of blogs are blocked (including my colleague Ken Jarecke' “Mostly True” blog, a chatty and fun look at his view of the Olympics) and a number of other informational sites. But, so it goes. I guess they decided not to cancel the games two weeks ago over the internet issue, but there should be some kind response which lets the government know they should live up to their commitment.

Nonetheless the logistical (i.e. do the trains run on time?) job which the Chinese have done is quite amazing. A particularly noteworthy feat in the middle of an alien invasion of hundreds of thousands. Having either learned from previous Olympics or decided they would merely use their own expertise, they have created a 'bubble' much larger than any previously seen, and made it positively easy to stay within it. A 'bubble' for those of you unused to the idiocies of the Security Industry (and I mean that in the nicest possible way), is the area which is considered “clean” and “safe.” Clean in terms of the chance of bombs and other guns and explosives, and Safe in terms of once Inside the Bubble, you are considered NOT to be a threat. Photographers are the worst for those Security people: we carry bulky, heavy items, which you have to be a professional to really understand, and if you look at how we dress, well, wouldn't you be suspicious too? I look at the picture of me in those shorts in the bus station, and wonder, who was allowed to design shorts which look like that? Is that person available for grilling? I like the big pockets, the cargo pockets, the weight.. very light.. but there is something goofy about the length to which those shorts go. It is, I guess, part of the dumbing down of the way we all look, but it is so tedious to see mountains of ice loosen up and let go off the Carolina/Jersey coast. That last sentence will give you a real idea of what we 're going through. Remember, I'm not a whiner, but trying to write a blob at 2 or 3 in the morning takes its toll. You end up-- your mind just starts to shut down, like when your Battery Level starts flashing on a Canon camera. It may still be operative, but you cannot be sure the brains inside will actually do the right things. It doesn't take a genius to realize that "so tedious to see mountains of ice loosen up and go off the Carolina/Jersey coast" has Nothing, I repeat, Nothing to do with ugly shorts. But when you have been up for 20 hours this is how your brain works. If I had a black metal pan and a pair of eggs, I could show you what your brain looks like Not at the Olympics, (perfectly fried, maybe even basted).. and what they look like At the Olympics (really bad scrambled eggs, the kind they have for free at Hampton Inn breakfasts when the do the eggs at 4am on the first shift, and expect you to think "free breakfast" is a great step forward in the humanity wagon train.

the fencing bubble
I have kept feeling that I have yet to actually land in China. Yea, I made it to the airport, and yes, there are dozens, hundreds of very hospitable Chinese dressed in volunteer blue outfits, helpful at every turn. But interfacing with the real China outside the bubble? It takes real effort. I finally went with crack assistant/guide Eric (a 23 year old American who came to Beijing a year ago to study, take pictures, and live in a new place.. Bravo! I say) took me to a great little restaurant where everything but the beer had red peppers sliced into it. It's not the Chinese food we know from Marks in VA or even at the Barbeque King in Sydney (our 2000 hangout). The dishes tend to include more versions of Braised Goose Blood, for example, than you will find at Sun Luck in Manhattan. It's very 'popular' -- of the people, and the skittishness of the Chinese to eat damn near every part of every animal creates some challenging moments for the western palate.

The best part, though was just having the chance to be out of the bubble, and be the only alien in a world alien to me. I have always enjoyed the adventure of travel, and the excitement of new cuisines. But to do so, you need to escape the bubble. and when the bubble becomes so convenient that you resist the desire to set foot beyond you risk ending up having a non travelling trip. In the end, you could say the Chinese goverment is complicit with making it so easy for us, that we won't challenge what they don't want seen. But I have to say, having received a $500 parking ticket from Arlington Country, Virginia last year for accidently parking in a not well marked Handicap space, I become further convinced that all governments act like all bureaucracies for whom the first rule is: guarantee the survival of the bureaucratic entity. They all put themselves above the people they are supposed to govern. So when I see a 'bubble' like the one in Beijing now, I kind of understand that its their freaky way of trying to keep everything under control, and go with their strong suits, and de-emphasize the negatives (which Chinese society has plenty of, like all of us.) Hadnt meant for this to become a political yap ground, as we continue to be in the midst of the politics of the Games themselves (i.e. 'underage' Chinese gymnasts?, etc.) There was a moment yesterday, while leaving the big birdnest stadium (we were looking at shooting positions ahead of time for once) that I turned a corner on the way out. There, a giant poster was on the giant wall of Liu Xiang, the Chinese champion hurdler. It must have been 20' tall. Just below, with a broom in hand, was a woman cleaning up a small patch of driveway. He is the champion. And she is doing her part. Her little broom, in her hands at that moment was nearly as important. Of course, no one will acknowledge it, except maybe the few people who see my photograph. It was a wonderful little moment. And then to cap it off, some jerk, a Yank I think, came roaring by in a stretch golf cart, made the turn and said "geez, guys are you desperate?" The guy clearly has no visual sense, and is probably one of those people never far from his Blackberry, getting worthless messages on a constant basis which remind him of how important he is. Desperate? I suppose he's the desperate one. I actually saw something. I noticed. He whined. Watchers 1. Whiners Nil (overtime) We're just sayin...David

Moving All Over

Shame on Mary Matalin and shame on Joe Lieberman, both of whom think winning with lies and deception are more important than – well, the truth or the public trust. Mary, has a publishing imprint and she publishes right wing drivel. Which is fine as long as you understand what it is. But she has taken the next step and is publishing the same kind of attack crap that was used to defeat John Kerry. It has no basis in truth and there are no parameters for the lies. But they’ll make a great deal of money and isn’t that what she has always been about. For those of us who are struggling writers we yearn to have the kind of success Jerome Corsi will have with his book. He’s already on the NYTimes best seller list and it isn’t even in stores. But it’s not literature. It’s campaign misinformation. Mary is a political whore so it is not unexpected (And I mean that in the nicest possible way. Joe Lieberman is also a whore but he is also a US senator, an orthodox Jew and an Obama colleague. All of which have boundaries of decency.) What could he possibly be thinking when he says that Obama is a candidate who does not put his country first, who is a talker not a leader, and who has not crossed party lines to get anything done. I guess he like Corsi thinks that there are no limits to the level at which they will sink, “the point is to defeat Obama”.
Whew, I did a little name calling in the preceding paragraph but at least I didn’t attack anyone who has a moral core. Moving on...
Today, for the very first time, I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. My cousin Sheila and I decided we wanted to spend the day walking around NY. And so we met in Chelsea on the West side and ventured across town to the East side. And there it was, the magnificent construction miracle. And we walked from Manhattan to Brooklyn—just like that. It was wondrous. I was exhausted from our adventure so I took the subway home. There is no where better to see how amazingly diverse this country is than when you are walking down the street or riding on the NYC subway system.

When I got on the train I was entertained by a mariachi band—and one of them was actually schlepping a cello. They were so terrible it was hard to deal with them in a confined space but they were working so hard I gave them a dollar. It is not my practice to encourage subway entertainment – because it is a confined space and always invasive—but these guys were all dressed up and I liked their cowboy boots. When I got off the train I had a race up the subway escalator with an older Indian gentleman who acknowledged that I had won the race but was sure it was because I was much younger—I didn’t argue. Then I went around the corner to my local Tasti D-lite. Tasti is like soft ice cream or yogurt but it has no calories, no fat, is kosher and it is probably just chemicals with flavor—but good flavor. I was eating my Tasti and a man sitting next to me thought I wanted to make conversation. He was wrong but I am never rude. He told me he was an Evangelist Pastor in the Seventh Day Adventist Church. For whatever reason he confessed that he was going to vote for Obama. And further, (and he believed in separation of church and state) he was advocating for everyone he knew to do the same. I thought that was somewhat surprising, but I guess people are not as shortsighted or stupid as Mary Matalin and Jerome Corsi think they are. Moving on...
In the “Love song of J Alfred Prufrock," there is a line that always resonates with me and I’m not sure why. It reads “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons”
Today when I was at Starbucks this line came back to me. But it wasn’t because I was in a coffee place—or even because I sit around counting how many coffee spoons it takes to measure my life. It was because when I said “thank you” after the barista handed my my iced decaf tripio (whatever that means), he said “no problem” instead of you’re welcome. I guess it happens a lot because when I conducted one of my anecdotal surveys, most of the people I asked said that their response to “thank you” is usually “you’re welcome” but they have also noticed that lately people are responding with “no problem”. So what the heck does that mean? There was no problem making a coffee. There was no problem taking your money. I just don’t know how “no problem” in response to “ thank you” makes any sense. But what makes any sense anymore? Political lies, the Brooklyn Bridge still standing, coffee spoons, a race on an escalator, “no Problem”, or an Evangelist voting for a liberal Democrat? I guess the only thing that makes sense is to just keep moving on. We’re just sayin...Iris

Give Me My Stephano

After the rain stopped I decided it was time to get out of bed and go out do some errands. I pulled myself away from Olympic bliss, put myself together and went down to the lobby. There were still more than a few clouds, and the doorman warned that it might storm again. It made me nervous enough to hike back to the apartment to get an umbrella. By the time I got back downstairs it was raining again. The kind of hard where the umbrellas turn inside out and you just get soaked. Discouraged yet hopeful, I went back upstairs hoping for synchronized swim but alas, all I found was “Day of Our Lives”. Breaking news! NBC does not preempt the soaps for the Olympics. Of course they don’t. What would the fans do if they couldn’t get a healthy dose of Stephano Demara.

When we started our business (which we called an access service --it was really a pr firm but we wanted to distinguish ourselves from everyone else), we worked out of my Dupont Circle townhouse. It was a great space. Four floors, 1200 square feet a floor and we used the first floor as the office. Clients loved the uniqueness of the office and we were most comfortable. It was our habit, however, to close the office between 1 and 2 pm, watch “Days of Our Lives”, eat tuna salad on triscuts and talk about the business, social and economic opportunities of the day, – in that order. Watch, eat, chat—sounds like I might have another book. Anyway, we were avid “Days” fans. We would discuss the plot, characters, and developments like we were talking about friends and family. We were obsessed—like all the old ladies we had so often laughed about. And not only were we consumed with every aspect of the story, David would often ask me to bring him up to date on the terrible things Stephano had done. It was pervasive in the days of our own lives.

Imagine my surprise when I thought I would find someone swimming, running, jumping, hitting or twisting in the air, and there he was, Stephano Demara in the hospital, apparently no longer a villain. I dared not watch for very long because I knew I could catch up on the events of the last twenty years and I didn’t want to get hooked – which would happen after just a twenty minutes. And speaking of soap operas. I have changed my mind about John Edwards.

After hours and hours of nauseating reports about the Edwards’ affair, I have to admit I was sick of it. Originally, I did think it was just between husband, wife, and people close to them. But upon reflection, (Isn’t reflection amazing) I have decided that his admission was shameful. If he had the affair in 2006, when did he tell Elizabeth? Did he rush to her side right after he got out of bed with the videographer? Or was it sometime in 2007 after he decided to run for President or after he bought the girlfriend a house. (Yes I know he denied knowing anything about this – and there is a bridge in Brooklyn for sale.) He clearly knew that he had an affair (he’s not suffering from memory loss), and it might come out. No one, not even a politician is stupid enough to think anything can be kept a secret. Here’s another newsflash, nothing is off the record and there are no secrets anymore. In “So You Think You Can Be President” we advise whomever takes the test that “The repercussions for even a little bitty lie (there will always be someone who knows that you fibbed) will forbid you from even discussing running for any office; including, but not limited to, President, Mayor, a Congressional Seat, any School Boards, or even Green Grocer (no sneers or snickers please, it’s an important place for community interaction).”

Surely this advice is applicable far beyond our humorous incredibly insightful test. How could Edwards have run, knowing how critical this election is, and he would put in jeopardy the possibility of a Democratic win. I am not one of those people who think Hillary would be the nominee if only Edwards had been absent from Iowa. Hillary ran a terrible campaign, used bad judgment, and irritated too many independent voters. But she wasn’t duplicitous in her relationship with the public. And now who knows if any of what he said was really how he felt. If he was willing to perpetrate the hoax of morality, what else did he do or say that was equally dishonest.

So I take it back. I don’t think his confession was unimportant or irrelevant (because he has no political career). He is a selfish, self -serving, son of a bitch, (and I mean this is the nicest possible way) who clearly never cared about the American public or the damage he might have caused. It’s raining again in NY and thankfully, it’s time for Olympic coverage – maybe synchronized diving, no synchronized swim, but no soap operas—except in real life. We’re just sayin...

China On My Mind

notes from the Games... (and remember, click ON a picture to see it full size!)
The Olympics are always an expression of culture and society. The most obvious was 1936 in Berlin, but there have been other salient moments when those trying to cover the games have found themselves either befuddled, enthralled, or just plain amused at local customs -- which is alien, especially when you’re the alien. This month in China there are about 40 thousand aliens in addition to all the folks from just down the street, who are trying to figure out a few of the traditions. As it happens, mere weekly participation at a local (Virginia) Chinese restaurant does not, contrary to popular belief, make you an expert in Asian cultures. So even when you return to a place where you have visited before, there will be new surprises. In my last visit, 1988, there were as of yet no cell phones in the country, many fewer cars, virtually none of the fancy upscale shopping centers we drive by in our Press busses (oops, I mean Media Bus). This was a different country altogether, though perhaps it would have been possible to see this coming. Not by me, not then. Now, everyone over the age of seven has a cell fone, and for $15 a month which delivers virtually unlimited service, you can see why. If ever there was a company that lived up to the old Jewish joke about the guy who ran the schmatah business (the rag trade), and who bought for two bucks, sold for a buck fifty, and when asked how did he manage to stay in business, the answer was simple “Volume!” When you have hundreds of millions of customers ready to plonk down your monthy fee, you can keep a business going no matter if it’s doing very well, or just well. Whateever the Americans think they know about Capitalism, no question that lessons could be learned from the Chinese. The government may try and stay on Marxist lines but the people have always had a hand in their own self motivated ‘till.’ One of the more obvious signs of change is the auto dealership which sells only Bentleys. I’m sure they sell more here than in most countries, for the amount of money chasing goods here is staggering. Beijing is overtaking Paris as 3rd on the list of “money spent on art,” after the US and UK.

Why don't they do Synchronized Cannon Balls?
True, none of that money is making its way towards me, but I am hoping we can change that, as well in the next few years. What I can say, is that today, 1 finally feel like I got a picture I like. Well, I think there might be a few at Opening Ceremonies, but in the end, I’m really here for the Track Meet, et al, and that’s what I need to score at. It had been ugly the last few days.

Perhaps the hardest thing about Olympic coverage is the need to feel you are going forward. Let’s face it: does track, swimming, water polo look anything different from the past 7 Olympics I have seen? Not really; maybe the clothing styles have changed a bit, and yes, the venues where the games take place, those definitely change from year to year. That is the charm to be able to scope out ‘the Acropolis’ (Athens), Bar B Que King (world’s 2nd greatest Chinese grilled meats restaurant – Sydney), (skipping Atlanta because I can’t think of anything except perhaps Billy Payne’s limousine. He was the chairman of the committee, and definitely made sure all his friends rode in limousines.)


But in the end, the change needs to take place in your own head, your own creative center. Trying to understand and see something for the umpteeth time, and make it look new and exciting, is the ultimate challenge all photographers face, and even more so in the two weeks of the Olympic Games. Unfortunately, it’s more than easy to just slip into some kind of modified version of “I did this 4 years ago already.. what am I doing here?”

Fresh is the challenge we all face. Sometimes you do it through equipment ( a new lens, camera or altogether new technique) but sometimes its just how you approach that problem, pretending that you haven’t really had a chance to gaze back at your own work for all those years. It’s all about surpassing yourself. Never mind what the other guys do. Compete with yourself, and you will never be at a loss for a helluva good day at the track.

This year, again I have schlepped my Speed Graphic to the Olympics along with my small “Velbon Chaser” tripod (a great little gadget) along with my Canons, and a Holga or two (if you have to ask, you can’t afford one!) For me the issue then becomes, how do I use which camera to say which thing, in which way? Do I have a thematic view that runs thru all the Games? (Hmmm if I do I forgot to write it down.) Is there something amazing in either the spectators or the athletes that at each venue (there are dozens of sites, new and old, around the city where things are happening) which draw me to them with a picture in mind? In the end, I struggle at each place.

Even if there is some kind of ‘obvious’ version I might start with, see if that works, and then take it up a notch and another notch… I am, like all photographers, (with the exception of Heinz and Harry) plagued by self doubt, and worry that things will go the right way. Yet, once you get your teeth into it, the natural juju takes over, and you really start to feel the creative process work. Tonight, I had my first real joy this week. (Well, seeing mini peking duck in the cafeteria for two bucks was OK, but then it was only OK duck..) I went to Badminton, at a gym across town (read that as another 40 minute bus ride) Badminton, which most of us played in the back yard as a kid, and whose racquets were preferred over tennis racquets to use for dispatching stray wasps while mowing the lawn in the 8th grade, seems like a stretch to imagine as an Olympic sport. Boy would you be wrong if you thought that. Speed, agility, and cool nerves. You know, like ordering at the sushi counter the first time. It’s a fun game to watch and the layout of the three courts was cozy and colorful. I definitely made a picture I liked there (and I haven’t looked at anything yet.) But from each location (there were a half dozen, each looked after by a bunch of exceedingly polite, interested and engaging young volunteers) there was something different to see. Then, to capture it. Aye there’s the rub. Well I think I must have done something right, because I popped right out of my three day funk. It’s surprising, once you admit to a total stranger on the bus that you are in a funk, how many of them respond in kind. This place is something special. But like all Olympics, you don’t cover it, it covers you. You make some choices, but you don’t get to make all of them. You can make some things happen, but there are many more which are deaf to your ears. And yet, there are always up beat moments even when you just missed your third errant bus of the day, by a minute. I had this image in my head the first night that I tried running photog style (it’s like trotting as opposed to cantering; you don’t want the cameras to bounce, and because of that, you try and stay at a level keel and because of that, you look unimaginably idiotic) , to catch a bus, and made it just as the bus was leaving. I’d imagined running, out of breath, one last burst just as the bus was pulling away from me. He has no intention of stopping. But I make to the front of the bus and stand there in front of the bus, staring down the driver and volunteer expeditor. They stop, open the doors and I get on. That image, moments later struck me.. where had I seen it? And then I knew. Jeff Widener’s photograph of the young man standing in front of the tank in Tienanmen Square, 1989. One of those pictures whose universal description in a few words, is known by all who were alive and aware then. I made the jump, 19 years, in my head in that split second, and tried to imagine that young man: where might he be today? Is he part of the Beijing Committee? Did he start a small company and sell goods to America? Did he retreat to the countryside, and farm with his parents, so disappointed by the squelching of the Democracy 88 movement? Or could he, perhaps have become a bus driver, and maybe He was the guy driving the MA07 Bus to the Conference Center Hotel, who had to slow down and let me on? We’re just sayin’….. David

Olympic Storms

There is a terrible thunderstorm in New York. I don’t like to get wet. So thank God there is Olympic coverage on at least three stations. There is basketball, gymnastics and beach volleyball, with sand, but no beach. The two Americans are wearing sunglasses with no lenses. Is this cool or is this too cool and borders on pretentious. I get that there is no beach inside the stadium and there are terrible rainstorms in China, so even if there was a beach they wouldn’t be going outside, but sun glasses without lenses? I wonder if they paid full price. My Aunt Sophie would not have paid full price for half a product, but then she probably would have returned them after she took the lenses out. “What” you say. “ She couldn’t return them if they had no lenses.” Well when I got married she cut the paper tablecloths so they would fit the tables, decided she didn’t like the way they looked (she preferred linen for a wedding) and then took them back. And the store refunded her money.

This morning I watched swimming, badminton, gymnastics, water volleyball, beach volleyball, the Brazil women’s basketball team play who someone in yellow, who wasn’t America. (My apologies to the yellow team but there was so much activity and I was half asleep so I forget who it was). Before there was cable and NBC owned almost everything, I regretted that the only coverage we had was of participants from the US because it certainly didn’t give us an accurate perspective on “the games.” It’s great that we can actually see teams and individuals from around the globe—sans the Iraqui’s who weren’t permitted to play. George Bush still hasn’t said anything about that but at least he said we disapproved of the Russian aggression in the Georgia’s. Do you think Bush sees any parallel between that and our aggression in Iraq. OK, the circumstances are not the same but aggression into another country is aggression and no matter how you spin it—it is still aggression. (A rose is a rose is a rose) That’s what many women think and that’s why we call war – boys toys. Back to sports as a way to establish lasting relationships between nations large and small.

And speaking of returning tablecloths, David was doing his imitation of Luke Skywalker was walking in the sky and shooting the badminton competition where they call a birdie a shuttle and expect us not to fly or ride on it. (I know, I ended with a preposition but “it” was the best I could do.) Anyway, he reported that he did not drop a lens and kill anyone nor did he drop a lens and break it. He dropped nothing and even took good pictures. He must have been doing this while I was hiding from the thunderstorms and watching it on TV. Isn’t that romantic. What does that have to do with tablecloths? Well, the tablecloth episode took place at our wedding and the this paragraph is about David and romance.

My favorite Olympic competition is synchronized swim, which we used to call water ballet. (I can still do a back dolphin totally under the water but there is never a crowd to watch so I don’t bother.) I don’t know if they still do it but it always makes me laugh because I immediately flash to Martin Short and his version on SNL. For the amount of time and money we spend on these games, the Olympics should be entertaining and maybe even have a recognized goal—like mutual understanding or intercultural respect something beyonf making a billion dollars for the advertisers.

When did the Olympic first become a money making proposition—as opposed to a preposition. I guess it was about the same time they started to name stadiums after products or maybe it was before. There have always been sponsors and a TV network involved. In 1980 we pitched ATT to coordinate the torch run across the country—which has since become very political and even a way to express violent opposition. It has often been a vehicle for political protest about one issue or another, and I didn’t like that very much. (Remember when Jimmy Carter refused to allow US participation). But when did it become a commercial vehicle rather than a true sports event. And, of course it’s a sports event because there are sports and event after event, but “sports event” in the “Chariots of Fire” way. Are you singing the theme song? This is merely a question rather then a political or social comment.

Anyway, it’s fine that the events are taped and that they don’t have to stop the action for a commercial interruption. It’s fine that they have preempted “Morning Joe” for table tennis – the Morning Joe team needed a break before the Conventions. It even OK that we have to listen to background drivel about the competitors – although there seems to be not as much tragedy as usual—what a shame. I wonder how it effects the ratings. I have no real complaints except if the weather gets nice I will have to go back to work and I don’t want to have to miss synchronized swimming.. We’re just sayin...

Yet Another Narrative

Once upon a time there were Olympic games in China and, as predicted, there was violence – but not terrorism. Two American tourists were stabbed by a disturbed Chinese citizen who traveled 700 miles to do damage and then kill himself. It just proves that if someone wants to kill someone they will find a way to do it. I doubt that this whacko planned to kill these particular tourists. It was most likely random. But he clearly wanted to kill someone and these people were wrong place wrong time. The President says the US government will offer assistance—he clearly has never asked a Diplomat abroad to assist with anything—and that is also a tragedy—maybe not the same level but when you look at attitudes toward Americans today, it is a tragedy none the less.

On a happier note. Well, not really happier but different...

Once upon a time (you know I love that as a start because, as you can see, it’s always more than once and you can usually identify a time, so that adds a touch of irony), there was a middle class young man who worked hard to become a success. Which he did... and along the way he got married, had children, suffered some devastating tragedy and became a very rich lawyer (very rich). Then he went on to become a US Senator, a Vice Presidential candidate and he even ran for President. This has all been in the news non stop because along with all his other achievements he became a liar and a cheat. Quite simply, what he really was, was a dope. My friend Sarah says that about a lot of politicians because she thinks it’s the best and easiest way to describe their mental capacity and behavior – and she’s right.

Ok, so it turns out that John Edwards is what so many people thought— a fast talking, too slick, ambulance chasing, attorney at law. He had an affair with a younger –but not too young—woman who he then hired to produce his web cast video’s. Whew, that’s unusual. A politician who has an affair with someone and then pays them for whatever. But here’s something different. He actually told his wife (who was then and now suffering from terminal cancer), that he had an affair. I wonder why. Did he get herpes? Did she get pregnant? Who knows. But I always ask myself the same question. Why would he jeopardize all his deep and important relationships (children, friends) to get laid. Bill Clinton said he did it because he could. Spitzer never said why, but he absolutely thought he could. Patterson did it because his wife did it. Who cares. They did it because they wanted to get laid and there was some financial transaction involved. Oh, maybe the video maker is not a prostitute but there’s this thing about screwing around with “the power”. Young artists want to sleep with established artists because they think that the talent will rub off? Youthful political staffers (interns) want to sleep with the candidate because they think it will give them access to the “power”. Or, as is the case with the Senator, President, Painter, Journalist, Chef, these women (like the men), also do it because they can. And there’s usually no thought about any other person.

The media discussion is non-stop and revolves around the fact that Edwards has ruined his political career. Hello, in case someone missed this. John Edwards has no political career. He was an afterthought from the time he dropped out of the primaries. He is a “was been”. He probably went back to some day job but who knows because he is, as my mother would say, part of the “what was, was” crowd.
He and his family have reached some kind of accommodation. And I have to say, when he talked about it with Bob Woodruff, I was convinced that he was sorry and he will continue to work for the poor. But I’m so easy.

I have such mixed feeling about the whole situation. This is in no way a defense of the man or his actions. But it is nobody’s business whose baby the video maker delivered. That is between her and the little baby Jesus. (He went through this trauma with his parentage). Second, Elizabeth knew about the affair and decided her marriage was worth saving. It doesn’t matter whether or not her cancer was in remission. The woman has a terminal disease. There’s nothing she can do about it, but if you recall, when they talked about whether or not he would stay in the race, she said she was going to live whatever life she had left and obviously, she decided to do it with the sleeze. (And I mean that in the nicest possible way.) Third, he clearly thought no one would find out. (In my book it says someone will always find out—but he didn’t read it.) It happened in 2006 and regardless of the National Enquire reports (the writer said he didn’t understand why Edwards wouldn’t answer questions at 2:30 am), there was some desperation in Edwards actions. Maybe he was running away or looking for a distraction from the cancer and what will become his reality. (Lance Armstrong left a wife with cancer and people are still wearing his bracelets). And Lastly, don’t we have anything better to do than yak about our disappointment with an ex elected official who really doesn’t owe anyone but his family any explanations about his apparent lack of a moral core. Or maybe lastly should be, “And they lived happily ever after?” We're Just sayin...

And With a Tear in My Eye

I was about fifteen seconds away from calling this a 'narrative,' and then I read the blob previous. Immediately it struck me that there might be a better way to say what I was going to say (not necessarily what I want to say, just what I was going to say. Tonight, quite to my surprise I was twice brought to tears. Now, as our chip off the old block, Jordan Kai, will tell you, emotions run in the family. She has been known to tell people with whom she has been involved in an accident (it was the other guys fault, big time) "I have to cry, I 'm an emotional person." I'm not sure the other guy got what she meant. He happened to be drunk and to have run into her car at 3am. It was lost on him. But I heard her say it, and furthermore I believe it; and I believe she came by it honestly. We all seem to be emotional. And the thing about emotions is, you never know -- almost by definition -- when an emotion will strike you, and emote you.

But tonight I was overcome rather unexpectedly. It was at the National Stadium (i.e. the"Birds Nest" - in Beijing where the Olympics kicked off tonight with the most absolutely stupendous show (for this, the word Spectacle could well have been invented) I have ever beheld. Sequencing being what it is, I have to say that this occurred after I unpacked. After I had carefully undone my half dozen bags of their photographic gear. Tonight, as always with 'OPENING Ceremonies' thousands of people paid thousands of dollars (except the Politicians who go for free, especially the ones who majored in Poli Sci in school) for the chance to sit in a large outdoor arena and watch a show. Some shows are better than others, to be sure. Some put you right to sleep. Some even put the politicians to sleep That kind of show is REALLY boring. But every now and then, one of the shows just stops you in your tracks. That show was tonight. I suppose I was one of the skeptics a half dozen years ago who thought the choice of Beijing a rather odd one. There hadn't been, at that point, much of a sense of the place being a success as a venue for big international events. The 1995 In'tl Women's conference was one such event which was probably not considered, from a logistics point of view, a great success around the world. Shoddily prepared buildings, an inability to deal with constant rain, and generally a disrespect for many of the traditional ways of holding such meetings, left a bad taste in many mouths. So, the idea of coming to Beijing for a vast sports program, the biggest one in the world, was daunting.
Tonight, as a way of re-introducing itself, China vaulted ahead of many of those old impressions.

It was a hot and sweaty night (courtesy of one of my Chinese friends in the row behind)
The Olympic Games, like most big events, has become a TV show, driven by sponsors and advertising. We all watch it, think whatever we think about the "show", listen to the mindless blathering of overpaid commentators, and then wait four years for them to do it again. With all the hoopla, you sometimes forget that basically it's just another track meet. Tonight's kick off, though, was something extraordinary. I probably shouldn't say this, being a photo guy, and all, but nothing short of being there will ever give you a real sense of the grandiosity and power of a show like this. TV lets you see movement, but it's 2 dimensional and doesn't really get that flavor. Photography , as always, can give you a real feel of what the place was like, but capturing in a still picture something that is elegantly moving in mysterious ways is a challenge.

I know I'm a softie. I cry at Will Ferrell movies. Well, not quite. But I find that the older I get, the less I worry about reacting, or more particularly, how people see me react to things. During the first round of pledges to the Olympic Ideals, there was a moment, amid the explosions of fireworks visible thru the Bird's Nest roof, when it did seem to be something special. Where, in spite of the flogging of money and the media B.S. there might be the tiniest chance that the world would become a little more civil. I know that this is asking a lot of a track meet. But the beauty and stunning quality of the visuals just hit me square in the face. In one moment I realized that this will probably be my last Summer Games ( who wants to go to London, pay $750 for a lousy room in a B&B, drink $13 coffees, and deal with the difficulty of getting in and out of London with more that a paperback book in your purse.) I have been doing the Olympics for almost twenty five years. The work I have done has become in many ways part of what my life is. We all have our very own Olympic moments, and mine have been moving, important, and something I count on coming back to each quatrain. So I realized that in some ways this might be my own personal swan song to the Games. (The average age of a photographer here is probably 32, with many older and a few very very young.) As a place to work, it is extremely challenging both visually, and physically. You have to carry too much gear too far, and usually too fast, for it to be fun. (Maybe that is where the theme "altius, fortius, citius..." comes from.) Just yesterday, I had a small run in with a very nice kid working as a volunteer. The Chinese, enabled by the nearly endless supply of warm bodies, many of which are highly intelligent, rely like all host cities on fleets of volunteers. But I missed a turn walking back from the Water Cube (the stunning pool) and had to retrace my steps a half mile, instead of one little 200 yard short-cut. At that moment ( major F bomb involvement, snarling, the whole bit) as I walked by the theme painted everywhere (One World, One Dream...) all I could think of was "My Dream isn't really getting any traction today...." The long walks, the slow, meandering (but on time) buses in the transport network also challenge your sense of time and place rather seriously. You CAN do this, you CANT do that... Each venue is different from the next in terms of how the rules are applied.

So when I sidled into the Nest at 4:30 today I wasn't sure what I was in store for. Seating was tight; my 4x5 Speed Graphic was taking all the space where my feet wanted to be. It was hot beyond belief: the front row, which one would have thought would give you a good breeze, was buffeted by the heat from the projector lighting just a couple of feet away. It was an oven. I probably lost five pounds in sweat alone. I tried eating my Snickers bar. Fuggedaboutit. One mini bite and off to the trash for that melted mess. So, in other words, I was kind of in an ambivalent mood. I was there, I wanted to a good picture or two, but I almost felt as if things were conspiring against me.

Then the show started, Amazing, fantastic. All my adjectives fall short, as do my pictures. The creative minds which cobbled it together must have been extraordinary. The one thing I can tell you for sure: this operation was NOT put together by a bunch of consultants using their Blackberrys. In the last few minutes, when the medalist carrying the torch started to ascend from the edge of the playing field, you could hear 80000 people say "Ahhh!" all at once. That is a sound you should hear at least once in your life. Then, tilting to the side, he became a slow motion runner, legs taking in ten, twenty feet at a stride. He lacked only a flickering light to make you think you were watching a film clip of the 1920 Olympic Games. As he started into the first turn, headed towards me (and my 200mm lens.) I couldn't see the image in the viewfinder, for the tears which were crawling down my face. [I believe my exact words were "Oh my god, it's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen..."] Please, don't write and tell me the Commies just figured out a way to hoodwink us tonight (though I do wish more of you would comment from time to time). No, this was special. This was amazing. This was in the truest sense, performance Art. Seconds later, another gasp of anticipation from the crowd as he tipped his torch into a flame way (thats where the flames drive) and .. voila, we had the Olympic flame. I know how it all moved me, but even more touching, I think were the people in the row behind me. They were the kind of folks who could buy tickets to an event like this (there is a LOT of money being circulated in China these days, way, way more than you would ever know) Yet, they were all in their 40s, 50s, a few in their 60's. These are people who might remember the Civil War in the late 40s but surely all lived through the Cultural Revolution in the 60s, and the post Mao era. Looking at them tonight, they were almost to a man (and woman) beaming with the kind of sublime pride I have never seen in the Chinese. There were a few people, so overjoyed by the 'coming out' party the Chinese were throwing for themselves (and us) that the glint of almost teary eyes was in abundance. Many of them shook my hand as I left, and the smiles we all felt were very genuine.

Bird's Nest, from up high, looking out to Olympic Green
I have no idea where this will all end up, except for sure there will be a few athletes ding'ed for drugs, maybe a judge tossed because of his partiallity. But more than anything, as a young American who came to China last year to find his fortune and explore the place, said to me: 'they are throwing this shindig as much for the Chinese as for any of us.' It's to prove to themselves that a mere generation after the tumult of the 60s, the rebuilding in the 70s, and opening up in the 80s, that this place is here, and here to stay. As usual my schedule has been so nuts (its now 4am folks) that normal things you do on a visit (eat... for example) are curtailed or done rather badly. I'd probably still rather eat on Sunday's at Mark's Duck House in Falls Church for dim sum. But no longer will we be able to think of the Chinese in that 70s mindset which seems to still rule these days: China is the next force to be reckoned with, for better or worse. And all I can hope is that I wasn't the only person with tears in his eyes tonight. That maybe the Games can actually serve a higher purpose, and open some doors and minds.

In Section L, Level 5
I wish Mark had opened a cafe in the Press Center. It's a big buffet, plus a McDonalds (why would you?). But those dumplngs will wait for me, I'm sure. Whether China decides to wait for the rest of us, I'm pretty sure that won't happen. We're just sayin.... David.

Save Me From a Narrative

A narrative tells a story. It presents a sequence of events usually in the order they happened. The "narrative" has become a way to describe almost anything political. It is the new popular way to talk about what candidates do, how the campaign operates, and even the way information is presented. There was a time when I really liked this word. I don't think I do anymore. Here's the problem, generally people who don't know much about politics or campaigns use words like ‘narratives' because they want you to think they actually know something. They are not sure what the narrative is, or if it is, or what it is, but they want to talk about something that is, and the ‘narrative' provides a way for them to do it. It's kind of a media word. It feels right but has absolutely no meaning or definition.

Anyway, I have a narrative I want to share. It starts the way all good stories should:
Once upon a time (I like that for a beginning), there was an attractive, some would say beautiful, maybe adorable, delightful, woman who crafted a blob with her husband. It was an entertaining endeavor filled with insight and illustrations and while it was sometimes controversial, it was always well intentioned (and pithy). Anyway, the female in our narrative was never quite sure what she wanted to do professionally when she grew up, so she decided not to grow up professionally and instead she worked in Presidential campaigns every four years. Well, as you can imagine this meant that she had to find other things to do in between the elections. " Oh my, oh my", she muttered after the results of every election was announced. Sometimes she worked in the government, you don't have to know much to do that. Sometimes she worked at a University or had her own business and once she even worked in television. There were many more jobs but they all revolved around who or what would happen four years later.

The man in the narrative (who was mentioned briefly but not described with as much accuracy as the woman), grew up in the west. No not like a cowboy because he was Jewish and Jews don't often want to wrangle a cow - they just want to eat them as a steak or a pot roast. He wanted to be a photographer, but that wasn't a real job (no Jewish mother wants her kid to have that much fun) so he majored in political science, pretended he was going to have a career as a ... who knows. He became a photojournalist and traveled the world. He always knew what he wanted to do when he grew up, which is why he didn't wind up in politics working on a Presidential campaign. Oh no, he is doing much more interesting things and if you were to go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fr1Z70lvGEg, (I could just do a link but that's not how I'm crafting the narrative), it will take you to China. But you will not see Olympic Athletes or VIP's. No that's not part of this narrative. You will however see this important photojournalist unpacking his suitcases. What an amazing achievement. Not everyone can unpack that amount of stuff, but here's the really wondrous thing-over 100 people actually went to you tube to watch him do it-oh, and there's some nice music.

Where is this narrative taking us? It remains unclear. After all, what is a narrative but a story which doesn't necessarily have to have a point. And what is politics but an action that hardly ever has a point. But let's get back to the word instead of the action. I have no idea what it means when someone says, "he wants to be part of the narrative". What the heck is the narrative? I guess to be part of the narrative you have to participate. You need to get a job with the campaign, or write a blog about the candidate, or even become a pundit who doesn't have to know anything, but can talk about nothing and make it sound like something. To become part of a story you have to get the writer to include you. They are different because you can act to become part of the campaign narrative, but unless you are the writer someone else has to include you in a story. It used to be that we called a campaign a campaign, not a story. Like a good narrative, a campaign does have a beginning a middle and an end. Sure they both have characters and a plot. They are, as we say, synonymous. Hey, maybe we're getting to the point. If they are synonymous then we can say "he wants to be part of the story". If that happens then there will be no need to use the word narrative when you're trying to get people to think you know what you're talking about. What a bunch of crap. We all know that no one in politics knows what they're talking about. I would suggest as an alternative to not knowing anything, we all watch the photographer unpack his bags. Now there's something at least we know, he knows how to do. We’re just sayin...

And While You Were At It

Im in China. The Olympics. You remember: every four years. Yeah, that's the one.. Arrived last night, unpacked my many bags, and tried (ok, weak attempt) to display exactly what that involves.. unfortunately we didnt have a back up cam... but if you hit this LINK it will take you to Room 4112 at the Beijing In'tl Conference center, a verdant place, surrounded by a trillion cicadas for whom this may not be the 17 year but who are being extremely vocal about what's doing in town. More on that later.. for now.. merely a view of my room...

were just unpackin'..... David

Drilling Schmilling, An Unfortunate Reality

Let’s talk about 1. leadership right after we talk about 2. Repetition of things not so factual and 3. toilet issues. OK we’ll start from the rear of the list—no pun intended (of course it was intended). I do not have a toilet in my house (there are 4) that works without issues. Sometimes they flush, sometimes they keep running, sometimes they need water, sometimes they are just not in the mood to be messed with. My brother says my toilet bowl Karma that needs work. I think it’s not about the karma. I need to find a good plumber—but who has time when you’re dealing with issues of greater importance like the facts, or lack of facts, or repeating fact’s that don’t make sense. Which brings us to McCain, who had a great week despite the facts—Obama is clearly not responsible for the oil crisis. Obama lost some numbers in the polls. We all know it’s very early and the polls so don’t matter, except within the context of a conversation about campaign strategy. So this morning when Robert Gibbs, (who used to be the Press Secretary and is now a senior strategist – titles are a whole other blob – was he demoted or moted, who can tell), said that McCain was not gaining ground, he was either in denial, uninformed, or telling a fib. But he repeated it so I guess he thinks the people who watch “Morning Joe” don’t read the papers or have any idea what the polling numbers are. (Even though these are people so well versed in everything political, that they could all be pundits—if only they knew a producer and had a book to sell.) The numbers are in and while McCain did not have a earth shattering gain, Obama has lost some ground since his return from abroad. And that’s not unimportant.

McCain – or Johnny one note, as we often call him (when we’re standing around at the gas station, poking fun at politicians and decrying the greed of the speculators and oil companies), has talked about nothing but drilling for more oil. It is mind boggling, but this cry for yet more dependence on the sticky substance, is resonating with the voters. “Drill, fool, drill,” seems to be catching on. Even in Florida, where elected officials have been adamant about not drilling off their coastline, the people are desperate enough to say—OK you want to drill, drill. (There’s that repetition thing again). And here’s the tragedy. If the oil companies spend more money drilling anywhere and everywhere they can, they will not have the money to invest in alternative fuel sources—which is exactly what they want. Never mind about where the deer and antelopes will play. It isn’t brain surgery. In one hand you hold a billion dollars worth of oil. In the other, the promise of maybe making a dime exploring alternative fuel sources. If you were the oil companies which would you choose?

Now let’s look at the third thing I wanted to blob about. Leadership. Leadership is defined in many ways but the definition I like from “dictionary.com” is “the ability to guide, direct or influence people.” It can also be “the head of a political party or group”, but this second definition is really old think. In order to be a leader, you have to be the in a leadership position or head of something. A bit chicken and egg wouldn’t you say. Every time I hear a McCain commercial or a Republican talking head say, “We don’t know if he’s a leader. We don’t know if he can lead”. I think, why aren’t the Obama people talking about the millions of people who have never been involved in politics before and now they have not only taken an interest, they have become Obama activists. He had the ability to lead them into a he world of “Yes we can”. He has shown them that he does have the vision and (if you judge by the trip overseas) the ability to lead this nation into better relationships with people from around the world. In order to be a leader today you need to understand where new technologies can “lead” you and you need to understand the possibilities of an interconnected globe. A leader does not expect you to follow blindly. A leader is not inflexible in the policies they have espoused when they turn out to be wrong. A leader is not afraid of change for the better. A leader does not hide behind experience because they are afraid of an alternative—much like the fuel we hold so dear. So is Obama a leader? I think so.

When Obama says, “We are who we are waiting for,” the media ridicule the statement with lots of, “What the heck does that mean it’s so cerebral it reeks of elitism and nonsense.” I don’t agree. If we spend our lives waiting for someone to come and save us—we will wait forever. But if we realize that as a nation if we work together we have the power to find solutions, we will find them. Telling people that they need to work to make change, that there is no magic bullet (rather than promising them an easy but unrealistic and dishonest fix), is a sign of someone with the courage to lead. I don’t know why the Obama campaign is not out touting his leadership skills. Once again, the Republicans are crafting the message and the Democrats are trying to respond. But unless they get out in front of the rhetoric, I’m afraid Senator Obama will spend another few years in the Senate—and everyone I talk to will be moving to Italy—where there certainly are political problems but at least you can’t get a bad meal. We're just sayin...

Do Not Pass Go and Straight to Voice Mail

The title of this blob accurately reflects my sentiments--but does it in a challenging if not circuitous manner. I feel confident everyone will get it. Well, anyone who reads. There was an article in the paper today that was a bit disturbing… I'm sure there was more than one but I was drawn to this one because the woman who was used as an example was named Gorman and my maiden name was Groman. Yes, it is another example of “it's all about me” but that is not what was disturbing. The article was about a technology that permits you to call someone and go straight to their voice mail instead of talking to them. This Gorman woman wanted to break up with someone she liked, but didn't want to have any unpleasant or unnecessary confrontation. (Clearly she wasn't a Groman). She actually was quoted as saying that if she didn't like him it would have been easy to talk to him directly but since she did like him, a conversation would have been too difficult. OH Pleeeeese!

The article went on to explain other equally evasive technologies, like one where you can set your phone to call another phone and leave a message while you’re out not doing what you were supposed to be doing (very confusing), and my own personal favorite which (skipped to e-mail) provided background sounds that mimic being in a traffic jam – so when you’re late for work it sounds like you are stuck in traffic.

Then there were some quotes from people who use these technologies and even some admissions about using the technology to mask cowardly behavior. Although cowardice is not the nicest of qualities, I wasn’t as annoyed by that as I was the people who thought that avoiding a real conversation was absolutely fine. The “It’s too difficult and time consuming to have to explain my feelings or behavior to anyone regardless of the relationship or their feelings” is yet one more example of the kind of self indulgent and entitled people so many of us have become. (Some of us have not, and you know who you are.)

Anyway, Like so many other things in a dynamic and changing world, we are hard pressed to think about the consequences of our development. Can you imagine what the world would be like if the people who invented these technologies hadn’t been forced to have face to face—or at least person to person -- conversations with their investors? There would be no technology. Or if Bill Gates and Warren Buffett had avoided having any conversation about the state of education in the world, and had just left voice mails for one another. I hardly think any of their generous giving would have ever gotten far enough to have the kind of impact it has had on the world. But let’s get back to Ms. Gorman not Groman. I don’t know her, but if the Times had used me as an example of inept behavior I would find it upsetting. She works in marketing. What kind of a person, who makes a living by understanding “people and markets,”
doesn’t have the depth of character to offer another human being a simple explanation. I don’t buy the “It takes too much time. I didn’t want to have any unnecessary confrontation” explanation.
Talk about an absence of depth. How shallow does a person need to be not to empathize with what other person in the relationship might have felt. She liked the guy and didn’t want to what.... hurt his feelings? have to explain herself and her decision? take a little time away for hair and nails treatment? or was afraid to hear what he might have wanted to say. It’s not the cowardice I have a problem with, it’s the total lack of interest and character.

The technology is going to continue to develop. People will take advantage of every improvement and anything that makes life ‘easier.’ That’s the way it should be. There is no law which says life can’t be simple and pleasant. My concern is that if gone unnoticed, the new technologies will also take away something we cherish—like our humanity. We’re just sayin...

Downpours on Saturday

The morning started out rather welcoming. The idea was to get up early, hop on a bike, and go along with Jim (he and Michael are hosting us this weekend at their place in Rehobeth, Delaware, the fully stocked beach town about 3 hours east of Washington DC. ) Many people, if you mention “east of DC” would think you were in the Azores, or at least the center of the mighty Atlantic, but in fact there is a whole swath of land, known as the “Eastern Shore” which drips from Delaware, to Maryland, and finally to Virginia. It’s ocean front on the eastern side, and Chesapeake Bay on the western. And for decades it has been the holiday haven for people from Philly to Richmond. But it’s the DC area which is most represented here, and there are times when you think you might be at the Holiday White House, there is so much “Washingtonia” present. We rented a house on the beach in nearby Dewey in 1986 and 87 (Jordan was a baby… it was her first time putting her tootsies into the cool, undulating waters), and spent another couple of weeks here in ’92.

But we have missed it, and this weekend, while Iris is doing a book signing/reading at the main bookstore (Browse About Books), we took advantage to see the beach for a couple of days. Unlike our former lives as occasionally tanned people, we don’t actually go to the beach much. It’s too damn hot, muggy, and yea that gritty sand can really get into some very uncomfortable places. So we lounge about (we’re getting quite good at that) and do a full speed “walk” on the beach for exercise, and just enjoy the breeziness of it all.

Storm clouds emerge
Last night at dinner, Jim invited me to rise early and do a bike ride with him. It seems like a fairly flat place, so I agreed. Most of the biking I have done in the past couple of years has been on a Tunturi stationery bike, strictly for exercise. I have my laptop mounted on there, and can easily while away 45 minutes doing email, surfing photo sites, reading, watching TV..all those things which became popular at the Gyms across the country in the last ten years. So, riding an actual bike, where you need to keep the handle bars, shifters, and brakes in mind, didn’t seem like a big step forward. So about 645 this morning off we went, the sun starting to stream in from the East, and a few clouds out west. Normally Jim rides about 30 miles.. (15 out to South Bethany, and back), and my deal was..I’d ride as long as I thought I was still in range to get back, and then I’d turn around.

It was delightful to feel that morning air racing by my cheeks. The pedaling on the many speed bike was pretty easy. You realize how efficient a bicycle makes a human being. All that rotational energy, and you’re going at two or three times the speed you’d be doing on your own feet. It’s great.

Jim, at speed, on Hiway 1
Sure, I know that millions of Dutch kids do this every day. They ride their bikes hither and yon, it is THE way of getting about. I know that well, actually having lived in the boonies in Salt Lake growing up. I owned a 47 pound Schwinn (ok, maybe only half that but it felt like a Jeep to lift!) with one speed: forward. I pedaled that bike everywhere. On a Saturday I’d go with a friend or two downtown – 11 miles one way, on relatively level streets, to see the better hobby shops (Model airplanes ruled in the early 60s.) We thought nothing of riding that hour or so down, and thence back, though the last mile and a half on Holladay Boulevard, a mildly sloping hill that seemed to never end, was always a challenge, one that kicked our butts routinely. Once I had visited the best bike shop in Salt Lake -- Joe Fishers – and had gone only two block towards home, when a young kid, newly sporting his driver’s license, blew through a Stop sign in his VW bug, made a corner onto Maple street, and headed right for me. Neither of us had the time to react: he hit me head on at 20 or 25 mph, I flew over the car, landing flatly on the roadside, Minor scrapes, and a gash in my left calf. But nothing life threatening, unless you considered the wrath of my mother. I got to my feet, and in true Ted Burnett fashion said “..it could have been worse…” and walked my bike back to the bike shop. The driver took off, and I was stuck trying to get my left pedal un-bent so I could actually pedal the last 6 miles home. At the bike shop they were incredulous that I’d just been hit by a car. But I had the gash to prove it. They fixed the pedal, I went home, and lied to my mom that I’d falled off a side walk. I knew if I told her I’d been hit by a car, that she wouldn’t let me bike to town anymore. I finally told her the truth in 1999.

Just after we took off, maybe 10 or 15 minutes into the ride, the clouds started forming in the West. Big Rollers. Capable of mischief. They began to look pretty ominous, and by the time we hit the 11 mile mark, the bridge over the inlet (no, I’m not sure which inlet) the rain was really heavy. I didn’t have a helmet, so I could see everything. We took shelter for twenty minutes in the leeward side of the cabin at the camp ground where they ask how many stragglers you have in your trunk and how many days you’re staying with them. It kept us from getting sopped. Then the rain broke, and we decided to head back. We hadn’t even cleared our way over the bridge and the rain started coming down again. And this is a part of the DelMarVa peninsula where shelter is difficult to find. Lightning would strike now and then, and I’d think to myself, “no worries, mate, your on rubber.” Then I’d look at the tires again, and realize they were coated in water, that loveable and very conductive substance which lightning adores. And still the rain came.

Admiring a pylon, in the tempest
It just poured, cats, dogs, and the odd road kill. Now and then I’d steer with one hand and use the other as a shield for my eyes. But there was no way around it; we were wet, everything around us was wet, and we were going to stay wet. Once you get to that point of acceptance, it’s a breeze. Another 20 minutes in the downpour and we made it to Dewey again, where the not so great decaf at the Sunrise Café was mighty welcome. We had three cups, and when we got up to go, each of our benches was awash in water that had leeched from our shorts. It was not pretty.

Jim, wet like I was, at the Sunrise
But I loved how that feeling of speed was so contained in the ride. Even in the rain, maybe especially in the rain, there was a feeling of natural power and force. It actually felt pretty cool once you just said… “I am going to be wet this morning.”

The best view of it, perhaps was a more professional looking rider (the Italian/Nascar style clothes, abundant in sponsors, and a very sweet looking bike) who passed us just as the storm renewed its fury. In a blur as he rode past, he turned and yelled “It’s good for your hair…..”

Good for your hair? We're just not sure...
We’re just sayin’… David

The clouds cleared, but the birds know better...