It Ain't Easy Being Green

Being green, or environmentally friendly, is a choice.

In recent years, sometimes this choice has been made for you. As in the case of recycling; we all are required to put our cans & bottles or paper & cardboard in that bin. It is second nature for most by now. And for some, like my children, they don't know any different.

Back when I first moved to Los Angeles in the early '90s, recycling was new to me. And it took some time to adjust to it. It took some time to change my habits and stop from tossing a can or bottle into the kitchen trash.

And that's really what it all boils down to: changing your habits.

Soulshine Products (disclosure: my girlfriend's independently-owned, single-mom operated, small business) seeks to do just that - to change the way we habitually think about what we use and how we use it.

From upcycled, hand-pour soy candles to natural cleaning products, her mission is to educate people that simply by using different products, you can help contribute to keeping the world a safer, cleaner place void of disposable consumer goods.

Her soy candles are made with glasses procured from local thrift stores and flea markets. Some of them are of vintage quality; some of them, once the candle is done, can be disherwasher'ed and turned into an everyday drinking vessel. Or returned and refilled for a discount on your next soy candle (which come in a variety of scents by the way. One scent reminds me of benediction at church. Lol!)

And when it comes to cleaning, not all your products have to be as toxic as bleach to get the job done. You can use her cleaners without having to worry about having any reactions to your exposed skin or the onset of burning eyes.

Anyway, it's all about changing your mindset and changing your habits.

Pretty simple things to do that will help change the world we live in, don'tcha think?

Maybe it ain't so hard being green?

Happy Accidents

I was having lunch last week with my friend Todd who I hadn't seen in quite some time. We had met as interns working on the radio show The Story several years ago.



We both shared a mutual affection for skateboarding and photography and for a world where art and life overlap each other.



We were geeking out over discussions on cameras and lenses and film stock (or the lack there of these days) when our discussion turned photography phone apps like Instagram.

I asked if he frowned upon them because it has been said that it takes the art away from photography. He didn't bemoan the presence of photo apps but expressed that for him, photography was as much about processing as it was about framing a subject (if not more).

He spoke about how he buys expired film. Because he generally cross processes anyway and he likes to shoot with a Holga. One thing he likes about his hands-on approach is that sometimes they'll be "happy accidents" - an unplanned effect that wouldn't hinder the photo but rather add a unique element to it.

I was having problems with my phone the other day while trying to shoot some outtakes during a cover shoot for the magazine I work for and had some technical difficulties for reasons I couldn't understand.

I got some happy accidents.

This is one of them.

Enjoy.

Want to Turn Your Car into a Concert Hall?

I’m excited to announce that I’m now contributing to Chevy Culture, a
lifestyle and auto site sponsored by Chevrolet. Click through for the
full post on Chevy Culture, and come back in the next few weeks and
months for more.


OK.

Now that that is out of the way.

A few months back I was approached to write about how music influences your lives, your purchase power and the way you live for Chevy Culture.

This came about through my blogging duties over at Dadcentric.

I'm a music lover, a music critic and a musician - why wouldn't I want to take on an assignment like this?

I am old enough to remember cars with only AM radios.

My how things have change.

This is what Chevy cars have today.

Pretty awesome huh?

Did You Know?

Did you know that the United States Mint still produces pennies?

I stumbled upon the penny in this picture today. It felt fake. I thought it might have been some sort of foreign currency that had slipped through the cracks.

2012 and we are still making pennies?

Am I the only one that sees this as slightly absurd? I mean the days of penny candy and penny cartoons are long gone.


Shit, the value of a dollar ain't what it used to be. According to the US Inflation Calculator, an item purchased for $20 in 1978 today would cost $70.39.




It costs more to make a penny than a penny is worth.

So why do we still make them?

Rediscovering the Joys of Vinyl

It's not like I ever stopped listening to vinyl records.


They have always been a part of my life: I carted them back-and-forth from college, then across the country and back again, and more recently, from the house I once lived in to one apartment and onto another.


My old place just wasn't conducive to playing music, much less spinning records. I had some bitchy neighbors and it seemed like it was just best not to play any music at all at that place. If I did choose to, I usually laid on the floor and donned headphones.



When I moved this summer, I moved to a much, much smaller place. Which in turn placed my vinyl records right under my nose in the living room. They are now hard to avoid much less hard to not look at.

So now the sound of a needle popping has become a familiar one again.

And shortly thereafter, something magical happened: my girlfriend Sonnie and I discovered an old portable turntable in a dusty corner of her parents' basement.

So we broke it out and dug through the record collection there. We spun Sly Stone, Steely Dan and The Ventures during our stay.

When we left for the weekend, we left the turntable behind.

A month later we returned for a visit to find that lonely turntable staring at us. Once again we answered the call. Only this time we couldn't find it in our hearts to leave the sucker behind.

"Dad," she said. "Can I take mom's turntable?"

He gave an answer that reminded me of Sgt. Schultz on Hogan's Heroes.

So now she is in possession of this lovely little creature, and now after her kids have retired to their bedrooms, we spin records and chat.

Good times.

Good times indeed.

Lake Life and the Boat

One of the awesome things about lake life is the boat. I don't know how people could have a place on a lake and not have a boat.

At the beach, you can stare endlessly and aimlessly out into the ocean.

You can do the same with the lake.

But once you tire of that you'll need something else to entertain you, your family and guests.

I love the heightened state of awareness I get when I drive the boat. It reminds me a lot of being a bicycle messenger. You have to keep your head up and your eyes scanning the horizon twenty-four seven.



Unlike driving a car, or driving anywhere on our nation's system of roads and highways,a boat can go just about anywhere it wants to. And so can anybody else who is driving a boat (or, as they say these days, personal watercraft).

It's kind of what the untrained eye thinks of rugby.

Driving a boat demands your attention.

And I like that.

Sewer

I like photography.

I first got into taking photos as a music critic. The weekly paper I worked at was small and had very limited resources.

But it did have a budget to process photos.

I made it a habit to take my Yashica T4 everywhere. This little camera is badass. But don't just take my word for it, take Terry Richardson's word for it.

Eventually, and I guess this is how it starts with all photographers, I started to gravitate to other subject matter besides bands. For years, clouds were my obsession.

When I no longer worked at the paper (it folded), my hobby waned as I could not afford to pay the price to process film. I jumped over to digital land, and while I loved the immediacy of the format, I felt the photos lacked something that only film prints could give.

These days there's all kinds of apps for phones that mimic film and because of that I have slowly been dragged back into this vice that mirrors as a hobby.

These days, my currently fascinated is urban landscape photography.

One, Two, Three... Go!

I made a personal pact with myself to try to blog everyday this month.

Because what is life without a challenge right?

This is what happens when you have spent the last 15 years of your life catering on-and-off to supplement your income.

When it comes to food prep: nothing is ever simple, nothing is ever easy, but it is most definitely always delicious.

Bright Lights 'n' Big Sinks

Moving sucks.

There's no doubt about that.

I moved a total of 2.5 miles but in that distance I switched from being a resident of Durham to citizen of Chapel Hill.

I didn't realized when I settled on the new digs that I would be changing towns. Zip codes yes, towns no.

There are many subtle differences I did not expect in the relocation like the fact that the new crib doesn't come with a microwave. I'm not Mr. Microwave or anything it just seems like in this day and age having a microwave in a rental would be a given... so why ask if there is one?

One thing I know I will miss from the old place was the bathroom. It was a nice one, brigh lights 'n' big sinks. A shower that also functioned as a two-person tub with glass sliding door. There were dual vanities, a nice linen closet and of course one awesome shitter.

My boys loved it as well (as you can see by the drawing)and dubbed it the "stinkhole."

The new place has a cramped vanity. How do you cramp one sink and one sink only? But doors? Oh hell yeah it has got them.

One to enter. Two for the linen closet. One to close off the toilet and shower from the sink and yet another right across from the hopper that would probably fall under "storage." My other bathroom had drawers and lots of them.

Apparently doors are more important that drawers.

There's a pathetic attempt at a medicine cabinet; even the toilet paper holder sucks.

Curious to hear what my boys sat about it when they see it.

Now tell me about your bathroom.

Dollar, Dollar Bill Y'all

I cashed a check at the bank yesterday and noticed a $2 bill in the bills I got back.

"Is that a two dollar bill?" I exclaimed.

"Yes," said the teller. "Do you not want it?"

"Oh no, I'll take it," I said.

"I didn't know they were still in circulation," I said.

"I have more if you want them," she said.




"Maybe next time," I told her and then turned an left putting this relic of currency into my pocket.

When I got home I showed my two boys. It was like some oddity to them; like telephones with cords. My youngest asked if we could hang it on the fridge with the fortunes from cookies.

I hope it brings some luck.

Shift From Hell

During all the years I have been catering, one thing is a constant: Anything can happen.

I've worked some crazy parties in crazy places and heard some crazy things.

But recently I experienced what could be best described as the perfect storm of catering madness.

I arrived to the site in downtown Raleigh to discover we were short-staffed. Twenty minutes later a co-worker suspected her wallet (with car keys and cell phone inside) was stolen.


Nobody was sure how so, we decided to ask around and see if one of the groundskeepers or wedding planners picked it up.

Just to be safe, another co-worker suggested, she should file a police report.

"Because you never know," she said and then offered up her cell phone. Suddenly we were down another person but this staff was an experienced one and we rallied for the cause.

Shortly before the shift started - with said co-worker still going back and forth with the cops on the phone - the dude who led the party turned to me as he was getting dressed and said, "I think they stole my shoes?"

With that the theft was confirmed.

Two times over confirmed for that matter as the girl-with-the-stolen-wallet returned to informed us that her credit cards had already been used around town.

And then the wedding service started. And then they had the wise idea to shoot wedding photos after the service. And then guests drank for two straight hours waiting for the wedding party. And then this put the food service behind. And then this put the band behind (you see where this is going...)

As the wedding party was about to make their entrance an improperly set up round table collapsed sending glassware and a tall vaseful of flowers crashing to the ground. I cut my finger cleaning up said glass.

The band sucked and played way too loud. The crowd of about 60 consisted of fiftysomethings who were all Sigma Chi frat brothers. Songs ensued. I stepped in to give the bartender a piss break only to find that ants had invaded the open sodas and fruit garnishes. The wedding planner changed the time for the champagne toast and cake cutting but forgot to inform us. There was a scramble to get the flutes out in time for the toast. They ate all the cake.

A group of about eight were very drunk by the end of the party. They were oblivious that they missed the shuttle back to the hotel. Despite having the appearance of being CEOs, CFOs and your run-of-the-mill top level executives, they still complained about having to call a cab. They refused to leave. They broke out some felt playing board and dice game.

I had crossed over into the catering zone.

This is the place where guests no longer care how they act or what they say in front of you. The zone where you might see forbidden Freemason rituals or hear racist banter belted out.

This all happened on a Sunday night no less. A shift I figured would be over early in the evening. It wouldn't end until the leftover booze was placed in the father of the groom's car; until all the tables and chairs were broken down; until all the china was properly racked and placed in its proper place for the night; it wouldn't end until close to 12:30am.

And then morning came and it was off to the day job.

Career Opportunities

Take a look at this photo.

Looks like the trunk of a bank robber or jewel thief doesn't it?

Well, it's actually a prop bag that my boys have put together.

They've been dorkin' around with a Flip camera for a few years now.

The latest result is ANONYMOUS.

My 12-year-year old pretty much directed and then edited this whole YouTube clip.

Maybe there's a career opportunity down the road for him...

Moving Forward, Moving Faster

I'm just over a month away from moving out of this shit hole apartment complex.

I had hoped this living situation would be temporary. I had hope that I would have moved forward in life. I never expected to be stuck in some sort of twisted limbo.

I've lost the urge to write many times over the years but the last few really hit me hard. I returned to a full-time day job after almost eight years as a stay-at-home dad, changing diapers but not changing the world like I had hoped I would twenty years ago before kids entered the picture.

My marriage crumbled and fell apart.

Yet I continued to make stabs at memoir(s), cobbling together a few treatments for TVs shows and movies based on my life experiences, doing some freelance music reviews for a now-defunct web site called Shockhound and of course minimal blogging.

I like to write about the mundane, about the things I see from day-to-day but when the day-to-day became to be too much... I stopped.

I truly love writing about my two boys but up until now I never felt comfortable writing about post-marriage life, about the trials & tribulations of co-parenting, about what it is like to lose your sense of yourself, to be stripped of your identity (dad). I want a house and a backyard. I did not grow up in or around apartment complexes so living in one (unjustly so maybe) makes me feel like a failure. How does one deal with failure?

I wrote songs and settled back into being in a working band.

I felt like things were staring to move forward, although moving faster. There were shows, some steady freelance writing and a busy days at the office. Lots of busy days.

But then Shockhound died and with it every review I ever wrote. Then I got robbed. And with it I lost poems, short stories and just about everything and anything I put to paper or typed up over almost 20 years. And yes, lots and lots of photos.

Deadwater as they say.

But as I pack for a move, I have been rediscovering photos and writing and books and records and movies; rediscovering all the things over the years that have inspired me.

And I also have spent the last five days of spring break with my two boys: every day, all day doing stuff that we do best - creating, laughing, joking, eating, sleeping.

Battery is recharging as they say. You'll see more of me here. And in other places along the way...

Catering - Behind The Scenes

I have been catering on and off for the better part of fifteen years.

I've seen and heard a lot of things during that time.

This past week I worked a party for Duke's Student Affairs. It was a Brazilian-themed party for 1,500 guests.

Yes. 1,500 guests.

Even in all my years of doing this, that is still a number I rarely see.





One of the things being served was pastel - pastry wrapped tasty morsel. This was filled with tomatoes, mozzarella cheese and oregano and then deep fried.

Essentially a pizza roll.

This is what a catering kitchen looks like just an hour before the party started. An "all hands on deck!" scenario where even the waitstaff had to jump in and help make pastels.

I don't think the expected 1,500 showed up. I'm going to guess 500 at best.

Which is a good thing because that meant guests were able to gorge on these things. I mean if a guest only had two a piece we would have had to make 3,000 of them (which I don't believe was done even with the help of the waitstaff). Some other Brazilian food served? Pao de queijo, brigadeiro and pe de moleque.

A Good Day

What constitutes a good day?

A good day for me is one that involves rugby.

And Saturday proved to be full of it.

The boys and I started the day by watching The 16th Man, one of Espn's 30 on 30 documentaries about Nelson Mandela and the South African rugby team. The story recently was on the silver screen (called Invictus featuring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon).

It's an inspiring story of how a sports team helped unify a country.



We followed up the documentary with a trip over to the campus of the University of North Carolina to watch the UNC Men's rugby team play a game against alumni.

After the game, I took the boys and their two friends to a local field to play some two-on-two rugby with me playing "all-time offensive."

The weather was beautiful. The boys were hot and sweaty.

It was a good day.

And today every one is sore...

A Thankless Job

This post goes out to all the educators in the world.

It's a thankless job.

But some love it and do it with enthusiasm.

Despite the paltry salaries they earn.

Why do we not invest more in those who will inform, educate and guide the young minds of tomorrow?



I digress.



Anyway, my current elementary school-aged son (red shirt, peace sign) wanted to go to March Madness night where the staff played the fifth graders in a basketball game.

Again, I could digress on basketball right here but I won't.

But what impressed me the most was that my oldest son, and his best friend from across the street, really wanted to go to their old elementary school to see their 5th grade teacher play hoops (because baseball is really his thing).

And they did.

And they took this photo.

And I told their former teacher what a beautiful thing it was that he made such an impact on them last year that they wanted to return to see him in action.

It's easy to hate school. And your teacher.

Liking your teacher means liking to learn and for this I would like to say thank you to any or all of the public school teachers out there who care and connect with their students.

Well, just not like this.

Beer Connoisseur

Spotted this can in the grass by the skateboard park last Sunday during my early morning Church of Skatin' session with my boys.

I thought about what breakfast might taste like in this part of town.

I was reminded of the fact that before I was a craft beer magazine editor, I was a malt liquor connoisseur.

Malt liquor helped forged a friendship with my fellow music journalist and reluctant catcher, Dan Epstein.

Dan once commented that Colt 45, "still tastes good warm."


Not so sure about that one Dan.

And an old neighbor used to always put a can or two of the Colt in his beer cooler "just to see who was man enough to drink it."

Many, many moons ago, in a pre-jackass world, I wrote a malt liquor review for the silly skateboard mag known as Big Brother.

I figured in this day and age of bit torrents, I'd find a link slash pdf of the malt liquor review.

Alas, all I found when Googling malt liquor reviews and the magazine was a link to myself.

Dropping In

Not sure of the exact date of this photo but it has got to be mid-'80s. A half pipe in the backyard of Jeff Tremaine that was originally built for BMX but was soon converted into a skate ramp.

It was rickety but tons of fun.

I'm not sure who dressed me back then...

Two-in-One

Little boys can get dirty. Real dirty. So I find myself, very often, telling my sons to wash themselves when they get in the shower. Water alone will not clean you. The other day I walked into the bathroom to make sure he was taking care of business. He wasn't. He had his eyes closed and head under the shower. "C'mon and wash up dude," I said. "OK dad," he said and then grabbed the shampoo bottle and squirted a heaping dollop into his hands... and began rubbing it all over his belly. "What are you doing?" I asked. "That's shampoo." "I know," he said. "But it says 'two-in-one'..."

Paging Charles Bronson

CSI was here today...

And this is my story.

I picked up my youngest son. His mom had his brother at a road trip soccer game almost an hour away. I was looking forward to getting some one-on-one time with him.

He wanted a Monster Burger. I very half-assedly tried to talk him out of ordering it. But then figured being the monster it is we could split it.

We got back to the apartment and I let us in. Immediately something felt off.

I went over to my desk (where I usually place my computer at the end of the day) and quickly noticed my cord was gone. I turned around and saw the PS3 was gone. Nothing but dust in its place under the TV.

He went into the bathroom to take a dump and I went into the bedroom. I saw my nightstand drawer overturned on my bed and the contents of it - some old journals, homemade cards from the boys etc. - sprawled across my bed. I came back out of the bedroom and scanned the room. All kinds of top dollar shit (bike, amp, stereo, TV) still in view. And then I noticed the back of the door.

I yelled out (silently in my head), "I've been fucking robbed!"

I went back over to the desk. Checkbook was still in plain sight. I was confused (and clearly not much of a crook because I couldn't for the life of me understand why who ever broke in chose to leave so many valuables). I would understand much later when the police arrive.

I snapped a few photos with my phone and headed over to the leasing office with my son. He asked questions about the "break in" while this here dad tried not to scream at the top of my lungs or cry in utter frustration on how violated I felt at the moment. I explained the situation and we headed back home trying to figure out what had happened. At first I thought the culprit came in through the window and then "broke" out the front door.

I told you I wasn't much of a criminal.

I dialed 911 and put in my call. An officer arrived a short time later to make a report.

"Looks like he kicked in the front door," he said.

"But there's so much shit he didn't take," I said pointing to my guitar, bass amp, bicycle, TV, stereo. "I don't get it."

"It has to fit in a backpack," he said.

It's was all starting to make sense now.

The officer asked for serial numbers none of which I had readily available. Sure I've got manuals, and hell, even the boxes the digital camera and PS3 came in. But no serial numbers.

"Most people don't have them," he said.

In an odd twist of events, he asked if I still skated as he looked at the skateboards littering the floor and hanging on the walls finishing up with a "street or vert?" question. I'm a musician too he said as he took pen tip to tongue before he asked what else had been stolen.

It was at that moment that I realized my fucking Mac laptop has been pinched. It's impossible to explain the feeling one has at that moment; the moment when you realize that the novel you've worked on for years, that the screenplay your were two thirds of the way through, that the years worth of short stories and poems penned, that the many photos of your children or your awesome iTunes library had just vanished from your world.

Gone.

And most likely forever.

And suddenly you want to cry. But you can't. No not in front of your son and not in front of a cop. You make a mental note to do that much later, like maybe when you are typing out a blog post... sniff.

He broke my concentration when he said, "What an awesome bachelor pad!" beforing turning to explain CSI would arrive soon to dust for prints.

This is my reality TV motherfuckers. Please change the channel.

CSI came in with their cameras and white gloves and explained how "easy" it is to kick in a door... and boy doesn't that just make you feel so much fucking safer?

They took photos, and my fingerprints, before explaining how to clean up the dust or whatever that black powder shit is they use to do their job. And then they were gone.

And that's it.

I'm left to dig through my stuff to see when was the last time I backed up my work on disc but I don't dare do that at the immediate moment for fear of the worst which I am currently unable to face or comprehend.

I'm not into guns and don't really consider myself a violent person. I'm much more pacifist anarchist than ten-knuckled thug but right now vigilante justice sounds downright gratifying.

There's no justice, it's just us.