Arron Stanton Training

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Colin's Corner: A Sumerian-tablet invitation for multimedia-enhanced "books"

Colin's Corner: Apple's slate a "Sumerian" publishing eco-system for mobile mass media

If Apple manages to pull this off, it will be both potentially devastating and liberating for legacy publishing industries. Bright creative entrepreneurs will change the moribund textbook industry, children's books with be brought to life via multimedia, the travel guide industry and special interest publishing will be revolutionized, comic books anime and manga will reach massive new audiences. Where it makes sense text can be enhanced by audio and video, readers can be connected to discuss and share content, and new business models can be developed that take account of how readers want to access and consume content. The whole of the publishing industry could be revitalized. The journey is the reward.

Apple media release photo of iPad showing NY Times App

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Apple's Cutting-Edge Way with Computing and Digital Media

What amazes me is how the Internet has made breaking news just minutes away for someone thousands of miles away from the event. Following the endgadget liveblog, unwashed, unshaven, still dressed in night clothes, I read what Steve Jobs had said just a minute or so before on my computer screen at home.

I had the New York Times Bit correspondent on liveblog as well but his reports were not as frequent blow-by-blow like Joshua Topolsky's  at Endgadget. I also had Twitterific on so read tweets as people commented on what was unveiling at the San Francisco Yerba Buena (Good Herb) Center.

Apple did it again, despite naysayers. The way they built up their campaign of controlled leaks so anticipation grows like a giant propaganda machine is perhaps without peer. This reminds me of the much-hyped release of the iPhone. Most comments were slightly negative-"underwhelmed." The most frequently written criticism was lack of multitasking which one could do with a "real" computer like the iMac or MacBook. Jobs left for the very last his announcement of 3G phone connectivity. Without that I think the product would have floundered.

AT&T served an unexpected surprise. It undercut its competitors in offering unlimited data/call monthly charge for $29.99 and this without contract in an unlocked GSM-microSIM device. For me this was one highlight of Apple's new release. It heralds a new era in phone/Internet mobile pricing, perhaps appreciated only in the context of what has been happening on Wall Street and the global financial market. Pull back, retrench, cut prices back to something closer to affordability.

The most momentous element of the release to me is Apple's iBooks. At a time when the publishing industry has been struggling with sales for paper products, Apple's iBooks Store could very well revolutionize not only books but magazine distributions. With its capacity for Apps, one can fantasize about the possibilities.

Pundits mourned how the iPad lacked hardware revolutionary emendations. Someone pointed out the obscured significance. Apple provides the hardware and a few initial software offerings (as it has always done) created by Apple itself and a few typical software creators) and provides with the hardware release the software development package that allows other entrepreneurs to create the content that makes the device so powerful and useful.

I think Apple was right in not changing the UI significantly. Why change something that works? Now people used to the iPhone and iPod can use the same skills to use a new device with more content possibilities. Jobs spoke of standing on the shoulders of Amazon's Kindle. What he didn't say but which is obvious, the iPad stands on the shoulders of the iPhone and iPod, and really on the whole Apple product line: the online store, the intuitive graphical interface, touchscreen that allows fingers to directly manipulate content.

Jobs said something at the outset that struck me because I had not thought of his company in this way. Apple, he said, was the world's largest producer of "mobile" devices. Of course! With included WiFi, Apple MacBooks, iPhones and iPod Touch are what else but mobile devices? These are the very devices I first heard about at NAB in Las Vegas four years ago, devices that were going to be the new distribution outlets for creative people.

Sometimes I am appalled at how slow I am on the uptake. It has taken me two years to feel I am understanding digital media enough to be creating intelligent products. I am so very far away from creating the cutting-edge, edgy products I wanted to make but over all I am happy with the little I have accomplished. The future is opening, slowly, but it is opening to a new page, and I am excited.

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Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Loving words, living

Verbal sensitivity, wrote John Gardner, was one quality a writer could use. I like this phrase better than "love for words." It's a closer approximation of what I enjoy when writing.
I do feel a caffeine jolt when I find a new word that captures what I mean. I love the sound of it, the cadence it adds to my sentence, the harmony or disharmony it contributes to the paragraph, or even to the whole work but what I enjoy is bigger than this. Gardner's term includes more than the delight I feel with individual words or group of words. It is curiosity about the structure of language and the mimetic function of thought in putting flesh to experience. I might hazard to say that what I enjoy in writing is intrinsic to living life itself. Living by itself seems inadequate when I cannot put down what I am living into what I see. Seeing is at the core of writing, seeing in the sense like dipping a teaspoon into the surging river that I have a bit of it in my possession, something I can gloat over and dissect and make something else out of because what I have is not the river surely. It's mine now; hence I I can, maybe even must do something with it. It is delight and obligation; it is response and responsibility.

I lost this sensitivity to language and to words for years but it only went underground and took on another form. I wanted to cultivate and understand images. Now I understand why. Language is more than words. It is a tool I was not interested in passing on information or facts. Language rises to its potential when it recreates experience. (Life is, after all, only what we experience, not some absolute thing, certainly not "reality" or "truth." The art of the writer or graphic artist derives from his or her experience of this confounding, frustratingly ungraspable entity that created mystics in the first place. An artist is one who senses in some dark corner of her psyche that there is more to life than just living it. She must imitate what experience hints is it's essence, that animating force that some call God. By imitating it she tries to identify with it and sometimes by God accomplishes this. Or appears to, anyway. Artists aspire to this goal, a goal no one can verify. Publishing what a writer writes might give verity to his success. Selling a movie concept or a video or a painting might make the artist feel he's gotten it. The recognition by another person encourages the artist to try again, and try and try. But I think he tries because he must. Life otherwise would just not be enough. It has to be transported by his imagination and desire into something filtered through his being, through what he represents in the incalculably immense scheme of things.

To descend from hyperbole, I think I am on the right track. Better late than never, they say. Not being a fatalist I still think we do what we do. To feel remorse or dwell on what might have been is senseless. Desire is, like imagination, just a page in the eternally mysterious that changes and moves relentlessly on (or back or sideways). We don't become eternal by cultivating art or achieving financial or business or personal success. It's just life, this short span of time of awareness, of sensitivity.

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Sunday, January 24, 2010

The Changing Chinese Presence in the U.S.

House of Cheung Cantonese Shrimp Vegetable Stir-fry

At Sichuan last Friday, my Chinese friends Allan and Helen urged me to check out the Sunday buffet at Mandarin House, Carmel. They'd been urging me to try the food there on Sunday as they had also urged the Thai Taste buffet on Thursday night and The Journey, Carmel, buffet Saturday noon. Today I decided to see for myself what the brother-and-sister Chinese gourmets were so excited about.

Mandarin House is just across the street from Sichuan, both of them on South Rangeline Road.  When I got there at 1:45 this afternoon, there were two cars in front of Sichuan. The parking lot in front of Mandarin House was packed with more than twenty. Groups of Chinese diners were oozing out the door, many in a hurry to get back home to watch the Colts game scheduled at 3. While waiting for a table, Allan and Helen come out. Allan insisted on showing me the buffet. He walked me past the maĆ®tre d’ and pointed out the day's highlights. He told me the restaurant periodically changed their spread. He introduced me to the "boss lady," Lilly, who later told me the regional provenance of my favorite dishes. The noodle dish was from Shanghai, the bean cured Sichuan, the ribs Cantonese, etc

Last week I took photos of the food at the House of Cheung on Keystone Avenue. Peter's restaurant opened 20 years ago. Back then he told me there were seven Chinese restaurants in the city. They all more or less had the same menu, mostly Cantonese specialties the owners had modified to American tastes, what came to be called "Chinese American." Unfortunately I shot the food at the steam table with just the existing light. The pictures did not have good contrast.

I want to make a video about Chinese-American restaurants. These are cultural dinosaurs. I would also love to make a small documentary about Peter and his family and the story of how they came to America in tandem with the story of Cantonese American restaurants. More Chinese now are coming directly from what used to be called "Mainland China." Chinese restaurants in the U.S. are changing because the Chinese who are creating them are different, and the American diners, too, are savvier. Many are now open to food traditions their parents could not stomach before.

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Thursday, January 21, 2010

Believing in an afterlife

I acquired Merrill's A Different Person: A Memoir last August, began to read it then tucked it away on my shelf for future reference. Yesterday, determined to stay in bed and rest away an incipient cold, I plucked the book for something to keep my mind from going crazy. What a crazy inspiration!

I resumed reading the book today. It inspired me to rethink what I had recently concluded was a false love for words. How could I ever have thought I loved words? If I ever did, where the hell did it go? Merrill resurrected that sweet inebriation. How I've missed it. A gift sometimes becomes a slave's collar that keeps getting heavier until we tear it off our flesh that we can walk off the slave boat a free man again. But then sometimes we miss what we had so violently discarded. We'd extirpated a vital something in us; we'd reduced ourselves to becoming a stranger even to ourselves, treading water in an even more alien sea.

I found Merrill on Facebook. Nothing written there on the wall but I joined the 117 fans. I learned from Wikipedia that the poet had died in 1995. His memoirs were published a year earlier. They comprised the main text he must have written closer to the trip to Europe he undertook in 1950, and updates in italic from the "different person" he felt he'd become. The memoir may be the last thing he published while alive, a final statement on his sixty-nine years.

Among the fans of his faux Facebook account was a young man who blogged about the 142 books he'd read in 2009. Erudite, sensitive, intelligent, possessed of a way with words I used to think I too had, he added to the feeling that took over this otherwise dismal, drizzly day in Indiana. It's a day to ignite belief in resurrection and the afterlife. I have been bemoaning my sad estate while being obnoxiously ungrateful for my advantages. I can turn this ship around. I am not Merrill nor the unnamed prodigious young reader but I can do a bit more than what I thought I could.

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Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Cantonese Diaspora Life & the House of Cheung

Cantonese food is what came to mind when growing up in the Philippines we went out for Chinese with my father. Cantonese was also what Americans had until the last ten to fifteen years when more mainland Chinese have been liberated to come to America and offer us the wider variety of Chinese viands.

Peter Cheung started the House of Cheung in 1989. His grandfather came to America in 1907 and worked at various jobs until he came to the Midwest in the late 1940s and started working in various restaurants. Peter followed in the 1970s, his father arriving later on with his mother. Peter told me that when he first arrived in Indianapolis there were seven Chinese restaurants. Now there are over a hundred. But his Cantonese-American style of Chinese restaurant is quickly disappearing. Sprouting like shiitake mushrooms after the rain, the newer restaurants are smaller with minimal decor to tell customers they sold Chinese food. Peter's restaurant, on the other hand, is a museum of artwork overseas Chinese and Chinese who fled the mainland were homesick for. Reverse glass paintings, scrolls, ornate imperial-style dragons, and the golden lanterns with Mandarin-red faux silk tassels.

My rather confused take - his machine-gun speech left me in the dust - on Peter's family history in America gave me the impression that the seven Chinese restaurants in the city were incestuous enterprises. Owners and chefs came from a small group of Chinese who knew each other and who traded places as necessity occasioned. They maintained a consistent blueprint for what constitutes a Chinese restaurant and its menu. Peter's House of Cheung is one of the last examples.
The story of Peter's family and their associates starting from the late 1800s fascinates me. So much has been written about the Jewish diaspora, largely in the Europe and the Americas, but the Chinese too dispersed from mainland China and their story has been told only in a few books. They came to California in the 1800s and built the railroads that spanned the West. Many ended up finding new ways of making money by starting Chinese laundries and restaurants. These were the equivalents of European explorers fanning out into America and Asia. The Chinese began to leave Manchu China after Europe and the U.S. made contact with the deteriorating Middle Kingdom to seek their own fortune. Theirs is a story begging to be told.

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Field Greens with Feta

Wal Mart has been offering a large tub full of organic field greens for under two dollars. The organic revolution may be said to have arrived mainstream when Wal Mart offers organic veggies on its shelves. The greens include baby red-leaf lettuce and arugula, which by itself is often prohibitively priced. I should have used plain cider vinegar instead of balsamic that darkened the salad. A Greek salad to me is mixed greens, cucumber slices, a few tomatoes slices and feta cheese dressed simply with vinegar and olive oil. I didn't quite achieve this but the mix was tasty nonetheless.

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Cabbage Stirfry with Shrimp and Ham

Cabbage Stirfry with Shrimp and Ham Strips

I have been buying cooked, shelled jumbo shrimp from Marsh when they on sale. They are so convenient to use and don't spoil as quickly after I defrost them in the fridge. There's a significant disadvantage. They don't caramelize as well when stir-fried so don't add as much flavor to the vegetables. I miss the large prawns I used to get from Asia Mart, shells and heads on, the carapace often glutted with shrimp fat that to me is more delectable than caviar. Seafood fat is unknown to most Westerners. I remember a show on the PBS Create channel. The food expert showed how to prepare crab. After steaming it, she plied the carapace off and washed what remained under running water! Washed off the best part of the crab! Fat is untidy to Western eyes, but a delicacy among those really in the know.

I had pan-roasted sirloin strips and thought of adding this to the stir-fry but decided against it. I am often too tradition-bound. Seafood and pork are traditional cook mates. Beef should marry with these as well but in the Asia of which China and the Philippines are a part cattle were not high-profile ingredients. We didn't have the vast grain fields to support flocks of cattle for commercial large-scale beef production. Beef seems to be a more domineering taste whereas both shrimp and pork are sweet and gently blend together well. Sometimes though art must grab the consumer's attention and does this with bold, unusual pairings. Regrettably I am seldom that bold, thus seldom truly artistic.

As to the photograph... This is one I've remembered to take emphasizing the height of the food. Instead of taking the picture from above which results in a flat image, I shot from the side and with a black background and low F-stop. I like how the food is contrasted against the stark black background. The resolution is also good. I like seeing the striations on the thinly sliced green onion rings.

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Monday, January 18, 2010

Woody Allen on the Authentic Life

Budapest 2004

Woody Allen to Terry Gross on Fresh Air 29 December 2009:

“How could you go through life, you know, taking direction from the outside world? I mean, what kind of life would you have, you know, if you were – if you made your decisions based on, you know, the outside world and not what your inner dictates told you? You would have a very inauthentic life."

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Sunday, January 17, 2010

Beef Sirloin with Marsala Sauce

This is the first time I've cooked anything from scratch at home so I am happy with just that. I had some top sirloin that I wanted to quickly sear on a hot cast-iron pan and serve it with Botan rice and a field-green salad. I thought I'd use a prepared Thai peanut sauce on the steak. Instead I decided to degrease the pan with Marsala wine while the pan was still on pretty high heat. The result is this almost-burnt-looking sauce with probably a dose of indigestible iron to boot! Lunch was still tasty, and as I said, the occasion was still something to be happy about. I cook in bursts. Days pass and I just don't feel like lifting a finger in the kitchen, even when I know the wonderful feeling of eating fresh-cooked food. The aroma and the warmth and the fresh taste are incomparable. This is why people spend a fortune on restaurant food when they can get more for their money at a buffet. At a restaurant, the waiter rushes the food to your table hot from the chef's pan. What a luxury!

Having expressed gladness that I'm back on my culinary legs I think I might hew the line for a while. I enjoy cooking spontaneously, cooking with the instantaneous inspiration from need and memory. But cooking by someone else's recipe is another level of enjoyment, and mastery. Following a recipe is discipline. After all they are often concocted by highly talented and skilled people, more focused and trained on cooking skills and tastes than I shall ever be!

So, the resolution is this: cook by the book for a few days. I want to enlarge my gustatory vocabulary.

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Saturday, January 16, 2010

Asian-centered Reflections on Moviemaking

I watched Simon Chung's End of Love this morning. He wrote and directed this Cantonese-language movie that was featured at the Berlin Film Festival in 2008. Variety trashed the movie, calling it "uninspired. I was going to eject the movie after the first few frames but something about the main character's demeanor arrested my action. I ended up watching the whole movie. It was depressing. The plot didn't make sense. The end brought no closure, as if the threads were left just hanging there.

I watched the included interview with the actors and that improved my impression of the movie considerably. This certainly is not your typical Hollywood or European movie and this is its drawing card. The actors talked about they prepared for their roles. Both of the principal actors played gay roles but were straight. The movie was about drug addiction and prostitution. It touched on three controversial themes. But it was not the themes that appealed to me, especially after viewing the actor interviews. What interested me was the Chinese actors' take on these themes as they related to them personally. Their comments seemed to reflect to me contemporary young Chinese attitudes about these issues as well as movies. 

If China has become an economic giant, the media it creates will soon also cast a giant shadow on the global imagination. The attempts of the director (whose interview was apparently lopped off) and actors are sophomoric by American and European standards but their earnestness is impressive. While they may still look up to Hollywood for models I can see them striking out in their own direction as confidence in the Chinese as a whole grows with their economic power. This at least is what I'd like to see. Coming from a comparatively insignificant Asian country, I fantasize it hanging on to the coattails of China as China flies against Western hegemony. If Indian spirituality influenced Western culture in the  60s and 70s, maybe China will increasingly influence the West from hereon.

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George Lucas's Acorn-size History of American Movies

Asked by David Binaculli (substituting for Terry Gross who was "still slightly under the weather) for movies he saw in rough cuts from showings by his filmmaker friends, Lucas named three: 

Godfather - "a real experience, because the movie originally was very, very long..."
Taxi Driver - "pretty intense and it was sort of pushing the boundaries of violence and story and all kinds of things - so that was really exciting..."
Jaws - "because it was so hard to make and there were so many things that went wrong..."

"... a movie is ultimately is a very fragile thing..." So many things can go wrong. When you watch it in rough cut before it is finished it might appear a disaster. Post-production makes or breaks a movie. It is how the various elements created by the director are put together, how they are set against each other, until the director is satisfied with the result. Not until then is it a movie.

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Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Romulus, My Father

Australian director's Richard Roxburgh's first feature film, Romulus, My Father, was released in the U.S. 31 May 2007. It is unlike American movies for the sparsity of action. The frames load quietly, with long cuts and dialogue rationed out as abstemiously as water in the parched Victoria pastureland.  Much is left to the viewer to figure out and the sometimes inscrutable Australian accents add to the near-incomprehensibility of the viewing. The paucity of details actually adds to the power of the film. Events sometimes happen one after the other while for stretches there is only the pantomimic display of seemingly insignificant activity. Romulus, helping to prepare a field for winter by burning the brush down; Romulus, hammering red-hot metal that he shapes into cast-iron furniture; the boy, Rai, riding his bicycle up rocky hills. The images burn themselves into the brain, colors sere like the brown earth, red rocks, and tiny bright yellow and purple flowers like tiny stars in the sky's huge, black firmament.

The film is based on the critically acclaimed memoir of writer and philosopher, Raimond Gaita as he comes of age in Frogmore, Victoria in the early 1960s. It tells the story of his father, Romulus, an emigrant from Romania, and his beautiful German wife, Christina. Christina is highly unstable but Romulus always welcomes her back even after she moves in with his best friend's brother in Melbourne. The story is tragic and with his wife's suicide Romulus, too, sinks into psychotic depression. With so much tragedy, the movie nonetheless leaves me with an impression of lyrical beauty. The struggle I feel many a day in my own  life palls by comparison; I live after all in affluent America. 

The film's story is set among poor Australian immigrants who somehow eke out a living doing whatever they can. The movie to me therefore is a story of immigrants, how migrating to a so-called first-world country is not always what we think it promises to be. Life is hard but here at least we have the freedom to pursue our lives however deprived it might be, and the opportunity to earn a living if we are industrious enough to do whatever work comes our way.

Roxburgh, an actor who directed plays before he made this movie, offers video diaries of the making of the movie at http://www.romulusmyfather.com.au/diary1.html

As I trudge along, beginning now to make videos in fits and starts, I dream of being able to create experiences in the viewers comparable to movies like Romulus, My Father. Obviously, the story of Rai and his father appeals to me because of my own issue-ful relationship with my father, but content perhaps is only the initial motivation for doing anything creative. When I am able to immerse myself in a project no matter how small I discover feelings and intuition that surprise me. I didn't know I had these in me. I think this is at the core of why I want to explore this aspect of my productivity. In working with images, words and emotion I find bits of myself that sometimes fill up the wide sky of an unimaginably bittersweet world.

At one point in the movie, Hora, reads a quotation from a book to Rai: "Wasted time that you enjoy is not wasted." That's my scripture lesson for the day.

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Friday, January 8, 2010

The Care and Feeding of Ideas in the Making of Images, Sound and Animation

Light Storm

Bill Backer's book, The Care and Feeding of Ideas, glittered with useful insights when I read the first few pages this morning. The ideas that he wanted to explore and that interested me belonged to these groups:

1. ideas that moved me in the direction that I would like to be going
2. ideas that provided fresh responses to the wants or needs of the world, of consumers, or of a particular group in which I am interested.

In terms of creating a business, I am interested in how to generate ideas and to how to identify which ideas to execute that would meet needs in potential consumers that they'd want to pay me for my services or products. It's more than marketing, earlier in the process but in a way if I can do this marketing would largely take care of itself. I want to create products that I would enjoy creating for people I would enjoy creating them for.

I spoke to my sister last night. Her boss, the hospital administrator, asked her incredulously if I was retired. My sister's answer delighted me. Her answer indicated she was finally accepting the idea she fought so vigorously when I first told her about it. She told him I was not retired. I was working on "his second career." This is in fact what I am doing and two years later I feel I'm past just "attempting" to do this. I have made the transition even if I have not yet made significant money from my endeavors. For one thing, I am clearer about what I want to do and why I want to do what I want to do.

Two years ago my motivation was more just to get out of what I was doing, of what I had done for the last 30 years: working as a psychiatrist. The secondary motive was a hypothesis that I would enjoy working with people in a different fashion, not as a medical expert but in a more creative and personal way. I enjoyed it when I could come up with a prescription that relieved the emotional discomfort of my patients but what I enjoyed more was listening to their stories. Hearing them talk about their lives, their relationships, the journey they have taken, what brought them joy, their inner conversations and debates: this was what I enjoyed most of all. 

Backer wrote that the richest source of ideas was popular culture—movies, popular songs, mass products, and especially advertising. I've found this to be true. When I use the treadmill at the gym I watch music videos. I get inspired by how the videos are created, the packaging, but the content being packaged intrigues me, too. I am especially drawn to the new ideas of young people or people just emerging into success in the lines of business or career they have chosen. Thus I enjoy the interviews of actors, singers, directors, and writers by Terry Gross in her NPR program, Fresh Air.

Backer writes: "Advertisers today are quick to substitute a new film technique for a new message, and manufacturers are more prone to redesign the package than improve what is inside it." I think this is true. There have been few truly innovative, revolutionary ideas. Apple's iPod is one such idea. It took over the world that Sony Walkman tape and CD players used to dominate but raised the ante considerably. Instead of being limited to the 13 or so songs on a CD, iPod users can have thousands of songs at their fingertips. Thousands! In addition, they can even watch videos on these tiny gadgets thus impacting the creation and delivery of movies, both entertaining and informational. I listen to Terry Gross's interview as podcasts on my iPod.

Products like laundry detergent or toothpaste have not changed in decades, maybe not since they were first introduced and marketed. Manufacturers market new tastes or new fragrances, sometimes adding new ingredients that supposedly "improved" the product but the next slew of products boasted new ingredients, suggesting that the additional ingredients are like the taste or fragrance is just new packaging.

As someone interested in creating photographs and videos I am obviously interested in packaging. I am still in the stage of climbing the learning curve and have not left the ground behind me much. But I think sometimes the packaging is the revolutionizing idea. 

I read  David Pogue's iMovie '08 & iDVD yesterday. iMovie, he contends, has revolutionized movie-making that ordinary folks can make movies now that are not tedious but truly creative. With the accessibility of video-making, animated visual presentation is taking over what used to be static, non-visual media. Even photographs now are more effectively displayed as slide shows or outright videos set to music, the elements of Hollywood-style movies. In a society where ADHD is rife and attention spans have grown shorter because the visual or sensory stimuli can be delivered with great speed, people now crave dynamic, faster-than-life presentations. 

Faster-than-life and we can collapse our very experience of life (being composed of thoughts and sensations) and feel we are living more, living richer, more profound and wide-ranging lives.

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Thursday, January 7, 2010

Before the Beginning: Mystical Time

We're getting our first real snow. Since early December days have been mostly cold and dark, with light snow several days a week, but nothing like the accumulation we are getting today. We're supposed to get four inches. Already there're three inches on the ground and the snow continues to fall in that hushed, relentless way that augurs little change.

Checking out the Midlife Motorcycle Madness blog what do I find among the Google ads near the bottom left corner but a link to Krishna Bedtime Stories: Before the Beginning by Damodara Dasa. http://www.iskconberkeley.com/bedtime/?p=index

On further investigation, it appears the site is from the the International Society for Krishna Consciousness in Berkeley. No matter. The book website exemplified the simply designed website I was drawn to years ago that started my interest to learn digital design. At one time I wanted to write a book comprising text and images—photographs or illustrations, like this Krishna book.
The Krishna book reminded one reviewer of children's Bible books. The teachings are couched in simple words and very accessible concepts. This is why I fell in love with cartoons as a child. In the world of cartoons (not in the anime books that teenagers and young adults now enjoy as imports from Japan), life is simple to read. The colors are primary colors. No ambiguity or complexity here. The lines of the comic figures too are unequivocal. Life should be this unambiguous.

Snow turns the landscape black-and-white. Details that give complexity and meaning vanish. Only the main points remain, the skeleton framework, not the flesh-and-blood that obscures the fundamentals of a body.

Never was there a time when I did not exist, declares Krishna to an Arjuna reluctant to begin battle with revered teachers and relatives. There was never a time when God did not exist, nor you, nor these warriors and kings many of whom shall be dead by day's end. Nor is there a time in the future, Krishna continues, when any of us ceases to be.

Krishna is not saying as Christians, Jews or Muslims believe that we have the opportunity to go after death to a more pleasant life where the pleasantness never ends. His teachings is more profound than this, goes beyond even the idea of what in the West we call reincarnation. From investigations that they make from the depths of meditative stillness, mystics see beyond time, and therefore beyond being. (Being is gerund for the verb to be, as abstract as anything we know.) Without time there is neither then or now or later. What is seen is seen now and now is all there is. Now is tied to a particular seeing. When the mystic breaks free of that tie now becomes the boundlessness that is ein sof in Kabbalah. There is no death if there is no individual or separate being.

That is little comfort if we are caught up in our personal daily dramas. We'd like the snow to stop, the drier fixed, the stir-fry aromatic and hot, the cage fighting video dream-like and evocative of human aspirations. Now is not where we are and where we are there are birth and death, beginnings and endings.

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Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Remarkable Random Relationships

An audio program on the Kaballah made me realize that the names we have for objects and people are basically expressions of relationship. In Kaballah  philosophy, everything stems not from God that people talk about as though they knew God. The world of experience radiated from ein sof or boundlessness. Our separateness from each other, each object's separateness from the rest of the physical world and we humans who walk it often oblivious of anything beyond our thoughts and agenda is an illusion created by the names we give ourselves and others. Relationships are integral to our being distinct and separate, expressing what mystics believe as the whole oneness of everything. Maybe this is why much as I enjoy my solitude these ordinary, often chance encounters yield such delight.

One such encounter was the the gym the other day. Having resumed exercising again just recently I am still becoming comfortable at Lifestyle as I felt at the old Bally where I had worked out since 1987. It closed last July. Lifestyle Fitness is a more spacious facility without the catwalk jogging trail or the water amenities. I can't get over how high the ceilings are, dwarfing my Lilliputian efforts at seizing control over my weight and body fat content. 

I had nodding or chatting friends at Bally. In the locker room I often tried my broken Spanish with the Honduran cleaning person, Luis. On the floor I knew a couple who had modeled for me and with whom again I chatted inanities that made the gym trip the social highlight of my day. I enjoy the silence and quiet of living and working alone but many days I get hungry for some kind of contact. 

At Lifestyle on Tuesday, while changing back to street clothes I struck up a conversation with a young guy who was flexing in front of the mirror. Edgardo is Mexican. He was three when his family moved to the States. He is 17 and still in high  school. Two years ago he was overweight and started working out. He now looked toned. He told me he got up at 4:30 on schooldays to go to the gym before school started. He wants to be a personal trainer and can hardly wait until he turns 18 when he can apply for an accreditation exam.

At Burger King today, I tried to buy a triple whopper from Harold, the assistant manager. He told me the sandwich was "very big. Are you sure that's what you want?" I changed my order to a double. Later he came around and asked me if the double whopper was enough. It was. Imagine a salesperson talking you out of a bigger order!

This morning I met the Banthias at the airport. They had spent the New Year break in Florida with their three children. When I learned about their trip last December I offered to drive them to the airport. Babula told me he already had plans. He and his wife were going to take the bus. Visha did not look forward to the two-hour trip by bus to the airport and quickly accepted my offer. Later Babu emailed me to say he had been trying not to get me involved because he did not want to impose on me. He and his wife are a pair. They must complement each other because they have been married almost 40 years, and this after a wedding their parents had arranged.

Relationships create stories and stories intrigue me. I can't see myself writing fiction however. I like the "found" stories I encounter by chatting up random people I meet when I venture outside my home most days but creating the plot myself does not attract me.

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Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Stories behind Chinese Characters

Swallowing Clouds

A. Zee in his book, Swallowing Clouds, Two Millennia of Chinese Tradition, Folklore, and History Hidden in the Language of Food, deconstructed Chinese characters to suggest what the Chinese of old thought were basic values of the culture. Home, for instance, is a a roof over the character for pig. In China as it was in the Philippines of my childhood, families often raised pigs under their houses built on bamboo stilts as precaution against the seasonal floods. Raising a pig was part and parcel of the construct for home, like the TV and computer might be for the modern American home.

The character for good comprises a left part signifying woman and a right signifying child (or probably more correctly, son). A son is what the Chinese of old considered the good in life. It can also represent one's wife and children, that is, one's loved ones, and therefore everything that is good, what matters to us. Extending the exploration, we might also see the character signify that having lots of children was good. In an agrarian society where hands were needed to tend the fields, having many children was having many hands to sow, weed, water, reap, process and store what the farm produces. In words is imbedded the cultural history of a nation, of human civilization.

The character for contentment is a woman under a roof. I am reminded of my friend, Arron, who when I was videotaping him for his cage-fighting video, declared that while he lusted after fame and fortune, at the end of the day you could not snuggle to your hard-won trophy as you could with a girl. He and Brittany are back together again but back then they had broken up on Arron's decision to move to the big city to improve his fortune.

My friend, Larry, told me on the phone just now that the character for conflict was two women under a roof. Zee wrote that the character for union was a triangle over a mouth, suggesting what happens when three persons are speaking in accord with each other.

Words in English probably provide the same insight into the English and English-speaking peoples but Chinese characters because they are pictographs and only phonetic in a minor way provide evocative images of what individual peoples have had in their minds. I feel connected with people in remote times and places for the community of images we share. Each character is in effect a pocketbook, an SMS linking us to an organism much larger and therefore more powerful than I am.

The character for won ton comprises a mouth and clouds. A. Zee wrote that looking at a hot bowl of wonton he saw billowing clouds. If neurologists are right that smell and taste are the most powerful vehicles for memory, the smell of this soup can be our magic carpet to our mythologic past. To write or create photographs one must be connected with our communal mythology. In the ordinary course of our day we are reasonable beings. Those of us who aspire to be artists must in addition be able to dive deeper into the psyche to come back up from the depths with pearls.

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Monday, January 4, 2010

Uploading my first video on YouTube

It must be like holding your first child in your arms. Oh, that may be hyperbole for someone with children but I don't. The trickle of products I am starting to create is the closest I'll get to having children. And there are disadvantages, sure, but advantages, too. No college education fund to set up, and best of all, I can still have my quiet and solitude!

When Arron came over last night with loyal friend, Seth, he showed me his brother's goofy videos on YouTube. With titles promising titillating subjects, they had hundreds, even thousands of hits. Titles like Fuck Vegetarians, Sexy Girl Shows Her Boobs, Fart Torch... Coming Up!!! categorize Billy's raunchy, raucous humor but it worked. Titles are how videos are searched. Catogories, too, are helpful.

YouTube sent me a routine congratulatory email with suggestions on how to spice up my page. Meanwhile I enabled broadcasting my walks on Nike Plus to Twitter and Facebook. Inevitably I am linking myself to the social-network age, a phenomenon I learned about two years ago. And I used to think myself a first adopter. Nope, nope, nope!

Meanwhile on my Facebook page, Duende Arts Photography & Video, I looked at the five videos I uploaded since the iPod nano test video three weeks ago. The improvement, I think, has been phenomenal.

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Walnut Ham Orange Salad

Yesterday I hewed to my resolution to eat at home and eat healthier meals. I toasted ham strips in a non-stick pan and in the same pan caramelized walnut halves as toppings for a salad dressed in mustard vinaigrette.

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Sunday, January 3, 2010

What Is Real in Indian Spirituality

Geese at 8°C

Frank's mother is "probably terminally ill" with cancer. He and Audrey are flying to NY to join his siblings. He told us after the hour-long sitting this morning that spirituality is fine "then there is reality." We sit in the fashion of vipassana.

Spirituality that which ennobles our lives, that springs us out of our usual self-centered habits into transcendent action, that kills our addiction to meaning and purpose inimical with what is real. Spirituality belongs to spirit, that part of our lives beyond the concerns of the physical body or the psychological self. When it comes in conflict with reality, generally it vanishes without a trace as we deal with reality.

In Yoga the teaching aphorism states: Asatho maa Sadgamaya[1]. Lead me from the unreal to the Real. Westerners often point to how Indian-inspired spirituality leads practitioners into la-la land. By contemplating their navel they miss financial and technological opportunities and preserve the poverty of their societies.

In Buddhism, the practice is geared towards realizing one of three fundamental characteristics of experience that singly or together bring about dukkha or suffering. One of these characteristics is annata, without self (atta in Pali, atman in Sanskrit). Meditation reveals how dominant and controlling is our sense of self. Self is the story we want to tell. It is not necessarily the story we want to  live much less the story we are living. Self is opposed to reality. Self is how we want to see ourselves and how we want others to see us. Self is living our life for the effect we want our presence and actions to have with others. We live for the effects and stay impervious to what  is essential, to what is real.

The universe is meaningless, that is, beyond the story we are living out. Meaning is what we try to impose on reality. It is how we think we, others, the "external" world, what we experience should be. Self is our preferences, what we would like to experience,  not the experience itself. We spend our energy combating how things are and trying to impose our will on everything. Being unaware of the operation of self is, I believe, the idolatry monotheisms inveigh against. Thou shalt have no other gods but me. Modern-day followers of the great monotheistic faiths have lost the gist of the teachings of the founding teachers of their tradition. They have created God out of their preferences and beliefs and anybody who sees differently are wrong. Their God is what they believe reality is, not what reality is but what their belief construes as being ultimately real. Instead of leading them to see what is real religions lead them to superstition, that is, something added unto what is real.

The real is simple, utterly and murderously simple. It is beyond the drama we complain about but keep on creating by responding to the world of circumstances as though it was real instead of this world being the illusion created by self. Self is our history of experiences of success and failure. What brought us pleasurable consequences becomes enshrined as absolute, unchanging, the eternal rather than product of a particular moment. We see the infinite in a ridiculous detail of deluded living.

Human beings believe themselves very powerful indeed. They even affect global weather, forgetting that they don't drive the weather. The weather is governed by forces inherent in itself. Describing the phenomenon is not the same as identifying how that phenomenon arises and goes away again. We are responsible for only this much: what we think, what we say, what we do. To think we are responsible might mean we control the energy we put out into the world but thinking upon this we might realize we don't really choose. We think, speak and do what Self directs us to do. Our doing is just the doing of Self. Where is the choice? To be enlightened is to be free to choose how we respond to what is real. First we have to see through the machinations of the self. Once we see how self makes us see things, what we call the subjective or experience, we can then be free to be like the clouds or rain or sunshine or the flowing stream. The marvel is not that a man can walk on water but that water yields when something heavier than itself is set upon it, gravity being operational.

Back to Frank and Audrey. We can continue to act in the way we think or feel others would like us to act and we are simply living out our stories. The story we want others to recognize as who we are is powerless in the face of nature and its laws. It is something "extra," as Zen teachers teach. Practice is to see past the extras we build into life, the drama to which we are addicted, that we become one again with the totality beyond our projections and imaginations. Art is something else. When genuinely art, it appears to add strokes to the illusion but its effect is the opposite. We transcend self and perhaps momentarily live in the real, in the essential, in the infinite truth of what is real. What is real is beyond what we have experienced, beyond what we can experience if experience is what the self lives. Buddhists talk about samsara, spinning wheels that give us a sense of being active and busy with living. When we see what is real we see the inconsequence of spinning wheels. We talk less, act less when we see how mindlessly yielding to self just adds to the drama we want to escape from. It is not life we want to escape but the delusions that again and again we seek to impose on an impersonal universe that is deaf and blind to what we want. 

Freedom from the extra imposed on reality by our measly self we might gain the awe that life seen clearly brings about, the same wonder that stirred a Buddha or Jesus, maybe even Mohammed, into changing the Mecca of their existence and pointing their effort instead to what is real.

As we go into each situation let us remember to act knowingly. Let us remember to bring into each situation what we want to bring into each situation. Do we want to sow enmity and differences? Do we want to sow harmony and impeccability? Do we want to bring kindness or generosity or gratitude or wonder or joy? Someday we may want to examine the very values we say we live our lives by and see which are true, bound not by our tiny lives but transcending our laughable wisdom that we live harmoniously with ourselves. Until then let our values guide our conduct, shape our contribution to every human circumstance, remembering to eschw idolatry, worshipping the Self.


[1] For an example of how a Hindu teacher teaches this aphorism, see http://www.saibaba.ws/articles/fromtheunreal.htm

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Voyeur or Adventurer?

Brock Faces the Camera

I'd thought myself an adventurous guy but listening to Peter Bogdanovich's interview of Hitchcock last night is making me rethink myself. 

In the interview, Hitchcock admitted he was a voyeur, like his character Jeffrey in Rear Windows, whose "subjective" experience was the movie's main plot. A photojournalist confined to his two-room Greenwich apartment after he broke  his leg trying to take an action shot at an auto race, he could only move himself from bed to wheelchair, from wheelchair to bed. He occupied himself doing what he did best: observing. John Michael Hayes wrote the screenplay but it was apparently Hitchcock who wanted the subplots about the neighbors that Jeff could observe through their wide-open windows. Their stories not only stretched the plot into the 112-minute movie but gave it substance. It was Hitchcock's genius—putting together a movie with the various elements that somehow created the complete gestalt of a storytelling experience. 

I thought myself adventurous five years or so ago because of my interest in the Macintosh and its thrilling software. I wanted in on what I saw as an exciting trend in modern American lifestyle. I had been shooting photos of my trips to Europe since 2001 but I forgot it took my sister several years to convince me to leave my travel books and actually make the trips. While not bedridden like Jeff, I have always spent an inordinate amount of time in introspection and analysis. The highlights of my days are insights, images, pieces of information or thoughts that seem to light up my otherwise morbid brain. I live for those lights.

An adventurer I am not if by adventurer we mean someone who physically takes himself to various and new environments to physically experience various and new sensations. I am an adventurer only in the sense of being curious about new technology, new ways of thinking, new ways of experiencing life. My adventure is largely of and in the mind.

So yes, I think I am an adventurous guy if an inveterate observer of the human psyche (especially my own) and our subjective experience of the external world with its many-storied marvels and mysteries. The still and video cameras are extensions of my mind, tools to further the mind's exploits, to push it as technology tends to push it into ever expanding Brave New Worlds. The Internet and the millions of computers and servers hooked to it are after all extensions, as my computer is an extension of my mind, of the thoughts, ideas and imagination of the world's peoples joined together in its net. And that's the field of my adventure, the incomparably vast world of the mind.

Let the show begin!

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Friday, January 1, 2010

Fight Club Video

Study for a couple of video projects featuring my friend Arron and/or cage fighting:

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The 2010th Year of the Human

Dates and number only mean something when related to human lives. Seasons like every other aspect of nature follows its own supra-human laws. So the turning of our calendars to the year 2010 is at face value not significant except as we give it meaning, as I give it meaning.

To the child that I was, New Year's Eve was more than the Chinese custom of scaring away devils with fire crackers attending midnight mass so that the bells ringing at the Gloria welcomed the new year in. We would walk home (because the jeepneys had all stopped running and taxis were a foreign novelty) to media noche—hot pan de sal, Chinese ham, Gouda cheese, Chinese pear, and Japanese apples.

A grownup now no longer given to superstition traditions shorn of religious belief I try to put the pieces of Humpty Dumpy together again. After doing end-of-the-year chores last night I mixed five cups flour with sugar, milk, eggs and spices so I could have fresh-baked bread to celebrate a new year to try to re-create meaning where meaning has long ago flown away.

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