Scorpion Sandwich

The 6 People You Say Goodbye to After you Leave

2012-01-07T13:39:00.005-06:00

As soon as my wife handed me the phone I could tell that it something was wrong. She had a look of fear on her face. Jill knew what was coming. As soon as she jaded me the phone, I heard his voice I knew what happened. It was a month to the day that I had last spoken to his mother. I knew what he was going to say even before he was going to say it. Because during that conversation that I had with her the month prior, the first thing she said to me was, "Son, I've called to say goodbye, this is it. I am going to die."

Although she addressed me as son, I was not related to her. From the moment that we met she took a liking to me (for reasons that I fully never understood) and she made it a point to "adopt me." As a young soldier in the 82nd Airborne division I was far away from home and removed from my family. She had made it a point from our meeting to include me in her family for the next three years. Pretty much for every holiday I was over at the house being a part of her family. During the regular part of the year I was invited on family trips and to dinners out. For me it was a life saver. I hated Army life in that it was so different than anything that I had experienced. To have this new family in my life gave me a quality of life that was somewhat normal.

The morning I left the Army she was there at the bus stop and saw me drive off. She cried as the bus left and she faded from view in the early morning Italian fog. I ended a chapter in my life and began a new one. In the process many of the people that I had made friends with in the military had faded from my life as well.

For many years we had lost contact, but as soon as her son found me through an extensive search one of the first things I did was to make a trip to Idaho to introduce her to my wife.

Over the course of the last couple of years as my frined's heath was declining I was fortunate to spend time over the phone and have lenghty conversations. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer she had made the point to call her and give my mother a pep talk about survival, even as she was dealing with her own illness. "Hi, I'm Ed's other mother," she introduced herself over the phone to my mother.

One of the last things that she said to me during our final conversation was that I was one of 6 important people in her life that she want to have informed as soon as she was gone. It was a mere 45 minutes after she had died that I received the phone call from her son. He was on the highway headed home. It was a remarkable act on his behalf in as much as he had just lost his mother and he had to call an essential outsider to let them know that his mother died. However hard it was for him I was thankful to know that she was no longer in pain and that she was in peace. He did manage to go in to some detail about her last moments. I was so glad to hear about the fact that all of her family was there and that at the last moment, on her last breath, she looked into the eyes of her son, closed her eyes and stopped breathing. We are all going to die, but it was was reassuring to know that she left with all of her family around her.

After her son hung up I was overwhelmed with emotion. The fact that he had to call me to let me know that his mother had just died. The power of knowing that she was now gone, that she had to leave her husband, her children and grandchildren. She led a good life, had a fantastic marriage. I looked up to her relationship with her husband and felt that it was one of the best examples of true love and friendship that I have ever seen. So many questions rolled around my head. Why me? Why did she choose me? Why was I so important to her? She was such an incredible person, so to be chosen by her was just a powerful thought. Who were the other 5 people? Someday, I'd like to know.

Linda had visions and hopes for the people around her. She projected those positive visions for her family and friends. She was able to see her childern grow and become successful and happy and to see her grandchildren grow. I remember sitting on the porch at her home at Ft. Bragg and her saying, "someday you are going to meet someone and are going to be married, and I'd like to see that." I was glad that she was able to see my family and visit my home. In some small way it was a zen moment. Her vision had been complete.

As an outsider looking in things did not come easy for Linda and her family during the years in the military. Her husband and her worked hard for everything that they had. Even afterwards both of them worked hard to further their education and to establish a strong foothold in new careers and jobs. It was only later in their marriage that some success came to them.

"Son, don't worry, I've had a good life. I still have some things that I want to see and do. I want to make it through Christmas and New Years. Also, my team is going to the superbowl…I have to see that. Plus my anniversary is coming up, I can't miss that. And my birthday is coming up…Summertime, I hate the heat…maybe then."

You died on a Thursday.

Just a few weeks later her Green Bay Packers went to the superbowl and won. All of us who knew her had to have a moment to think about her and quietly smile. Even though I was not a fan of football or for that matter the Packers, there was some sense of universal justice to the fact that another hope of hers was now complete.

Her voice still even today resonates in my head. Occasionally when I think of her. She inturrupts me and I hear her, "Son, don't worry about me…I'm okay." With all that I have seen and heard, as all of our worlds have grown and changed for the better. It is what she wanted for all of us. She saw just about everything that she wanted to see for her family…so I know that she is okay.

I Hate Fruit

2012-01-05T22:12:00.004-06:00

Not sure when it started, but for as long as I can remember I have never had a significant amount of fruit intake in my diet. The amount that I've had has been negligible to the point as to be mathmatically considered as insignificant. The last memory of me even having fruit was when I was about 4. A baby sitter gave me a banana. I rember that gamey flavor that only bananas can have. The closest thing that I can compare it to is that fake banana flavor like that is in banana flavored candy. The cloyingly sweet yet ranky overpowering sweetness that is found in bananna flavored gum. After that I just couldn't stand it and avoided fruit all together. It wasn't till I was 9 or so that out of sheer desperation that I ate an orange. I actually enjoyed it. Since then it was pretty much the only fruit that I would eat (I've been told that Lemons do not count as a fruit).

Once I joined the army it was pretty much the same thing, complete and total fruit avoidance. Out of sheer bordom and having spent a multitude of hours lying on the floor of the German forrest in camoflage with a machine gun I did bring myself to try blueberries. They were everywhere. They grew nautral and wild in the German underbrush. It was impossible to avoid them. I'd return back from Italy with all of my uniforms stained from lying in blueberries. After awhile the stains would just no longer come out. One time during one of the many training exercises of being lost patrolling around the German woods I ran into a thicket of brambles and thorns. Much to my suprise and on closer inspection I found that the canes of thorned brambles contained blackberries and raspberries. Upon giving them a try I found that I really liked them with my favoring the raspberries more than the blackberries. Although I had found something new in the fruit family it would be quite some time until I would add them into a regular regimen.

Just recently I was in a supermarket with my family and we were talking about diet and somehow I mentioned out loud during the conversation. "I don't eat fruit."

Standing next to me was an older woman, probably in her late 60s or early 70s. Instinctually and instantameously she punched me in the arm. It wasn't very hard. I'd like to think that she did it out of disbeleif and as a reaction to my statement. At the same time she hit me she blurted out, "You don't eat fruit? You are gonna to die!"

Having been accosted by a complete and total stranger several red flags popped up in my mind:

(not in any particular order)

1. I've just been hit by an old woman

2. Personal space violation

3. I don't know you; stranger danger

Now, not knowing her I could have reacted immediatly out of indignation with a statement such as, "unhand me woman," or "good God, I don't know who you are and why are you touching me." But for some strange reason I found myself calm and recognized the moment for its comedic potential. I calmly moved my position, stood next to her, put one arm around her and with my other arm outstreached looked out into the distance as if to share a vision. I move my hand slightly across the horizon of the supermarket aisleway as if to highlight a line of imaganary text and said,

"And on his gravestone it read: He ate no fruit."

There was just a moment of hesitation as I could see that she at first did not get it. Then the neurons connected, and we all burst out laughing.

I then quickly proceeded to the register with my wife and daugher to pay for our groceries and to get away from my strange new acquaintance.

Like Father Like Daughter

2010-11-26T23:30:00.010-06:00

Ever since she has seen me running my daughter has commented “someday I’d like to run a marathon with you.” Not that I would ever wish that on my kids but I though that it was neat that she thought that my running was a good thing.

I’ve wanted to hold off on getting her started on running in that I wanted her to grow first and not have any complications with Osgood-Schlatters syndrome that is common with children who run to often at such an early age. My daughter has always been highly active her entire childhood so far exercising at times up to 5 to 9 hours a week so I knew that even if I kept her away from running as a hobby that eventually she would get started at it at a more appropriate age.

A couple of weeks ago Jill decided that she would go out and get Aimee a new set of shoes in that the last set of athletic shoes that she had were too small and that it was time to get another good pair. Jill had recently signed up for the Mother/Daughter Phoenix Irongirl 5K. Both her and Aimee headed down to the local Sports Authority and just picked out a set that they liked. As soon as I saw what they had picked I thought to myself that maybe it was time to have her formally evaluated for her gait and efficiency. To do that would only make sense in getting her the right set of shoes.

Not too far from where we live is a specialty running store, by runners and for runners. When you get there they evaluate the type of shoe that you need based on your impact and they bring out about a half dozen set of shoes and have you start running in them. After careful consideration Aimee had narrowed the field down to three pairs and agonized between two of them. Eventually she went with the Brooks over the Asics. Quietly I smiled inside knowing that they were the same brand that I have run with for the last couple of years.

Later that evening she was eager to run. I had her set up a running list with the spare iPod Shuffle I was given from work as gift. As my wife prepared dinner, we both laced up and headed toward the door. I had plan to clock the run using the iPhone 4 and the NikeGPS app. Since this was her first run I wanted to take it easy on her and just give her the field of the road. As soon as we left the house she popped the earbuds in and started running down the street. To see her run was an amazing experience. She has a beautiful energetic stride and runs with a determined focus. For the first half-mile I had her run in front of me. And I let her go at her own pace. Roughly she was able to run about an 8:50 pace. I had her walk for a couple of yards after the first half-mile and then we turned and headed home. She easily loped home but was beginning to develop a side cramp and wanted to start walking again just a few blocks from the house. I convinced her to run home at a slower pace without stopping, then to sprint to the finish.

There are many things that just her and I have done and do together on a regular basis. This was the first time that I felt like I was sort of alone out there even though we were together, that in some way she was out there on her own and that somehow I was losing her. A couple of days later I helped her get stated on the starting line of the Phoenix Irongirl 5K. I was not allowed to run with her (no men are allowed in the race) or for that matter I was not even allowed in the starting chute. I just tried to stay with her as close as I could, then watched her go as the starting gun fired. It was then that I realized that she’s growing up, getting farther out in front and that someday before I know it, she’ll be gone.

Zombie 092

2010-09-03T00:02:00.004-05:00

Zombies represent several things from the standpoint of human emotion and fear.

As humans we all have common fears and the genre of zombies covers more than just one.

The fear of zombies represents the fear of the crowd, the unruly, soulless masses, being alone and of course, zombies represent the fear of death from being consumed while still alive.

Fear and the instinct of flight or fight drives our internal survival mechanism. The genre of the zombie apocalypse stirs all of those emotions within us as we ask ourselves “what if?” This reason alone is probably the biggest reason as to why the genre has exploded over the last decade with a ravenous fan base (no pun intended).

The Walking Dead trailer on YouTube.

Coming this Halloween AMC Television will be releasing The Walking Dead, the adaptation of the graphic novel. Just from the fan base alone of zombies alone the show should be a success. From the few production stills that have been released and from the four-minute trailer it looks spectacular. I would venture to say that it will be the best production in both story and production value so far on the genre. And while there have been a plethora of zombie movies over the years that either stick to or deviate greatly from George Romero's original myth, The Walking Dead manages to come up with some concepts that we haven't seen before the the realm of the undead. It airs on Halloween night. Get ready.

The Bogu Stand

2010-08-08T19:39:00.005-05:00

It"s been over a year since I got my bogu for kendo. Rather that having the hot sweaty armor sit in a dark back in the corner of my office after each practice I decided that I would like to air it out so that it doesn't get that used bogu smell that the sport is so famous for. After hours of use and profuse sweating the armor ends up smelling like sweaty gym socks. Keeping anything that is drenched in sweat in a warm dark place can't be good. So, wanting to avoid this, I decided to make a stand for for the bogu. I saw several different versions of stands that people have made over the years posted on various forums on the Internet. So with no official plans to work off of I decided to wing it. I laid out the armor and measured it carefully and began to sketch and think of all options that I would need for the design. It took me a long time to build it but I adjusted my plans several times as well and made slight adjustments to accommodate accessories that I did not think of.

Far from perfect the stand came out nicely with only a table saw, and a cordless drill as the only two tools that were used. For my Birthday, Jill ordered and framed some Japanese calligraphy for me. Hanging above the armor the Shodo reads "Ken-ko" or "The glint of a sword."

Today at practice during keiko, one of the black belts said to me, "You are now a real Kendoist, your armor smells like it." Not sure that If that was an insult or a complement meaning that I practice quite a bit or that I just smell bad. But my initial purpose of the stand has obviously not been effective.

I'll spend sometime this weekend cleaning it with hydrogen peroxide. If that doesn't work I'll order some spray-on bogu cleaner, a sort of Japanese Fabreeze that is designed to deodorize the equipment. But for now, in between practice sessions the armor sits and waits.

Random Photos

2010-08-08T19:37:00.002-05:00

Problems Again

2010-06-03T19:08:00.006-05:00

In trying to increase the miles in my running schedule and I ran into an old friend again...knee pain. I am lucky in the sense that I do not truly have knee issues such as torn cartilage or impact issues from worn out cartilage. So hopefully I still have a couple of thousand miles in my knees left to go.

What i have managed to find out over the years is that if I do have problems with my knees it is a matter of foot alignment.

The last two hundred miles, I was doing okay with my second of Brooks, “The Beast” running shoes. As I have stated before the shoes were designed for big, fat, heavy, hairy, smelly, inefficient runners such as myself.

Even thought the shoe is designed to be a motion control shoe the last of the shoe is not quite right for my foot. I tend to buy shoes one size larger than my normal size to accommodate swelling that can occur during training or during a race.

My feet are long but they are also narrow resulting with my foot swimming around in a larger shoe. I did okay at first with the current shoes but began to experience some itching underneath my left knee cap and some outright pain just below my right knee. After some feeling around I determined that my right knee was experiencing some ITB (iliotibal band syndrome) pain.

Yesterday I went to the local running store and brought some Sole inserts. In my last set of shoes I had the same make of inserts and they worked well. They were probably the best thing next to custom inserts from a podiatrist and about 260 dollars cheaper.

The inserts are customizable in that you can mold them to your feet. You merely place the inserts in the oven at 250 degrees for a couple of minutes, then put the heated inserts into your shoes quickly, then step into and lace up your shoes. After a couple of minutes the warm molds will conform to your feel.

I did two miles on them today. I was able to feel the difference immediately. No knee pain or sub-patella itch. The felt so good that I was able to increase my run time by two minutes on the first mile. The shoes although heavier felt more forgiving and the alignment made a world of difference. It was worth the money.

A Testimony in Silence

2010-05-29T19:06:00.005-05:00

Quietly they stand

waiting vigilantly at rest

waiting to serve once more.

White monoliths of stone

serving as a reminder

of selfless endeavor.

The price, the cost, of gain despite loss.

That they paid, freely, willingly.

They speak to us still, in stillness

and tell us...

“remember.”

Ed Flores, Memorial Day, 2010

The Sharpie: A Rediscovery

2010-05-02T22:58:00.007-05:00

I fell in love with the Sharpie some years ago when I created a storyboard for a short film that I wrote some 24 years ago. A good friend gave me a storyboard format to work with and when I went to get some pens and the local PX I opted for a Sharpie.

“A laundry marker,” he asked with incredulity. After all it would make sense to most a the time that a sharpie would be reserved for your mom to write your name on the inside of your underwear with.

I liked the Sharpie in that it was a bold marker but not as bold as a Prismograph or as narrow as the cheap “El Marko” or technical pilot pen. The nib of a sharpie was wedged shaped so that you could make medium thickness or very bold lines. The ink flowed fairly thickly so that the lines created were very saturated.

What’s great about the Sharpie is that the ink is waterproof and permanent. Once it gets into the fibers of the paper it is pretty much stuck there. It does well on most porous surfaces with the exception of tile and glass.

Over the years what had initially started out as a laundry marker had diversified into an array of products of different colors, sizes and purposes. Sharpies come in every size and color and are used for just as many purposes.

When I started working in Hollywood it was clear that Sharpie was the working pen of choice on the set but off the set as well. Cameramen use it to mark film rolls up for packaging for the lab and on freshly loaded cameras to denote stock, size and speed. Off the set it is not unusual to see a star carry one for impromptu autographs. Sharpies work exceptionally well on glossy photos.

I found out a year ago prior to its release that Sharpie was planning on releasing a metal barrel version of the pen. I tracked the rumor down for about a year until I could finally get my hands on one. I pretty much use it daily and gets as much milage as the MontBlanc and more than the Parker Duofold.

Crazy Pizza

2010-04-25T14:46:00.004-05:00

About a year ago I bought Jill a pizza stone so that we could make pizza at home. It's been a fun experience each time we make a pizza. The only problem that we are having is transfering the pizza from the pizza shovel onto the pizza stone. The pizza ends up sticking to the spatula no matter how much cornmeal we use. The dough ends up disfigured and torn into some bizzaro shape which will ofter result in some strange looking creations such as the yin and yang pizza of awesomeness featured above. I will probably go out and get a larger spatula and hunt for other methods on how to transfer the ready made pie into the oven.

But until such time that we master the stone, I present, The United States of Pizza:

I Would Walk 500 Miles

2010-03-11T20:56:00.002-06:00

Last fall Wolverine advertised that they would be re-releasing their series of the 1000 mile boot that originally debuted back in 1883.

When I was in the military I picked up a set of Wolverines as a set of kick arounds and for traveling. Back then the price seemed pretty reasonable from what I could remember. I wore then to the point that they pretty much fell off my feet.

Because these boots are a re-release they are in a way a special edition boot, with that comes the price. The good thing about the boot that makes it all worth it is the level of quality and durability. Upon first seeing them Jill's first comment was, "Whoa, those things look that they will last forever." To see them in a photo is one thing, but to have them in front of you is a sight to behold. It is clear that at first glance that these are pretty substantial in their construction. Wolverine employed Horween Leather to supply them with the Aniline Chromexcel leather hides that are used on the boot. The leather is full hide pull up leather that has been infused with natural oil and greases to create a naturally waterproof leather. This is one kick-ass boot that will go the distance and then 500 more.

Nanishi Togareshi, I Love You

2010-03-09T22:38:00.002-06:00

I never use to like hot food. It wasn’t until I joined the Army that I discovered, hot sauce and chili powder. I ended up using the stuff not because the military cooks put it in to the food, I ended up using it because often the food was so bland.

Even the meals in the field were incredibly horrible. We were lucky in that we had a combat field kitchen attached to our unit and that we were able to receive hot “A’s” delivered to us out in some of the most remote conditions. Logistics and location aside, the military has never really been known for their culinary expertise. And not matter what you do, you can just never deliver a world-class meal in below freezing conditions or in the middle of the German forrest at night.

One day I finally got sick of MRE’s or Meal, Ready to Eat (the author Tom Clancy referred to them as three lies in one). At the time the regimen within the MRE menu was limited to 12 different meals. In my opinion at least three of them were completely inedible. Chicken a al King or affectionately known as Chicken a la Sling (because as soon as that meal was received it was immediately thrown out). The Meatballs in BBQ Sauce was another that was not digestible. Most people agreed that the sauce or baby gravy (referring to the contents of a diaper) was disgusting. Hot or cold both of these meals were inedible.

The Chicken loaf was the worst of them all. A 4” x4” cake of compressed meat, the chicken cake was quite literally thrown out. Contests among the soldiers were held for distance or the ability to hit the occasional stray dog, iguana, errant monkey or Turkish child from a moving military vehicle were frequently held.

It hit me one day while on leave and having a meal at a local diner. I was never a fan of condiments, I being a somewhat moral person never stole anything in my life. But for some reason the bottle of tabasco bottle on table called me. As I paid the bill I pocketed the bottle of of Illians Tabasco and headed back to North Carolina.

In my normal field gear there were few places that made sense to put a bottle of tabasco sauce. My cargo pocket was too dangerous. I didn’t want it to break in the field and have a pocket full of broken glass and tabasco running down my BDUs.

One day while at the range I noticed that the bottle fit perfectly into my magazine pouch. If I took out one of the magazines and put it into the weapon I could keep the bottle stored in a protected place that was readily available. For the next two years I carried a bottle of tabasco on every jump and every field exercise, and the ever infamous Army chow became just a little more tolerable. Unfortunately I had nowhere else to put the spare magazine so I would just lock it into the magazine much to the displeasure of the company NCO’s.

After the military I discovered Nanashi Togareshi. There was a small teriyaki restaurant called Yoshiz that specialized in bento box style meals near by work in downtown Pasadena, California. I noticed that on each of the tables were the requisite bottles of soy sauce. What I did not recognize were the small red capped bottles of chili powder at each of the tables. Seeing everyone give a small shake of the powder onto their dishes I decided to do as the Romans do at the moment. The result was an incredibly pleasant surprise. Spicy but not hot with a pleasant tang and the lack of vinegar overtone that you get from tobacco. The great think about it is that you can take it pretty much anywhere and not have to worry about breaking the bottle.

I went to a local restaurant shop and got one of those large dispensers that you see at your local pizza parlor that dispenses either Parmesan cheese or the red flake chili pepper. I went to Lee Lee’s Asian Supermarket and got a 2 pound bag of the stuff. At the table whenever we are having asian food I bring my large shaker of Nanashi Togareshi and spice things up a bit. It always adds a bit of flavor whether it be stir fry, udon or egg tacos for breakfast.

Sticking with it

2010-01-13T20:55:00.004-06:00

Last October I went to Los Angeles and took my first Kendo test. Up to that point I had been practicing for about a year and three months.

I had never been to a shinsa and had no idea what to expect. I had been to about 5 aikido examinations watching Aimee climbing the ranks. When I was 13 I took Taekwondo for about 6 months. I ended up waking up late the morning of the exam and I missed my chance for getting yellow belt. The Taekwondo grandmaster Chun Lee let me test a week later and reluctantly gave me a yellow belt fearing that I would quit if I didn’t pass. Lacking discipline and maturity, I dropped out anyway.

Over the years I had attempted to sign up for and attend several martial arts classes. In high school Brian Iwakiri attempted to round up several of his friends to take judo at a local Japanese community center. Up unto that point I had not trained in anything so challenging and brutal. I would come home with the cross-hatch weave patterns of the gi ground into the skin of my chest in one big bloody mess. Not sure why I didn’t stay with it, at that point in my life I just never really stuck to anything.

It was around 1979 when I saw Sydney Pollack’s “The Yakuza” on TV. It was my first view of Kendo...I was mesmerized by it and was fascinated by the short scene that was at the beginning of the movie. After some research I was able to find a nearby dojo in West Covina. I just went to watch...I had no interest in joining. To me, watching Kendo was just fascinating. It was fast, flowing, explosive, beautiful. In my teens I would go back to the dojo just to watch, but I had somehow come to the conclusion that because I was not Japanese I would never really be any good at it.

As soon as I graduated from High School and I moved in with my father down in Huntington Beach I found a local dojo and started taking classes. Due to my constantly changing life, my inability to hold down a job or commit to school, I once again had to quit something that I wanted to learn.

About two years ago on my birthday, I just wanted to go and see a Kendo practice. Like so many times in my life before I though that I just wanted to watch. I didn’t think that I was going to make a commitment.

Aimee seemed generally interested as well and went with me on a frequent basis on the Sunday practices. With my change of job last year, I went from evening shift to the day shift so I was then able to go to the practices during the week on a regular basis.

Going to a Kendo test is sheer pandemonium at best. There are hundreds of people there in various ages, shapes and sizes. Fifteen minutes prior to the practice all of the students from the various dojos gather together for swinging and striking exercises. The noise for all of the students is deafening and overwhelming.

I was nervous to say the least. I did not know what to expect or for that matter what I should do. It was all new territory for me.

Once the testing stated the instructors and judges pretty much tell you what to do and how to do it. The hardest part was sitting in the torturous seiza position for an extended period of time.

I ended up having to participate in two matches. In the first I did pretty well. The second all I could think was “why does this guy keep hitting me with a stick?” No matter what I would do my second opponent would just find an opening and exploit it. I took a moderate bashing.

I left the shinsa and Torrance not knowing how I did or what rank I received. A couple of days later I received an email from my sensei with my placement results from the test.

Turns out that I got san-kyu which it about 4 “belts” below sho-dan or black belt. Not too bad for the first time around. I still have a long way to go from a skill level. My footwork is bad and my timing and sense for gaining opportunities to seize the moment in a second is non-existent. But, once again in my life I have managed to pick up where I left off and did better than I did before. Just like school I managed to dedicate myself to something and I gained something as a result.

Random Photos

2010-01-07T23:57:00.003-06:00

A New Friend

2010-01-07T20:43:00.006-06:00

As some of you know, I've had the same wristwatch for that last 24 years. I was overindulgent in my purchase but at the time I was tired of burning through wristwatches. By the time I had got to my permanent duty station at Ft Bragg I had already burned through three watches in Basic, AIT and Jump School (yes I snuck a watch through jump school even though it was technically illegal).

The Submariner has been with me since September of 1985, which means that this year the watch will be 25 years old. A couple of months ago, it started to show it's age and began developing some problems. While the watch was able to hold time, I would at times wake up in the morning only to find that the watch had stopped in the early hours of the morning. I just had the watch serviced two years earlier, and because it's a Rolex, the service charge just to look under the hood of the thing is quite expensive (just like a Ferrari). I just couldn't bring myself to cough up the money to have it serviced again. After talking to several professionals the consensus was that the watch was just old and that it wouldn't hold a charge any longer without having to be hand wound. This was one of the original reasons that I had purchased the watch. I wanted a timepiece that I didn't have to worry about. But it seems that the time had come to give the Submariner a break. After all, it had been with me through over a half dozen jumps out of military aircraft, traveled with me to 23 different countries, traveled below the equator, been on the set of countless Hollywood productions and was there with me when I got married and the day that my daughter was born.

To have to come to terms with the prospect with retiring the watch was heartbreaking to say the least. Jill was pretty adamant about holding off on getting the watch repaired again. This time I agreed with her. Since I now work from home and really don't get out much I just needed a timepiece that was fairly accurate and that I could knock around. Jill asked me what kind of watch I wanted and roughly set a price range of what we could afford. After looking around on the Internet and spending some time on The Poor Man's Watch Forum I was reminded of something. I have always really liked diver's watches. I was PADI Openwater certified when I was 18 and have always been a fan of diving. Plus the advantages of having a watch that meets ISO standards means that the watch can pretty much take a beating.

I had decided on the old trusted standard of the Seiko 200 meter diver also known as the SXK007. In watch collector circles, the automatic watch is well know as a reliable work horse and a good overall sport watch and is not a bad looking watch.

Jill ordered the watch from Chronograph.com and the watch was drop shipped from Singapore to directly under the Christmas tree. Now that I have 4 watches my mother was kind enough to get me a watch box to store all of my collection under atop my dresser in the bedroom. Like Lenin in his glass tomb, my watch sits, reminding me of glorious days past.

Vietnamese Lady Shouting On the Cell Phone While Squatting in the Rice Position in Front of the Pet Food Store, We Miss You

2009-12-19T15:49:00.005-06:00

About a mile from the house at a nearby strip mall, there is a pet store that we like to go to get food for the cat and the dog. The first few times that we had gone we had noticed an unusual site. To begin with, Chandler, Arizona is not a terribly diverse place. It’s not like Los Angeles. So much to our surprise every time we would visit the pet food store to stock up, we would see this lady squatting, shouting in Vietnamese with cell phone in one hand while balancing a cigarette with a large ash tipping off the end in the other. So each time we would go in to the store, we’d ask the cashier, “where is that lady from?” I wasn’t complaining, just curious. Turns out that we were not the only person that would ask that question. Seems as if most people that would pass by would say the same thing. On other errands to the nearby supermarket you could pretty much be assured that you see her out there. She dressed pretty well, noting that her clothes were cleaned and even pressed. Further investigation revealed that she was the manager of the nail salon three doors down from the pet food place in the sam strip mall.
Seeing as so many people would ask about the lady, the owner of the pet food store essentially gave her a “talking to” and let her know not to hang out in front of the store. Vietnamese lady was now ostracized, banished.
Before Jill actually saw her, I told her what I saw. Jill then told me from what she learned in yoga class about the health benefits of “squatting”

It’s good for your knees

It’s good for your back

It’s good for your hips

It’s good for your joints

You are supposed to be in the position for 5 minutes a day (for 6 years my daughter interjects)

So, Vietnamese lady might be on to something after all.

The real issue is the cultural divide between west and the real east. I say real east in that Vietnamese lady represents what is real from a different world rather that what we are presented neatly and distantly on television.

In asia squatting in public is not a unusual site. A childhood friend who traveled and lived in Bangkok said it was not unusual to see a businessman attired in a suit, squatting, and smoking a cigarette at the airport.

For some reason, the squat just never made it into western culture. The squat fell from grace with the invention of the chamber pot and the chair. The squat was banished from the occidental thus remaining separate.

As Americans we tend to be xenophobic, we fear that which is different. In this case I think our curiosity, xenophobia and hyper fear of those that smoke relegated Vietnamese lady to the back alley next to the supermarket dumpsters. In a small way it’s a shame.

Legend of the Worry Man

2009-10-10T23:00:00.003-05:00

When I first heard it I thought the story was absolutely fascinating. I was in an import shop looking at various curios and found a very small carving of a weeping man.

The clerk walked up to me and explained that this was the “worry man,” you simply hold the carving in your hand and roll it around during times of anxiety and stress. If you continue to work it eventually it will become smooth. Once that happens all of your worries will be gone.

At that time I did not purchase the palm sized statue and since that time (I’ve had many worries) regretted that I did not. Several years had passed and during that time I had searched high and low for a carving of the same size. Over the years I had found several that were a foot in diameter or so, but nothing like the small one that I had encountered

I was lucky enough to find one this morning in a Tibetan curio shop in downtown Boulder, Colorado.

The owner of the shop corrected me on my story and told me that the carving was of the weeping buddha. It turns out that Buddha is sometimes depicted as weeping because “the world is joy and the world is pain.” Perhaps this depiction is before his enlightenment.

I still like the story about the worry man. As a high anxiety type it works for me as a sort of asian medieval stress ball. The convenient size makes it so that I can work it during meetings, on flights (and landings) or other times of high stress.

My daughter observed the depth of the carving and said “that will take forever to rub that into a smooth ball.”

I replied, “that is because during your life your worries will never really go away.”

Yoonie's 40th

2009-09-07T16:29:00.003-05:00

Last weekend one of our friends had her 40th birthday party. Her husband conspired along with my wife and other friends to make it a surprise party.

Photos of Recent Meals

2009-09-07T16:08:00.005-05:00

Jill went out of town for a couple of days so I decided to live big. I had the butcher make up a couple of burgers made out of angus beef. That along with a side of grilled asparagus and a couple of Bohemia beers it wasn't a bad meal.

Last week was a really busy week so I ended up eating at my desk...here's a sandwich that I made.

Bright Idea

2009-08-16T16:51:00.002-05:00

Photos of Jill

2009-08-16T16:50:00.002-05:00

Random Photos

2009-07-29T21:26:00.002-05:00

Sweet Ride

2009-07-29T21:24:00.002-05:00

Looking Closer

2009-07-29T21:05:00.003-05:00

Late last night after coming home from Kendo I noticed that the cat was “sniffing” something. At first it looked like a grain of granola or a bit of food on the ground. Whatever it was, it was miniscule. I looked down even closer only to see that it was a tiny scorpion less that an half inch long. Even more amazing the scorpion had caught an even smaller bug. By the time that I had arrived the scorpion had the bug firmly in his grip and was giving its victim a few additional stings. The scorpion had begun to consume its victim.

I had to get Jill from the other room. She usually hates it when I make her get up to see my discoveries. Normally she just asks me to kill them without having to see them and where they were found. I thought that it was important that she see this one in that this find was a common area and I wanted her to discern whether she would have seen it or not. After seeing it she admitted that she would not have seen it on her own. The Orkin man had just been to the house and had sprayed pretty thoroughly so the bugs probably started to come out of the woodwork as a result. My big fear to myself was that this was a very small scorpion that had probably recently dropped off from a mother scorpion. That lead me to the next question of, where were its 12 siblings at? At that point we both agreed, we would wear footwear in the house no matter what.

Santa’s Incubus Demon from Hell: The Krampus and the Possible Origin of the Term, Going to Hell in a Hand-basket

2009-07-15T23:14:00.011-05:00

As we all know when we were growing up we were told that if we were good Santa will bring us toys as children.

We were told that if we were bad the worst thing that could happen is that we would be taken off the “nice” list and put on the “naughty” list resulting in not receiving any toys, but a lump of coal instead.

Turns out that in several of the Eastern European countries that something much worse would happen instead. If you were bad throughout the year, you would not be receiving a visit or much less gifts from Santa. You’d be receiving a visit from the incubus demon from hell, the Krampus.

The Krampus is essentially the Devil incarnate in form. Bipedal, horned, covered in fur and with cloven hooves the Christmas demon wanders about looking for children who have been deemed bad throughout the year. With him he carries two accouterments, a bundle of sticks or switches that he uses to beat children with and a wicker basket on his back to carry those children with him on the sleigh ride to hell.

A couple of months ago I discovered a book that had a collection of Krampus postcards from Christmas seasons over the years in Europe coming from Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland and Hungary.

It turns out that the wrath of the Krampus was not limited to children but to young men and women as well. Young couples that were out and that were unchaperoned were particularly vulnerable to the fangs, teeth and beatings from the yuletide beast.

I once heard an evangelical minister say. “Heaven without hell is like the news, one with out the other and it’s just news. Just add hell and good news becomes really good news.” In comparison Santa is really a saint.

Even today during Christmas festivals in Europe the Krampus makes his appearance in holiday parades alongside the Father of Christmas to serve as a reminder that it more that just pays to be good, lest you end up going to hell, in a hand-basket.

A Quick Sketch

2009-07-11T10:40:00.002-05:00

Watercolor, ink & pencil on Moleskine paper

Tastes Like Chicken

2009-07-05T17:36:00.005-05:00

On my last night in Orlando while driving around looking for a place to eat, friend and coworker Larry Guinn got a call from one of his employees telling him that he had to try a restaurant that was very different from the normal chain.

After driving 45 minutes out of town past 8 toll booths and well out of the Orlando city limits we drove down several winding trails until we reached the Black Hammock Recreational Area. Once there we saw that there were two bars, one restaurant and an airboat tour company.

We sat down in the covered, screened in patio of the Black Hammock restaurant and ordered some of the local samplings. We ordered a half-pound of alligator tail in buffalo wing sauce. Larry ordered the Florida Sampler consisting of a whole fried catfish, alligator and several frog legs. I thought that the legs would be miniscule, but it turned out that they were the size of a small drumstick.

I ordered a half-pound of blackened alligator. The consistency was tender, the meat flavorful, but the first thing I noticed was that it tasted like chicken. Upon asking I found out that the restaurant procures their alligator two different ways. They either get it from local hunters and in that case the meat ends up tasting pretty gamey, like fish seeing as that is the larger part of the animals diet in the wild. The "free range" meat that I was eating was farm raised and was fed chicken hence the flavor.

Upon telling Jill what I had for dinner and what it tasted like, her response was, "why just not eat Chicken?"

Only in Phoenix

2009-07-05T17:28:00.003-05:00

It is 109 degrees today and it's going to be over 105 for the next 7 days. This sign at the public pool caught my eye in that it bought up a couple of dichotomies:

1. It's so hot, that you have to be warned to seek shade like some sort of duck and cover warning.

2. There are not a lot of shade trees like that here in the desert, maybe they should have used an image of a saguaro cactus instead.

The Holy Grail

2009-07-05T17:15:00.003-05:00

After years of searching, I have finally found it. It's been a good 20 years since I've had a decent cup a cappuccino. Seems like every time you ask for one you end up getting some oversize latte in a Jacuzzi size mug or some type of caffeine shake with whip cream and chocolate syrup. Turns out that just across the street from Joe's BBQ in Gilbert is the Market City Cafe (also owned by Joe) makes the best espresso in the greater Phoenix area. Now if I could just figure out how to get there and back in time for work in the morning.

The First Sighting in 2009

2009-07-05T17:06:00.005-05:00

The night before I flew out to Orlando I let the dog out to go pee around midnight and I saw a scorpion one one of the pillars of the patio. For a second I thought of filming it, but it was a bit skittery once it saw me and my flashlight. Plus I didn't want to get on PETA's hit list for filming the live killing of a scorpion.

Fun with TypeDrawing

2009-06-16T22:33:00.003-05:00

Aimee had some fun with a new app that I loaded onto the iPhone

Another Activity - Swim Team

2009-06-10T09:00:00.003-05:00

To add to the other sports that Aimee participates in (Aikido, archery, Kendo and rock climbing) she is now on the local Parks and Recreation swim team. After her first practice she declared that it is the hardest workout among the sports that she already participates in.

Random Photos - Downtown Gilbert, AZ

2009-06-10T08:51:00.003-05:00

I love Joe's BBQ, that have such fantastic food there. If you are ever in the neighborhood, eat at Joe's.

A First Time for Everything

2009-06-01T10:09:00.002-05:00

Today was my first day in bogu. Needless to say, it was pretty rough. I’ve come to the conclusion that Kendo is like sword fighting in a spacesuit. I was able to wear the tare (waist and hip protector) and the do (the chest protector) last Thursday’s practice. Today I was able to put on the whole enchalada. I added the kote (the glove-like hand and wrist protector) and the men (head and face protection, sort of).

Swinging the shinai (the bamboo sword) is completely different. The initial position that you start out in and transition to in the swing feel completely different. Even how you grip the shinai is somewhat challenging in the cumbersome kote.
While the bogu is made to protect, it does not completely isolate the wearers completely from the strikes. There is some pain involved. I took a couple of shots to the top of the head that have left a sore spot from today’s practice. While practicing strikes to the wrist or kote I was feeling a sort of an electrical jolt fly up my arm each time after I was struck. I then realized that I had the extra pad for protecting the wrist that is worn under the kote was on the wrong arm.

Seeing, hearing and breathing are greatly restricted while wearing the headpiece or men. The men is also somewhat heavy so on occasion you find your head bobbing around from the weight of the metal mask in the front.
I know that even though I had been exposed to Kendo throughout my life and had understood many of the basics and principles I now know that I know nothing at all. I know that despite the fact that I have spent the past 10 months to get to this point of getting beyond the basics of strikes, swinging, control and foot work that I am again starting all over again...from day one.

A Visit to Lee Lee's Asian Supermarket

2009-04-26T19:04:00.006-05:00

Once you walk in, it becomes very clear that you are not in your average supermarket.
It is not what you expect from your average visit to Ralph's or the Piggly Wiggly. One step in to Lee Lee's Asian supermarket and you can see that you are in a different world.

Unfortunately you won't find Wonder bread or Skippy peanut butter, buy you will find at least find 20 different types of rice, 15 different types of choi (more than just the Bok type) and more tea...well, almost more types that can be found in China. While many supermarkets dedicate one or two portions of an aisle to international foods, Lee Lee's contains nothing but selections from all around the world.

While western markets appear very sterile and very removed from where food comes from making a some what surreal experience, this market makes it very clear where animal protein comes from. In the fish department you get to pull your choice live from the tank. Ducks are roasted with the head on.

Just walking through the aisles alone can be overwhelming. I had heard of Vietnamese fish sauce, the infamous nuac mam, but in one row alone I counted 37 different types of it.

Try that instead of peanut butter.

Mr. Pig Gets a Hat

2009-04-16T19:25:00.003-05:00

So Shines a Good Deed Upon a Weary World

2009-03-22T23:30:00.006-06:00

Aimee decided to go for her Bronze Award with the Girl Scouts this year. For her project she decided collect food donations for the Chandler Food Bank for the homeless. To get the award she was required to come up with an idea and to work 17 hours of community service. She organized her idea, wrote letters and created a flier and went door to door to 108 houses in the community. My initial thought that we’d get 5 donations from neighbors that we knew. I turned out to be way wrong.

We got donations from about 60 houses and filled the back of the Honda Pilot with bags and bags of food.

I estimate that we got about 300 pounds of food in one day. An amazing feat by an 11 year-old.

It was great to see the outpouring of support from our neighbors. It was great to hear from them in the notes that they left Aimee saying what a great thing she was doing. It was amazing to see that my daughter has managed to make a small, positive impact on the world.

That’s “Fu-Ro-Re-Tzu” to You

2009-03-22T23:28:00.002-06:00

One of the things that one is required to do in Kendo is to get an identifying panel that is attached to the middle of the waist protector or “tare” on the armor section of the Bogu.
The Zekken is like a nametag of sorts in that it identifies the practitionier seeing as they are not easily identifiable once the headpiece or “men” is worn.
The Zekken usually lists the school or dojo that the person is from, their last name in English and in Japanese. Seeing as many westerners are practicing kendo they must have their names translated into a pronouncable form of Japanese. In Katakana each character represents a consonant and a vowel. Using this type of format just about any word or name can be utilized by Japanese speakers so that it could be more easily used.
Some examples of this are:
Hot Dog = ho tu do gu
California = ca ri fo ni an nu
Ice Cream = Aei su ku re mu
Maruice White (the lead singer of Earth Wind and Fire) = Morisu Howaito
In our case, since we have the infamous “L” in our name and with no “L” in the Japanese language we had to have our names spelled out the long way ‘round.
Four characters, Fu, Ro, Re & Tzu

Pocket Dump

2009-03-22T23:27:00.001-06:00

“What’s in your pockets?”

Capturing An Essence

2009-03-22T23:24:00.002-06:00

I saw this commercial and had to laugh out loud. It was a combination of the characters of Charleton Heston and the legend of Chuck Norris in a Latin format to create this new spokesperson for Dos Exquis. I too shall drink the elixir of the two X’s and perhaps become more interesting.

Aimee Gets Armor

2009-03-09T18:18:00.002-06:00

It was a pretty big deal for her, but on Sunday our instructors brought over a set of bogu for Aimee to borrow. It was like Christmas day for her. It was a wonderful sight.

Random Photos 3

2009-02-18T18:36:00.002-06:00

Random Photos 2

2009-02-18T18:24:00.003-06:00

Random Photos

2009-02-18T18:21:00.001-06:00

Photos from work

First Practice of the New Year

2009-01-07T21:18:00.001-06:00

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T11:50:00.006-06:00

The 20-Year Plan

2008-11-27T15:18:00.005-06:00

Getting an education came as a calling late in life. It has been a joy and a reward. It has also been a challenge with some sacrifices along the way.

At age 32 I decided to go back to college I have been going for 12 years now, and I’ve learned quite a bit.

Part of the problem is that I bought into my father’s philosophy that education was worthless; that it was hard work not schooling that bought you success. I never really balanced the fact that this perspective was coming from a man that never completed second grade.

My career in Hollywood took all of my time and I never got a chance to complete my education in that the time required for the jobs and the tasks were round the clock. But it also led me to believe that you didn’t need one and in some cases the prevailing attitude often held education in disdain. I saw people at the time that were going to school having trouble trying to make ends meet. I was determined to not be a starving student and make as much money as I could through working.

The Army helped me to establish a work ethic of being hard driven and determined. But the drive and determination was often interpreted as compulsive, and I was seen as being rough around the edges. Furthermore I was essentially told that I was stupid – that my Army experience turned me into a brainless cretin. This was a turning point for me. It was an epiphany and a major turning point in my life.

Making matters worse, I had up to that point convinced myself that I was a poor student and incapable of going back to school. My grades in high school and elementary further solidified that point in my mind.

Even though I did not believe in education as a whole at the time I did know that it was important for me to continually improve my knowledge in my career. Upon leaving the military I had taken the money I had saved and entered a couple of classes in videotape editing and television signal theory. Both of those classes served to be foundational for me to become a post production supervisor at Mark Freedman productions.

As my Hollywood career waned I decided to continue my training and I ended up taking a Panavision certification class that was offered through the UCLA Extension program. I did very well in the class and ended up getting an A. It was at that moment that I had another realization. If I could get an A at a university that I could go on and get a degree at just about any college if I applied myself.

I initially started out as a communications major. I wanted to quantify all of the experiences that I had so far in that I had a pretty diverse experience in the media with my background in television and some motion pictures. Around that same time I ended up getting published in a couple of different magazines and really wanted to continue with that success on the side, so I changed my focus and my major to journalism.

Part of what keeps me going is spite, the fact that my father did not want me to go to college; the fact that Hollywood didn’t care about education. The fact that there were several people in my life made me to feel stupid. Perhaps these are the wrong reasons, but they were motivators nonetheless.

That may have been the initial motivating factors for getting an education but since that time I have encountered others that have kept me going:

• The sheer joy of learning
• Meeting fantastic teachers – having meaningful dialectics with professors
• Meeting students and friends at school
• Going to school has changed my life. I no longer think the same I no longer look at the world, space and the universe with the same set of eyes.
• I now know that I don’t know everything but that I have more questions and seek to gain more answers.
• An example to my daughter – School is important, education is important. It all starts at the kitchen table when you do your homework.
• Getting a degree shouldn’t necessarily serve as a springboard as a trade. Education should be broad scoped and widely encompassing. The more foundational the longer lasting it will be. -

I’m not getting an education to hide from a goal or from success but rather to prepare for it. I enjoy school in that it has served as a canvas to create works and has often pushed me to try different mediums.

Re-entering school as an older adult has been an interesting experience to say the least. Watching the kids fritter time and opportunity has put my need to apply myself into perspective. Often the instructors appreciate the older students who can bring meaningful dialog and insight to a conversation, turn in papers and assignments on time and often drive the class in a positive direction.

In my career as I have moved up in responsibility continuing my education has become even more challenging. In order to maintain life balance I’ve had to cut back on my classes in order to ensure sanity and a survivable stress level.

The 20 Year plan has come at a price – I’ve worked 8 of the last 12 years during the evening shift. I’ve missed a lot of events and family dinners and time with my daughter in order to chase the sheepskin.

All of this leads me to the questions:

Am I wasting my time?

Am I too late trying to get an education?

We’ll see.

Ultimately it was my mom that raised the point by saying I didn’t need Oz to tell me that I was intelligent or for that matter to give me a degree. I know that to an extent I was autodidactic, but having an education only went to solidify what I knew.

Now that I have a new job at a company that I have always wanted to work for, I am going to back off the schooling for now. Eventually I’ll get back to it, but for now I just need a little bit of time to spend with my wife and kid. If I time it right, I could try to graduate from college in the same class with my daughter

Ed Flores is currently a student at Mesa Community College. He has been accepted to Phi Theta Kappa, the international honor society for 2-year colleges. He currently holds an Associate of Arts from Consumnes River College in Northern California and is 6 credit hours from a second associates degree in Arizona. At his current rate of academic progress he is set to graduate in 2015.

A Thing of Quality

2008-11-15T21:03:00.003-06:00

Aimee and I have been pining for armor for some time now. As father and daughter we have been secretly wanting our own set of armor. Now that we have been training in kendo for nearly six months that time is coming that we will be told to get armor for kendo. At the first stage of kendo the practitioner is instructed on the basics and is primarily focused on types of strikes, footwork and form.

There is a couple of problems here, the bogu or kendo armor does not come cheaply and we need two sets. We’re talking between $300 and $1000 here per set. And with Aimee continuing to grow she is going to need more than on set in her life.
In the past Jill has been set against getting anything to do with getting anything that could be construed as a weapon as a gift. When I asked for a new pocket knife or set of kitchen knives she was dead set against it. Whether it be superstition, false premonition or otherwise she did was against giving anything of the sort as a gift. After all Santa did bring Peter, Susan and Lucy weapons and armor in "the Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe," why can't he do the same for us? This scene alone sets precedent showing that Santa historically packs heat to give out to good little children.
.
Despite the money and false omens both Aimee and I will keep hoping and researching until our time comes.

On Youtube I found a cool video on how bogu is made. Much like a “How it’s Made” program the video takes you step by step through the process, only in Japanese.

You know it's hot in Phoenix...

2008-08-30T17:48:00.004-05:00

When the restaurants...

have to put pot holders on the door handles to keep you from burning your hands.

The Family that Slays Together Stays Together

2008-08-11T12:15:00.005-05:00

On the weekend after my birthday I wanted to go and watch a local Kendo class. Over the course of my life since I was 16 I have made it a point on occasion to go and watch the classes at the various dojos located throughout Southern California as part of the Japanese Cultural Institute program in California. Just after high school I attended sever different dojos depending where I was living at the time. Costa Mesa, West Covina and Pasadena were just a few of the cultural centers that I practiced Kendo at.
Kendo is an interesting art. More practical sport than art it encompasses more of the true spirit of bushido than many of the other Japanese arts that are currently practiced*

Due to my highly mobile nature during my late teens and my lack of stick-to-itiveness I never progressed to any level in Kendo. In Kendo one is considered to be in the introductory state until notified by the instructor at which point the student is allowed to acquire the armor or bogu necessary to truly engage in the art. Of the previous three attempts to practice the art I never mad it to that point.

On our visit I didn’t have any intention of getting my daughter involved in the sport. I thought that she was already too involved in martial activities with her participation in Aikido for the last 5 years and archery in the Junior Olympic Development program for the last year and a half. Kendo would just be another thing that could be construed as violent. But during our visit the instructor and his wife took an immediate interest with Aimee and began sizing her up for Kendo and Naganiata. The week following we returned and have been going steadily since.

Over the years there have been many anecdotal comments about what I am trying to do to my daughter and my parenting style.

I wasn't trying to raise boy
but rather
I wanted a strong daughter,
for her to grow up to be an empowered young woman....

“Edward has a hands-off parenting style,” a family member stated.

“You’re training her to grow up to be a CIA operative,” an employee remarked (that one is my favorite).

“He really wanted a boy” one parent from school had commented.

I had a reflective moment and did some soul searching about it to see if there was some truth about the last comment. After much reflection I came to the conclusion that this comment was not true and I did not have any deep feelings or resentment about having a daughter. In retrospect I felt the opposite. Before having a child I had the hope that it would be a girl, that I wanted a daughter. In this case with what classes she has gone through and what I have taught her from martial arts to drown-proofing to rock climbing and what I have exposed her to I reached a conclusion.

I wasn't trying to raise boy but rather I wanted a strong daughter, for her to grow up to be an empowered young woman....

We’ve been going to class a little over a month now and the workouts have proven to challenging, even harder than Aikido. The workouts are harder in Kendo but do not have the resounding after effects of the full body aches that are acquired after an hour of ukemi from Aikido. After the last session of Aikido I decided it best to take a little break after breaking my middle finger on the sensei’s gi while practicing an escape technique. After she spun out of my grip that I had on her left lapel there was an ungodly muffled snap and a moment of uncomfortable silence with a small gasp from the audience of mothers in the room. “I’m okay” I stated and returned to seiza at the end of the mat. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as the blood rushed to my finger. At that point I decided to retire from joining my daughter on the mat in Aikido, she understood.

Last month during our trip to Los Angeles Aimee’s and I made a quick trip to e-Bogu in Torrance. We walked into the warehouse and were greeted by the employees who constantly bowed as they fetched various keikogis and hakamas for us to try on. It was amazing to see the amount of gear that they had on hand.

On our last class Jill came with us to watch and relax as she did some reading and needlepoint on the sidelines. After the class I asked Jill if she would be interested in joining us. “Not my thing,” was her response. She said that she was just not into the sword swinging, running around and shouting thing. Still, it was nice to have all of the family there. Even though she is not on the mat with Aimee during aikido or wearing bogu during kendo she has been an enabler by letting Aimee participate and over all the years driving Aimee to her sessions. So in a small way, she is always there with us.

* I realize that this is just an opinion.

Catch of the Day

2008-07-11T11:09:00.004-05:00

Jill was in the master bedroom and was just about to let the dog out into the back yard from there when I first saw it. She turned on the lights and from 30 ft away I saw it scurry away toward the pool away from the intense focus of the floodlight that was blinding its medial eye.

“Freeze! Don’t go outside!” I shouted. I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes. From the tone of my voice Jill immediately understood what was happening, but it was too late. The Dog had already shot out the door and headed out to the grassy area to do her business. Fortunately the dog had passed the scorpion by a wide margin and without incident. I went outside and stood over the scorpion to ensure that the dog would not step on it on the return trip. From what I understand dogs do not fair as well as cats do when stung by Centruroides sculpturatus. A visit to the vet is needed to control the swelling and other symptoms when stung.

After the dog went in I ran to my desk and grabbed a sheet of clear plastic lamination. I peeled and stuck the sheet directly on the beast while gently crushing it at the same time.

All of this could just be chalked up as another encounter but the amazing thing about all of this was the sheer luck of seeing such a small object at such a great distance and being able to recognize it immediately. I’d say that it was more of a matter of sense than luck in this case. I managed to use a sixth sense (Zen, the Force or whatever else you want to call it) to spot a 1 ½ inch object over 30 feet away at night. Simply put, my kung fu is strong.

The first reader to respond to this story will win the dead, laminated scorpion mentioned in the article. Just email me your address. Good luck.

Summer Movies

2008-06-24T12:22:00.004-05:00

Now that Aimee is 10 she is able to handle movies that have action and that are somewhat suspenseful without having nightmares as a result. So this summer has been a blockbuster as far as movies are concerned. We've been able to see all of the summer hits and every weekend it's been a different movie.

When Indiana Jones came out last month we made it a point to go an see it on the largest screen here in Phoenix. I bought tickets ahead of time and I parked on the back side of the lot away from other cars. When we returned we found that 4 other Mini Coopers had parked next to us creating an impromptu car show.

With us seeing movies every weekend we have become regulars at the local theater. We greet the same ticket taker every weekend. He is an elder gentleman. Outspoken, yet polite with a good sense of humor.

Please note the name tag. I asked him what his real name was and he insisted that it was what is on the name tag, "Karate."

Every time I see him I get to say, "Hi Karate."

I've Never Been a Cop But I've Played One on TV

2008-05-13T10:58:00.003-05:00

Because I worked in Hollywood there were a couple of occasions that I got to work in front of the camera instead of the darkened rooms of the telecine and editing bays. Once I got a call from my mom saying that she saw me on MTV backstage on a Winger video. Producer Joseph Sassone was kind enough to put me in as a cop for a Compton's Mosts Wanted music video. I have about 2.5 seconds of glory and if you time your sneeze right, you'll miss my part entirely.

As a supervisor at Pasadena Camera Rental (Pasadena Production Studios) I ran into quite a few film majors from the prestigious Art Center College of design. A couple of times I was asked to appear in front of the camera for their student films. The imagery in the film "Screamers" looked great for a student film. Shot on Ektachrome there was very little lattitude for error on the exposure. As a student film there was no money for negative film, color adjustment or multiple takes. Shot in very low light the film came out great, unlike my acting.

So long before CSI, with flashlight in hand Lt. Detective Ed was already on the murder case.

I Dig Watches

2008-05-05T12:23:00.006-05:00

Ever since I was a kid I have always liked wristwatches. I purchased my first wristwatch from my piggy bank funds when I was 4. My mom still has the watch in her jewelry box. I am not sure if it still runs, but Timex has always been known to make inexpensive yet robust watches.

People think that I am a watch snob. This is simply not the case. I like watches of all shapes sizes and functions, I just happen to like automatic handmade watches.

About 24 years ago I plunked down $1100 for a Rolex Submariner and have pretty much not taken it of since that time.

After burning through several watches through Basic Training, Advanced Individual Training at the Infantry School, Jump School and the first couple of months at my permanent duty station at Ft Bragg with the 82nd Airborne division I decided to make the investment of a tougher, more professional timepiece. I wanted a watch that could withstand the rigors of being out in the field without looking like it was run through a rock tumbler. I just wanted to buy one last watch that I would never have to worry about again.

The last straw came when I was walking up the stairs fully loaded wearing two duffel bags of clothes and equipment that I was moving into my new room. Several soldiers came running up the stairs after having been released from formation, eager to begin their weekend of alcohol poisoning shoving me against the wall as they made their way past. The extra weight of all my gear amplified the impact to my left wrist shearing the crystal and hands off the newly purchased plastic jungle issue Timex.

That weekend I went to the Fayetteville mall to kill time and just happened to walk in to Leeds Jewelers. “Looking for a watch?” the salesman asked. “I want a watch that’s waterproof, shock resistant and impervious to scratches.” I responded thinking that there was no such product on the market. He then plopped down a green leather box with the distinctive gold crown foil stamped on it. “That’s exactly what I thought that you were going to say,” I replied. After some haggling I cut him a check for $200 and a contract to pay the reminder of the $800 in monthly installments. I walked out with a new stainless steel Submariner Date. It was the first year that the watch was fitted with the sapphire crystal. After visiting 22 countries and more that two dozen jumps out of airplanes, it still looks good and still holds time. I guess it was worth it.

I really dig diver’s watches. For all of the reasons listed above a diver’s watch is just something that you can always have with you and no matter what you put yourself through or where you find yourself a diver’s watch is pretty much going to survive the endeavor.

Very early on in our relationship I gave Jill a diver’s watch for Christmas. Earlier that year she had taken a trip to Mexico and ended up staying a day extra so that she could complete the diver’s certification course at the resort that she was staying at. She wore the Chronosport diver’s watch for 8 years until she wore the numbers off the bezel and scratched the crystal until it was opaque. She still has that watch in a drawer somewhere.

Rolex is an expensive proposition and these days not necessarily the right one. There are so many companies that fill the gap between Seiko and Rolex that are highly durable and reliable and that won’t set you back the current list price of $5000 for a Rolex.

Seeing as the Submariner was one of the first diver’s watches (but not the first, that claim can go to BlancPain and their Fifty Fathoms, which was just re released last year) many watches that followed fell into that almost identical format. Every time I show my daughter a watch I get the response, “but daddy, that looks like the watch you already have.” This prompted me to be on the lookout for diver’s watches looked different than the form factor of the Submariner. If you happen to win the lottery here are a few that I would suggest.

Doxa
The design and colors harkens back to the heyday of the ‘70s but the bottom line is, have you ever tried to read a watch underwater? Anything under 30 ft is difficult so while on land the orange looks a bit much, but they are highly functional.

Panerai would have to be the grand daddy of all dive watches. Formed in 1936 the company supplied timepieces and compasses to the Italian torpedo suicide squads know as Decima Flottglia. In the ‘90s Stallone saw them in Italy and has become their ambassador. Bloody expensive watch, but man oh man is it worth it. Wearing one of these makes you larger than life. Jason Statham would tell you, but then he’d have to kick you in the head

The next two are unheard of watches for the most part but what I feel are going to be worth more that what you paid for them when you bought them. Both are German timepieces. The Swiss having made their name in watch making the Germans have been a very over looked source for timepieces. After all they are known for their precision in so many industries, why not watches?

Limes
Simple and clean lined, yet rugged and elegant at the same time.

Sinn
A Very different look depending on the line (they make several different diver’s models) that can range from modernistic to avionic.

Back down to earth with a very dependable, rugged and not a bad looking watch, the classic Seiko diver’s watch. It can be had for less tht $200 and there are several companies out there that can do modifications to the face and hands.

Ed Flores is a freelance writer who lives in Chandler, AZ and currently owns three watches, a Rolex Submariner, a Hamilton Jazzmaster Viewmatic and a first generation Timex Ironman INDIGLO. His wife Jill at the moment sports a lady Invicta diver’s and daughter Aimee has a Timex Ironman INDIGLO.

Paging Dr. Ed

2008-04-20T13:47:00.003-05:00

Earlier this year I was asked to participate in a school event. Jill usually attends these but because she was busy she asked that I attend instead. Turns out that they needed parents to run various stations for health day at the school. So I donned lab coat and stethoscope for the event. All in all it was a fun morning.

The Unavoidable

2008-03-19T11:48:00.005-06:00

There are many reasons to tell your kid not to be in a rush to grow up. Traffic jams, root canals, tax audits and colonoscopies are just a few good reasons why children should be encouraged to live in the moment. Eventually as we grow older some of these things are just unavoidable.

A colonoscopy is one of those things.

"...all at once the feeling of pain is sharp and full-bodied, with a hint of razor blades. It is like having an errant raccoon with sharpened claws stuffed up ones innards."

I am not all that unfamiliar with the scope, a few years back I had a run in with one before. Several years ago I was experiencing severe gastro-intestinal disorders and the doctors defaulted to the scope to eliminate all possibilities such as Crohn’s disease, ulcerative colitis, or diverticulitus. After suffering a round of torture with the scope I was sent on my way with an invitation to come back in five years. Eight years has elapsed since my last procedure.

Late last fall my mother was having some health issues, she was constantly tired, weak and she had lost some weight. After multiple blood tests the doctors ordered that she get a colonoscopy. The results were not good. They discovered a massive tumor that had ruptured the intestinal wall. She was going to need surgery to remove the mass, and a CT scan to determine if the cancer had spread to any other parts of the body. As a passing comment the doctor performing the colonoscopy had guessed that she had the cancer or growth for about 5 years.

My mom had the surgery, her colon was resected, reattached and she began the regimen of chemotherapy. The biopsy of the tumor was conclusive; she was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. She is on her 5th of week of chemo and so far she has managed to keep all of her hair.

All of this prompted pressure from all of my family to go and get checked out. As it turns out the doctor agreed. As soon as you have a direct relative that has a type of cancer, in this case colon cancer your chances of getting it yourself increase exponentially.

I was given a Speedpass to go to the head of the line for the magical mystery tour.

Needless to say I was scared and nervous. My first scoping several years back did not go so well. I was given enough Versed, a conscious sedative, but not enough of the painkiller Demerol. As a result I suffered excruciating pain but didn’t have the ability to say anything about it. The doctor and driver on the scope was very heavy handed with the scope and was overly generous with the gas that is used to inflate the colon. The result, pure misery. All I can say is that all at once the feeling of pain is sharp and full-bodied, with a hint of razor blades. It is like having an errant raccoon with sharpened claws stuffed up ones innards.

If the procedure is difficult the preparation is no better. You are instructed to not eat any solid foods for a day and you have to clear the plumbing. I had to take 24 doses of laxatives in a 4 hour timeframe. At first you think, “hey this is no problem.” Then you hear the muffled sound of a bed sheet tearing in half in your gut and you have to sprint to the toilet all the time hoping that you don’t explode in the process. You continue this whole routine for the next 10 hours or so.

This time the doctor was much better about the procedure. The attending nurse and anesthesiologist heard my concerns and gave me enough painkillers to take down a water buffalo. I didn’t remember or feel a thing.

It was a good thing I went too. The doctor found a precancerous 10mm polyp near the cecum, the joint where the small intestine joins the colon. He used a hot snare to resect it and sent it to the lab for biopsy. I am still waiting on the results, which should be good, but because they found polyps I get to do this all over again in 3 years.

It beats the alternative.

Please eat your fiber, cancer sucks.

Run Fatty Run

2008-03-17T11:44:00.003-06:00

Another year another ½ marathon done. Once again I participated in the PF Chang’s ½ marathon here in Phoenix. I didn’t train as much this year. I had a mishap back in November. I fell on the final mile of a 4-mile run. I was doing a 9-minute mile and I hit the asphalt – hard. I immediately could tell that I contused the bones in my hand. Later I noticed a searing pain in my rib cage – I had probably broken a rib.
I backed off my training regimen immediately. Consequently when I could train again it was only weeks before the race.

I went into the race knowing that I would only run a portion of it, and then walk the rest. I did okay on the walk/run plan. Despite the aches and pains I crossed the finish line and earned the finishers medal.

Yesterday was the Arizona Distance Classic. I opted not to go this year. I would like to do at least on more ½ marathon this year, the training keeps me honest. Perhaps I’ll sign up for the Disneyland ½ marathon in September.

Despite all of the marathon business I just enjoy running despite the lack of talent for it.

Although I was not born on Mt. Olympus nor under its shadow of it I rise everyday to the heroes task:

Drink the eggs
Punch the meat
Run, run, run, up the stairs
Lather, rinse, repeat

Hollywood Memories

2008-03-10T10:18:00.004-06:00

Going through some files this weekend I found a couple of photos that were taken from the sets of music videos.

The first photo is with David Negron from Los Lobos and Dwight Yokam from the set of "Hey Good Lookin" by Buckwheat Zydeco. I was the first assistant director for Oley Sassone on the set.

The second photo was from the set of a music video that was directed by Blair Underwood.

Discovering Treasure

2007-12-30T15:52:00.001-06:00

This weekend while putting away all of the Christmas decorations Jill decided that it would be a good time to clean out the garage. While doing so she uncovered something that I though was long gone.

Some 18 years ago a good friend of mine, John Gates, decided to stay on with the military as a medic and went on to the 5028th Special Operations Support Battalion. Shortly upon joining the unit he found himself supporting operations for the various Special Forces groups and for department Delta. On one of his exercises he found himself returning to Panama for a second time, not to train but to help with capturing Manuel Noriega. Unfortunately Manny got away and found himself stuck in the embassy of the Vatican listening to Billy Ray Cyrus’ “Achy Breaky Heart” some several thousand times. Meanwhile, Delta Force, the Navy SEALS and my friend John were ransacking all 7 of his homes throughout the country. John managed to acquire some of the booty, eventually a couple of the pieces made their way to me.

As part of the spoils I ended up with a candid snapshot of Noriega and several pieces of his stationery. Now…If I could somehow get to the Federal Penitentiary in Florida to get him to sign it.

I also found a complete compilation of Harlan Ellison’s works. When I cracked the cover I discovered that it was signed by him and addressed to me.

Along with the file that contained the Noriega stationery was a series of original hand painted animation cells from the Saturday morning children’s shows The Archies and The Lone Ranger.

I use to hate the Antiques Roadshow. I saw all of those people and thought out of all that junk I had in the garage amounted to nothing more than a pile of dust bunnies. Now, I think that I actually might have something. Not bad for a day’s find.

Apology Accepted, 19 Years Later

2007-12-30T12:03:00.000-06:00

The Internet has a strange way of getting people back together. A couple of weeks ago I got an email from Don Morris. After having left the army we all went our separate ways and on with our lives. Unfortunately we all lost touch with each other, we all wanted to get away from the experience of the military but at the same time we lost the most important thing that we had, our friendships. Don over the years would use Google to search for friends, eventually he found the blog and it led to me. I got his email and immediately called him.

It was one of those conversations you have with an old friend where you pick up just where you left off just as if no time had passed. It was good to talk to and catch up with an old friend.

I’m just glad that he forgave me for kicking him in the head.

Someone Made Me Hitler (Schickelgrubered)

2007-12-27T11:59:00.000-06:00

As part of a performance incentive program at work I had set up a competition based off of Fight Club. Individual agents would use their daily and weekly stats to "fight" each other to find out who was the winner of the daily and weekly match ups.

As part of the whole program I had several posters made up from the movie Fight Club. I had the artist replace my face with Edward Norton's and Ross William's face replaced Brad Pitt's.

It turns out that someone in the center decided to do some further modifications to the image.

As you can see the moustache is trimmed quite small and with the hair parted so gives me the image of the Führer und Reichskanzler himself.

The gut reaction was anger for a half-second, then I realized the ridiculousness of it and went on with my life. I don't usually find humor in anything to do with the Third Reich but on a rare occasion something comes along that makes you laugh.

Stealing My Mojo

2007-12-19T00:51:00.000-06:00

The image is moderately famous. It's my 15kb of fame. A glorious posting on the Internet that will live forevermore. A picture that was taken of me long ago during the music video years of my life. The picture was scanned by a coworker for me as a favor. The next day it ended up on every screen saver and desktop background at EarthLink. A year after that it was anonymously submitted to mulletsgalore.com and was selected as "mullet of the week." I never thought that the photo would end up being the mullet seen 'round the world. Turns out that I am not the only person that thinks the photo is iconic in its flowing power. A couple other sites have used the image to further their own ends.

The newspaper at the University of Arizona did a review for various mullet websites and lo and behold they used my photo, with the obligatory censoring of the eyes seeing as they did not seek my permission to use the image. If they just would have asked I would have gladly obliged.

In the next image you can see that I have been totally defiled.

As part of the wave anti-Arab humor that occurred post 9/11 they have taken my hair and placed someone else's face, calling the photo "Osama bin Longhair."
A total ripoff. You can see that those are my ears, my hair, my shirt. The least they could have done was keep my face there and slapped on a mustache. As P.T Barnum put it, "I don't care what you say about me as long as you spell the name right." In my case it is more like, I don't care what you do with the photo as long as you don't change it. Leave it in its original glory.

Dispatches from the Wonka School of Management

2007-12-17T10:56:00.000-06:00

(The Gene Wilder version, not the Michael Jackson and the Chocolate Factory version)

Be Creative

Care for and respect your people

Lead with integrity and expect integrity from others

Search the world over high and low for inspiration, the right product and the right people

Be passionate about your product and about what you do

Innovate your product constantly and aspire to create the Everlasting Gopstopper

Find and train open-minded talent to replace you

Find the fun in everything you do

Phase Deux

2007-12-17T10:51:00.001-06:00

Almost there. The carpenter came over and installed the surround and the media cabinet. As you can see, beautymus. This week I'll install a second HDMI cable that will run to a HDMI switcher. Just in time for Santa to bring the XBox. Woohoo!

Scared of Santa

2007-12-12T00:46:00.000-06:00

You'd think that the man that bought you toys on Christmas day would hold a special place in your life as child. Apparently this is not always so as witnessed by the website Scared of Santa. Since 2004 The Sun-Sentinel out of South Florida has been gathering pictures of little ones getting the piss scared out of them by Father Christmas. Initially the site started out with a dozen or so classic pictures of children trying to escape surly or drunk looking Santa's by either running away or executing a category 5 scream back at the reasonable facsimile of old Saint Nick. Whether it be self defense mechanism of fight or flight, separation anxiety or otherwise, it's amazing to see how many parents will drop their kids into the laps of total strangers knowing that there is a fair chance of a total meltdown. The site is a scream, literally.

Enjoy and Merry Christmas.

Earning Man Points

2007-08-04T14:31:00.000-05:00

It turns out that you can justify just about anything. In our case it was a 52inch LCD TV.

“We never go to the movies,” we bemoan. The last 5 movies I’ve been to were either Disney or Pixar. If we go to a movie it’s usually a kid flick, something that the whole family can see.

By the time we pay for a babysitter dinner and movies the night cost’s us about $100.
Turns out that dating one’s own wife is more expensive than dating her when she was the girlfriend. So, over the years we’ve fantasized about getting a big screen TV. Using the above-mentioned justifications we continued our fantasy until, finally it has manifested itself into the Sony Bravia 52 inch behemoth glass idol to the gods of TV and movies.

Okay, okay, stop where you’re at because in my case just getting a big screen wasn’t that simple. In my case doing something to the house never is. You see, we live in Arizona. All of the houses are new. So instead of having any sort of accommodations for a widescreen most house designers have taken it upon themselves to design what I have dubbed the plaster disaster. Take the focal point of a room where a television would go and with drywall create a series of useless indentations, shelves and niches. It seems as if there are a series of geniuses that consider themselves to be a sort of Michelangelo, but instead of using marble they have chosen drywall and plaster. The results are lame, useless and nauseating at best and the valley of the sun is full of such architectural genius.

In our particular case, around the fireplace were two nieces and an excuse for a fireplace surround. The mantle above the fireplace stuck out only 3 inches from the wall. You couldn’t hang anything off of it, couldn’t set anything on top. Most items would just fall off.

Upon deciding that I was going to get a TV for my birthday we decided to call a company that specialized in creating niches into cabinets, entertainment centers, etc. A sales person for “Cure for a Niche” came over and evaluated the situation. A few weeks later he came back over with a picture and a quote of $6000 to create something that looked like a giant headboard. Factoring that with the cost of the widescreen TV itself would put us well over $10,000. I was against spending that much on principle alone nevertheless not having that much money to begin with. So I decided to do something that scared the hell out of myself. I decided that it was time to earn some man points. I decided to do it myself.

With some basic calculation and minimal planning I figured that I could do the demolition, route the stereo cabling, move the electrical outlet, frame the hole, hang the drywall, texture the wall and paint for less than $600. Turns out with some help and advice from friends I was able to do the job and buy the tools needed to do the job for about $400.

The only failure was that I drastically underestimated the time that it would take to do the job. I thought that I could do it in a weekend. Turns out that it took two weekend days and my mornings before work to finish the job.

With phase one of the plan complete it looks great. The TV and Bose jewel cubes float off the wall. It looks techno and modern, a sight to behold.

Because of time and experience (or lack thereof) Jill has asked me to stop the project and hire a woodworker to finish building the fireplace surround and the stereo cabinet in the remaining niche. For me to do it would cost too much in the way of tools and would take way to long. School starts in a week and it normally cuts down on my available time drastically. We had two professional woodworkers come over and take a look at our setup. Both said that I had done a good job and that they could easily create a surround and mantle for the wall. Jill and I noticed that both of them were missing fingers from their many years of crafting, perhaps it is a good thing that I leave the finishing work to a professional.

For now the TV is up and it looks fantastic. I also upgraded to digital cable and it is incredible. The picture quality on HDTV is unmatched. So far there are only a dozen channels in HD, hopefully soon there will be more. Regular NTSC TV looks pitiful in comparison. Movies that are not hi-def but wide screen look pretty damn good and with The 300 fresh out on DVD I’m just in time to enjoy a movie that I’ve always wanted to see in the theaters but didn’t get a chance to on my new TV and over the Bose speakers in 5.1. When we tuck in the kid tonight I’ll make sure that she has her stuffed animal and a set of earplugs.

Actors with Guns

2007-05-24T14:46:00.001-05:00

Throughout my life I have participated in one form of creative endeavor or another. While working at the Pasadena Production Studios and Pasadena Camera Rental I managed to work on a couple of student films and a couple of different photo shoots. The manager of the facility was a graduate of Art Center College of Design and would on the side work as a photographer and graphic artist. Like my wife she was abhorrent to guns. So she turned to me when working on a project that required guns, lots of guns. She at the time was working for a company that produced posters and VHS covers for movies. Her expertise was in all things art and not weaponry, hence her asking me to help. She also knew that I was getting burned out on the job and she wanted to have me do something a little different. She was kind enough to think of me for this particular job. The first portion of the job took us to Glendale Gun Works, one of the biggest weapon rental facilities in Hollywood. The place was amazing. I began to ask a lot of questions about some of the weapons, I was then led to the safe room that contained some weapons of note. In that room I was shown some of the guns used in the movies by John Wayne, James Cagney, James Arness, Edward G. Robinson and a cornucopia of other stars in movies. It was incredible to see so much Hollywood history concentrated in such a small space.
Due to some technical difficulties in the form of weapons permits and permissions, Lisa Carney had to shoot the live weapons there in the facility but was allowed to take the dummy weapons off site back to the studio.

One day I met Lisa in Calabasas at the house of the owner of the production company that she was working for. She had asked me to bring my personal weapon for a quick photo shoot. I showed up in a t-shirt and shorts, but was asked to quickly change into a black long sleeve shirt. She took the standard 36 shots on a roll of 35mm film of me in various shooting and standing positions. The difference between reality and Hollywood was apparent to me in that I was asked to position the gun in ways that were not practical nor safe in a live fire or range situation; knowing that the gun was unloaded and that this was a matter of art and not accuracy I complied.
Later on the shots were used in combination with stills from the movies. My head was digitally removed and the actor’s scowling face and head were put in place. The final result much like many of the other images found on posters for movies, actor’s with guns. As Paul Newman put it “conflict resolution through AK47.” Still, it didn’t look bad, it was for dramatic impact; which after all is what Hollywood is all about. I got 100 bucks for the gig, not bad for a hard day’s work.

I’ve Re-discovered a Part of My Youth, Discovered my Mid-Life Crisis and Sold it on EBay

2007-05-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

Aimee has started skateboarding. In three pushes she was able to do what took me 6 months of my life to learn. She in less than 10 seconds was riding a skateboard. I was showing her the basic techniques, but she was the one that was with great ease able to replicate. Then she looked at me and said, “Dad, you should fix your skateboard and we could ride together. This, from the girl that on her first try dropped into the 9 foot bowl at the Chandler skate park on Heeleys. One of the members from team Heely saw her and said, “She’s pretty good.” He was shocked when I told him that she was only 7 at the time. Now her latest endeavor is sidewalk surfing and she wants me to join her. My employees think I’m insane, my boss just thinks I’m going to break a bone.

A day or so later I slink my way around the piles of junk in the garage and I find it, tucked away behind a shelving unit, my original deck. Kryptonics made the P-Tex fiberfoam decks back in the late ‘70s. A highly unusual deck in appearance and as a ride; smooth yet forgiving, flexible yet strong, it turns out that very few of them survived over the years. At the Sidewalk Surfer, a local skate shop in Scottsdale I was told by the owner that he refuses to put wheels and trucks on the board. “A board like that shouldn’t be ridden,” he said. “Very few of them survived and it’s worth around $400.”

It turns out that he’s right. I listed it on eBay and set the reserve price at $275. As of this writing the current bid is at $305 with some 31 people actively watching the bidding. It may go above the predicted $400 mark.

With the money I’m going to get an “old school”re-issue deck, a new set of skate shoes and some protective gear. The protective gear should keep the admonishments from the ER staff to a minimum while my arm is being re-set.

The cool thing about all of this is not the money (although this is nice) but the fact that I’ll get to skate with Aimee. This, being another thing that I use to do as a kid and now my daughter too has picked up on and loves it just as much as I did. We now get to spend that much more time together.

Eating Our Way Across Southern California

2007-05-05T14:15:00.002-05:00

At least once a year we make our way back to Southern California toe see Jill’s family and my family. As on any trip one must eat. The joy, or at least part of the joy is being able to go on what Jill has dubbed “the eating tour”

The great thing about the L.A. area are the restaurants. Whenever we head back to visit I always try to hit one of the eateries that I use to frequent. I try to avoid chains if possible. On occasion I am able to meet friends at these establishments. One of the restaurants that I try to get to is Macho Café. I’ve known the people that own the place and that still work there since I was 10. Originally the restaurant was Macho Taco and was owned and operated by Jesus Salmandiego. At one point there were 3 branches in the Los Angeles area, but over time he pulled back to just the one location in San Gabriel that happened to be the distance of a 9 iron from the place where I grew up.

I’m not exaggerating here when I say that the food is fantastic because I’m biased, but the food is incredible. The meat that is used in all of their dishes is cooked to perfection. The have a pork that they make there called Al-Pastor. The meat is cooked on a rotating spit and sliced off once it is ready. He seasonings are a loin kept family secret. I’ve been around the world and can honestly say that I have not encountered nearly anything as good. My mom noted that I inhaled my plate of tacos at the restaurant.

One thing that Phoenix lacks despite having a healthy Jewish population is a good Jewish deli. Whenever in L.A. I make it a point to find a deli and order a matzo ball soup or a kreplach (it’s like a Jewish version of chicken won-ton soup with the kreplach being the won-ton).

This last trip that we took in January we were able to visit a couple good places to eat. Of course we can visit them all, or I’d be bigger than I already am.

Happy Cinco De Mayo

2007-05-05T13:00:00.000-05:00

Nobody seems to know what Cinco de Mayo is (other than the fifth of May).
So as a man on the street I have gone around over the years and have asked what people think that the holiday is about.

Here's what people have said:

Mexican Independance

A bunch of Mexicans had a revolution against sombody

A bunch of priests had an uprising

But the best one so far...

It's the Mexican New Year, it's the year of the Burrito!

Trying Something New

2007-04-23T12:00:00.000-05:00

Over the years we have placed Aimee in different types of classes and training. Currently she is in Aikido but in the past she has taken drawing lessons through the Monart program and through ASU. For awhile now I have been asking that she take some sort of shooting discpline. Jill of course was abhorrent to this at first. She has always been dead set against guns. I don't want Aimee to shoot because I like guns, I want her to shoot because my father and myself have demonstrated a talent for hand eye coordination that has manifested itself through shooting sports. In the Army I was a top notch shooter, never shooting below a 36 out of the 40 required for the 4 years that I was in. And of course over the last few years I have continued to shoot skeet and when focused do a pretty good job at it. I tried to prep both of them about the Junior Olympic program here in Arizona, they would have none of it. Standing smallbore, air rifle, air pistol, biathalon, all denied. The wanted noting to do with weapons, and I understand. Violence and weaponry in society are all too prevalent and a dangerous thing. I've only wanted Aimee to take up some sort of shooting sport because I know that she has the focus and the talent to do well at anything that she does plus the talent of my father and myself at a hand-eye coordination sport. I wouldn't care if it was darts or tiddly-winks, as long as she got practice at something. Well, it turns out that the Chandler Community Center offered Archery this summer and Jill signed Aimee up. We've gone twice now, Aimee is having some problems with the recurve bow that is larger than her (literally), and after a few rounds she begins to tire from the pull of the bow. She manages to hit the target with regularity and a few times now has hit the center 10 ring. Not bad for a little scoot. I take her every weekend and we may take a second class in the summer. I've already primed the pump about the Junior Olympic Archery Division program for girls from ages 7 to 12 that meets at the same range about an hour earlier. We'll see, for now we’re just having fun.

A Minion of MINIs

2007-04-23T11:39:00.000-05:00

We went to a MINI Cooper rally this weekend. I had reserved a space ahead of time not realizing that it was a car show. When I pulled up I was directed away from the parking lot and into the show. The security guards moved the cones and we were asked to park somewhere on the showgrounds next to the show cars. This was embrassing to say the least. We use the car for everyday use, so when we pulled up it was filled with our stuff like jackets, empty drink containers and various papers. "Quick, hide everything!" Jill blurted out. "Crap, I didn't even wash the car," I replied. I saw a space inbetween two other pepper white Coopers and backed in. After stashing everything in the trunk it didn't look so bad. It was a good time looking at all of the other MINIs and talking to other owners about their cars. Aimee was running around looking at all of the different cars and settled on a purple Cooper S as her favorite. Next time I go to one of these things I'll wash the car.

Migraines

2007-04-18T11:37:00.000-05:00

For the past few years my migraines have been acting up, pretty badly. I've always had headaches, but in later years these headaches have been catagory 5 in size. It's hard to relate what it is like to have a migraine to somebody that has never had one. Most people empathize, but never truly understand because they think that migraines are just frequent headaches.
When providing an example of what I am going through I usually use a 1 to 10 scale with 10 being the worst. When it is really bad I use the Transmorgafier example. A Transmorgafier is an imaginary device that takes pain and and transfers the pain to another person or entity so that they can understand what the person is going through or they can assimilate the pain for awhile so that the original sufferer can have a break. The example that I use is if there were a small poodle attached to the device, the poodle would be dead. This example often works and the person that I am talking to usually understands.

I also like to use the wine critique to explain the sensation. It gives a bit more depth to the pain:

This headache is powerfull and full-bodied, with hints of cutting and burning toward the frontal lobes and the added sensation of swelling of the brain. It's kinda like a small dwarf with razor blades for skates doing figure-eights on your brain.

This also works for most, you can see the light go off in their head and they just walk away upon hearing this.

Aversion Therapy

2007-04-03T02:20:00.000-05:00

A little sign I made to help me stay away from the snack machine. Not that it matters, the vending company has just changed to strawberry which I consider a substandard flavor.

Ed as Muse Deux

2007-03-12T15:49:00.000-06:00

Hanna Barbera animator, music video & motion picture director Dominic Orlando created this portrait of me 17 years ago.
Felt tip pen on 8 x10 standard weight copier paper.

Sometimes It’s Something Simple That Makes the Difference

2007-02-11T00:57:00.000-06:00

I had a hard time on the last marathon because I ran into an old friend of mine… knee pain. I was experiencing some very familiar pains that I remember having my last year in the military. It only took me 15 years though to figure out what it was. I went to a running store to have my gait evaluated and it turns out that I am a suponator from way back. My feet are not adequately lined up with my legs when I strike the ground and my feet roll inwards causing torsion on the ligaments of my legs resulting in knee problems. I first found this out from a doctor at the UC Davis medical center that also happened to be a runner. He looked at my shoes and saw that the Sacouny Grid Hurricane 3’s that I was running in had already broken down as a result of my weight. It then all flashed back to me, all the times that I was having knee pain and just couldn’t continue. It wasn’t psycho sematic, it was real; I was wearing the wrong shoes all along. My tendonitis was being caused by an outside factor and it was something that I could control

Since that time I have made it a point to research prior to going out an just getting a cheap pair of running shoes. Because I am an inefficient runner and a big guy at the same time I am limited to running in about three different models of shoes. I found out two weeks ago that it is now down to two. It turns out the Asic Gel Evolution 2’s that I had been running in had already broken down in less than 500 miles and that the last of the shoe was not the same as the original ones. The result, a lighter shoe that breaks down easier and is not as supportive. The shoes essentially lasted long enough or not quite long enough to train for one marathon. This made Jill a little miffed and the idea of me having to go out and get another not so cheap pair of shoes when the ones that I had in theory should have lasted longer. She is of the belief that shoes should wear through, only then should you get a new pair of shoes. For a very long time that was the popular belief that shoes should last until they fell off your feet. I remember when first being introduced to running in the late ‘70s that runners would coat the bottom of their shoes with “Shoe Goo” a thick gooey glue like substance that would prolong the life of the sole.
With the improvement of plastics technology the days of having to Goo the shoe went out with Jim Fixx.

Running shoes are different now; they are more like shock absorbers than tires. The moment that the shoes no longer absorb shock is when your knees do. So now a shoe is considered to be worn when it goes beyond the breaking in point and begins to conform to the users foot, it is only then that a shoe is considered to be broken down.

After the last 5 pairs of Asics that served me so well I was hard pressed to go to a different brand. I like Nike, but they break down too quickly (even quicker than Asics) and are not supportive of inefficient, heavier runners such as myself. I like New Balance, they don’t break down easily, but you’re knees feel it as a result. I’ve had a bad experience with Sacouny, which left me with Adidas and Brooks. Brooks has a shoe that touts itself for big, fat, slow, heavy runners. Right up my alley. “It’s called The Beast,” the salesman at the Brooks booth at the PF Chang’s marathon expo stated. “You should get those as your next set of shoes, that sounds like you,” Jill chimed in. She probably thought that from, my size, stature, disposition and the amount of hair on my back that the name matched its perspective user perfectly.

I could tell the difference the moment I hit the road. I still have pain, but now the pain has shifted to different parts of the body that can be attributed to a lack of use rather than damage.

While I’ve been running throughout my life (more off than on), I’ve always returned to it, but I never really learn to run and enjoy running until after I left the Army.

After I left the military I had gained quite a bit of weight. It was my friend Roger McDorman that retrained me to run.

A true natural and talent roger displayed the abilities of a world class runner. In the Army he was able to run as fast as the best of them. On post the Army would conduct physical fitness test about twice a year. Without any regular training one morning he woke up and jogged to the PT field to run the timed two-mile test required by the Army. From a field of just under 100 runners Roger came in third, just behind a newly commissioned lieutenant and the battalion executive officer the then Major Frank Helmick (later on in his career he would go on to command the Ranger Training School, was at the pentagon at the time of the attack on 9/11 and was the officer in charge of “capturing” Uday and Kusay Huessin in Iraq). Roger finished with a with a time of 10:22. That was a 5minute 11 second mile! I was not sure if he vomited afterward as most of us would have, but it was clear that this was a stellar performance.

When we’d run our lap around the Rose Bowl Roger was gracious enough to stay with me for the first mile. We’d make small talk as we warmed up, then he’d hit the hyperspace button and would disappear.

During that time I learned some foundational Zen truths from Roger about running that the Army and previous P.E. coaches ignored:

• Find your pace, but push it when you can

• Work a distance but once you become comfortable with it, increase it

• Enter a race as part of your training regimen

• If you are injured, rest

• Time off to rest and recover is just as important as training time

• You run because you enjoy it, not because somebody is making you run

As a result of training successfully I ended up losing about 50 pounds in about 6 months and was able to run a 7 minute mile. I was in better shape then than I was in the military. Common sense, a tangible goal and persistence allowed me to get there.

I’m still on that road, trying to find that breaking point. The point were it all comes together and feels like you’re going downhill.

Someday, I’ll find it again…someday.

Another Year, Another Marathon

2007-01-24T13:00:00.000-06:00

Last week I ran the P. F. Chang’s ½ Marathon. I should be thankful that I finished. But I’m kicking myself for doing so poorly, I’m kicking myself for overtraining. The one thing that I did learn through running this 3rd ½ marathon is that it is not the marathon but the training runs themselves are what is so memorable. Immediately upon crossing the finish line last year one of the first things that I said to my wife was “ I can hardly wait to get out there an do my neighborhood 7-mile loop.” It wasn’t the marathon that was fun, it was the feeling of being out there, alone on a desert highway running on a weekend morning as drivers passed by looking at me as if I were insane for being out there in the middle of nowhere plodding along. It was the feeling of the cool morning air, watching the sun rise, watching the ducks and the herons on the lake that was so memorable. Not to oversimplify, but it’s all about the journey and not the destination.

On our last trip to LA a couple of weekends ago I made it a point to take the running gear. It was two weeks before the marathon and it was critical to continue to lay down my base mileage no matter what. We checked into a nice little hotel in Camarillo and one of the firs things that I asked of the concierge was for a good running route. The person behind the desk was a runner and her family ran as well. “Let me give you a good route” she remarked as she highlighted the local area map. I was warned that there was a pretty big hill and that it was the standard route for the local high school soccer team. “Sold” I replied.

The next morning with iPod and running gear donned I left the room in total darkness and hit the route. For the first mile life was good. Seeing all of the trees and greenery was a stark difference from the barren landscape of the Arizona desert. I came to the first stoplight and there it was, Mt. MotherF@#$%r herself. I estimated that it was probably an 8% grade and that most trucks would not dare to descend for fear of total brake failure. I attacked the hill with a reckless abandon and before I knew it I was at the top. I ran through a residential neighborhood for another mile then climbed another small hill and turned left at the stoplight. What I saw next was nothing less that spectacular. On one side of me was a beautiful Catholic seminary and the view down the hill from it was incredible little valley with a small river at the bottom. Across the valley was another hill top with a mission surrounded by vineyards. The whole run was 5 miles of gently rolling hills and it took me about 55 minutes to complete. While I was there I had to run it again the next day.

To me this training session that run was the best memory of the marathon. The feeling of freedom, the morning, the outdoors, the view all mad me want to continue to run despite coming in with the slowest time for a marathon that I have ever run. On March 17th I have another marathon in Tuscon, the same one I ran last year, the Arizona Distance Classic. Again I look forward to the day of the race knowing that one of the days before it will contain a time out there on the road that I will remember.

5 Things

2006-12-28T13:54:00.000-06:00

I received a cyber challenge from Mr. Middlebrow in a sort of chain mail blog kinda way.
So since the gauntlet was thrown here are 5 things you may not know about me.

I Was Prominently Featured on a Movie Poster

But I’m not actually in the movie. I was actually on the cover of several straight to video, really bad B movies that featured washed up Playmates or has been TV stars. If you squint hard enough you might even recognize me.

I’m a Ham Radio Operator

That’s right up there with admitting that I can play the accordion, it’s a real chick-magnet skill that attracts the babes. I carry a small three band radio/scanner everywhere I go. I listen to radio, TV, fire and police and on occasion a stray baby monitor.

I am Always prepared for Nuclear War or a Zombie Uprising

Befitting of my terminal case of angst I carry arould a portable 3-day survival kit that would make even John Jay Rambo proud. I keep it in the manbag.

I’ve Had Surgery Awake

It was the second surgery in a year and I was having some fears about coming out of the anesthesia. I opted for a spinal anesthetic instead and was able to provide the surgical team with a procedure (that was out of date) that helped them in locating the issue. Demerol and Versed combined feels like 6 shots of vodka…now, if they could only come up with something that was like nicotine.

I Paint on Occasion

I carry a small field watercolor kit and paper for those moments far and few in-between where I can escape and paint. I’m not very good so you won’t see my work on the 3 cent stamp any time soon, I do it for the therapeutic value.

- End Chain -

You got your 5 proverbial dish towels ouf of me. I won't impose the curse on anyone else :-)

Like a Hole in the Head

2006-12-27T13:04:00.000-06:00

I tried to sit there calmly in the Neurologists office as he placed the films from the MRI up on the x-ray light board. At first the scans looked normal. Salami-like slices from the top of my head down to the base of my neck filled each page of the films, then just below my left eye it began to appear. The foreign invader came clearly in to view and upon it’s zenith on the scans appeared to be as large as my left eye.

I didn’t have any thoughts and the only sound that I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Do you have any problems with your sinuses,” Dr. Patel asked in a thick Hindi accent.

“I guess I do now,” I replied.

He went on to say that he did not think that the growth that was completely blocking my sinus cavity was cancerous and that in his experience that he thought that it was a cyst.

“Very common,” according to the doctor.

I knew something was wrong several months ago when I started to develop vision problems in my left eye. I can now clearly see why.

No need to fear. All should be okay. A simple outpatient surgery should do the trick. The surgeons should be able to remove the growth through the nose or by breaking a hole in the palette of my mouth. At this point it’s more of an inconvenience than anything.

I’m just annoyed that it could interrupt with my school and marathon training schedule.

I’m alive, fine and know that everything is going to be okay. I've got a lot to be thankful for.

Tokyo Rumble

2006-09-09T20:11:00.000-05:00

Part WWF, part Lucha Libre but 40 stories taller and 250 tons heavier
Kaiju is monster wrestling, literally.

Kaiju is the art of giant monsters wrestling in a city like format. Kind of like going to watch Godzilla versus Mothra; it’s Rage in the Cage except with bridges, buildings and toy tanks instead of folding chairs and ladders.

Contestants with names like The Silver Potato, Eargermon, Multimoog, Call-Me-Kevin, and Kung Fu Chicken Noodle don monster outfits and fight in cages on tour throughout the US.

It’s the ultimate battle between good an evil on an epic scale.

Going for the Gold

2006-09-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine at work has a brother in the Maricopa Sheriff’s Department. For some reason we were talking about drug arrests and how on occasion his brother will occasionally find a homeless person sprawled out on a grassy median face up to the sky with a gold smile.

It turns out that huffing paint is back and that the authorities are seeing more and more people abusing chemical inhalants. After all, it’s cheap and relatively easy to get. Unless you try to go back into the hardware store immediately after you huff a can of Krylon.

The process is simple; the user sprays the paint into a plastic bag, cups the bag around their mouth and breathes in the sprayed mist that is in the bag.
No roach clip, lighter, spoons, elastic band or other accoutrements needed.

The difference here is when someone is abusing chemicals through huffing there are some tell tale signs:

• Drunk or disoriented appearance

• Paint or other stains on face, hands, or clothing

• Hidden empty spray paint or solvent containers and chemical-soaked rags or clothing

• Slurred speech

• Strong chemical odors on breath or clothing

• Nausea or loss of appetite

• Red or runny nose

• Sores or rash around the nose or mouth

It turns out that Gold and Silver paint contains a higher amount of toluene in the mix that yields a maximum high. Unfortunately the user ends up with the telltale signature gold circle imprint from where they had the bag around their mouths.

Whereas an alcoholic or smoker may be able to temporarily hide their addiction with a box of Altoids a huffer would need a can of acetone. “Honey, you smell like acetone. Have you been huffing again?”

I’ll stick to beer.

A Tale of Two iPods

2006-09-02T23:51:00.000-05:00

As soon as I opened my birthday present two years ago Aimee had commandeered my iPod mini no sooner than I had uploaded all of the songs from iTunes onto it. About a week after that she began to pine for her very own iPod.

Should a kid, age 7 mind you have their very own iPod?

“I have the money!” Aimee exclaimed.

“How do you figure?” I asked.

It turned out that after many years of birthdays and various holidays that the multiple relatives and the tooth fairy had managed to give bits of money here and there. Aimee as it turned out had amassed quite a bit of cash. The wood barrel bank that was once mine as a child was stuffed with one’s and five’s, there was even a twenty, enough to buy her own iPod shuffle.

In a way I was glad to let Aimee have her own iPod in that I am able to see what she is listening to. I know that everything is rated G on her play list

Because I am the keeper of the music I have both the entire library of music and Aimee’s music on my computer and on my iPod.

So on any given trip that we take Aimee can be seen ditty bopping to the sounds of the Cheetah Girls or Britney Spears in the car or on the plane.

Even before we got the iPods, I had amassed quite a bit of music not only from the pre-band of illegal music that I had acquired, but from ripping existing CD’s and “storing” music for friends.

The great thing about the iPod is that it serves as a jukebox of sorts. It enables the user to have whatever they want on it. The music that they want is always with them whether they are driving, working out or just hanging out at home.

On occasion when my team is performing well, I’ll bring in the iPod and mini speakers to play Rock n Roll Part 2 or We Are the Champions in the background as I read off the week’s performance statistics. I once made everyone cringe by letting The Hampster Dance Song (the dance mix) blaze as everyone returned to their daily tasks. I was asked to not bring the iPod back.

The Joy of Shooting with a Toy

2006-08-06T01:22:00.000-05:00

A toy camera that is.

I had seen many images made with it before I had even realized that they were all made with the same type of camera.

About eleven years ago I worked at a camera rental facility that did a majority of business with the students from the prestigious Art Center College of Design in Pasadena.

Photography students can sometimes pay up to $250,000 in tuition, equipment and supplies during a three-year stint at the school.

One day a student, Stephen Schauer the now director of the Getty Center Images came in and asked to use the shutter tester in the shop. He opened his bag and I noticed that he had about a dozen or so Holgas packed away.

He explained that because the cameras are so inconsistent in their functions that he decided to test the shutters then rate them according to speed.

In this day and age where cameras automatically focus based on what your retina sees and where images are auto exposed off of the light that is bounced off of the CCD chip

Enter the Holga All plastic except the metal spring that powers the shutter and the hot shoe.

The Holga out of the box is plagued with challenges that would drive a perfectionist to the brink of madness.

A simple small 2 by 3 piece of paper has the camera specifications on it. The camera comes with a single accessory, a nylon strap with clips that must be either wired or taped as to not lose the camera back.

There are two apertures to choose from f8 and f11 ( denoted on that camera by icons, a cloud and a bright sun respectivley), and there is only one choice of shutter speed at 1/100th of a second.

The camera shoots 120 format film, the same film that professionals use when shooting their $2000 Hasselblads.

Once the film is loaded the camera must be taped up so that light will not leak and expose the film and so that the back of the camera will not fall off while you are shooting.

The makers describe the lens as optical, but upon shooting you first roll of film you will realize that the lens is not color corrected, has flat spots and distorts perspective.

Care must be taken as to not expose the camera to high temperature, Holgas have been known to melt in the back seats of cars. Not a tragedy though, a new on can be had for a mere $14.99.

The camera is primitive and its components are just substantial enough to make an image this making the next evolutional link of the camera just one primordial step above a pinhole camera.

Despite all of the pitfalls of the Holga it is the images that the camera is able to create that makes the camera so special.

The images seem distant and surreal. The have a warmth and a depth to them that other cameras just seem to lack with their cold technological output.

The Holga is the descendant of another toy camera the Diana that came out in the mid ‘60s. The Diana was very similar to the Holga but it was a lot sturdier in its construction.

Just like the Holga the Diana create the same type of image that lacks sharpness.

If you look hard enough a Diana can be had through the classifieds in a photo publication or if you are lucky enough you can find one, but watch out the current market they can run around $60 to $100 dollars.

Swimming with Dolphins

2006-08-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

Like anybody else I’ve seen dolphins from a distance swimming in their respective tanks at places like Sea World and Marine Land. Each time I’ve paid money to buy little paper plates of dead fish and elbow my way to the edge of the tank only to get about 1.5 seconds of interaction with the dolphin as the fish slid unceremoniously down his throat into his gillet. Up to this point I’ve had more interaction and seen more reciprocation from the neighbors dog whenever I have given him an extra dog biscuit.

We were lucky enough to stay at the Interconnental Beachcomber Resort in Moorea. Out towards the over-water bungalows the Dolphin Experience Center is nestled in between the bungalows.

As we would walk past the dolphin tanks at night we would hear the occasional thrashing in the water or hear their punctuated breathing out their blowholes. Then silently, swiftly we could see one of them glide through the water in the darkness as a shadow under the water.

The Dolphin Experience is located near the over water bungalows in the hotel. All of the pens that the dolphins are contained in are actually part of the ocean. The only thing that separates them from the big blue briny is a series of nets. This nets still allow the fish from the area such as puffers, triggerfish and zebra fish to still come in. They live among the dolphins in a natural habitat with the occasional smattering of a dropped sardine or bread from the local tourist. It’s the most natural setting for marine life that I have seen, compared to the sterile environment of Sea World

Because they are somewhat elusive and would not always show themselves at night we found ourselves more fascinated with the sea life in the tank than the dolphins themselves. On the walk back to the room after dinner one night Jill discovered a rather large octopus on a coral reef just below the walkway that we were standing on. He was perched on a rock lashing out at fish with his tentacle that would pass by in hopes of a meal. Eventually he took a disliking to my flashlight shining on him and he attempted to change colors a couple of times, squirted some ink in anger, then shot off into the darkness to find a more private place to hunt.

When our appointment time came to meet with a dolphin we were introduced to Kuba Koa, a retired US Navy dolphin that had completed his career with the Navy as a sonar dolphin at the training center in San Diego.

With all three of us in the shallow tank for the family dolphin encounter the most amazing thing to me was how quickly, silently and with the greatest agility the animal was able to power slide under the water just inches from us without us seeing or hearing him. It was startling to say the least.

We were allowed to stay about a half an hour with the animal. We touched, petted and were shown all the parts of the creature and all the while he was patient and calm. While he was resting in the water I had my hand over his chest and I was able to feel his heartbeat.

The visit with the dolphin was very structured; the instructor narrated the entire time guiding us through some simple routines with the dolphin. The instructor wore a waist pack in to the water but instead of the regular wallet, keys and such, his was filled with sardines. He was surrounded by a plethora of fish attracted to the scent of the dead fish that he carried as positive reinforcement for the dolphin. There were so many I could run my hands through the school and feel their fins and scales.

Aside from petting and inspecting the dolphin up close we got to give the dolphin command for away and he would then swim off 20 feet or so then leap straight up out of the water some 15 feet or more. We did this three times, each time a spectacular site.

Despite spending so much time with the creature I never really felt like I got to know it. It is not like a dog or a horse. The dolphin despite its clear intelligence, agility and strength seemed elusive and flighty. Perhaps during the experience the dolphin was able to read more about me than could I from it.

Ed as Muse

2006-08-03T13:39:00.000-05:00

Untitled
Original Artwork, Portrait of Ed Flores
Artist: Unknown
Felt tip marker on 2-ply facial tissue

Absorbent & Strong

The Second Kill of the Year

2006-07-29T22:26:00.000-05:00

It was just four seconds after I told the girls, "either put something on your feet or turn the lights on cause it's bug season," I saw it. Right next to the dog's dish and near Aimee's bedroom door. "I got one," I shouted as I went to the kitchen to get Excalibur.

With a lightning quick swoosh and whaaaaading! It lay dead in pieces from a sound strike.

"Look at you now," I mutter.

"Ewwww, you killed it with the spatula?" cried Aimee. "I'm never eating anything cooked with that thing again."

Little does she know that I have already slain a good half dozen of the monsters with it already. Washing it thouroughly with antibacterial soap of course.

The steel from Excalibur rings true.

Swimming With Sharks

2006-07-20T11:20:00.000-05:00

I had to admit I was scared. Two days earlier Jill had signed us up for an excursion on a boat trip to feed sharks and rays.

As we got on the boat the weather went from slightly overcast to clear and beautiful. The boat took us from Cook’s bay (named after Captain Cook) back to Opanahu Point just in front of our hotel but about 200 yards offshore.

The captain, a indegneous man originally from the Marquesas Islands slowed the boat down and anchored. Everybody on the boat began to suit up. “Good, they’re already here,” he said as he threw a bucket of chum into the water.

I looked over the side of the boat at the wrong moment. As soon as the fish guts hit the drink the water began to boil with the trashing of dorsal and tail fins, which could only mean sharks.

Major anxiety and the butt pucker factor kicked in. I mean it’s only natural to be fearful of sharks, to fear getting into the same water with a creature that was meant to consume you.

Before I jumped in I noticed that one of the deck-hands was throwing out about 20 feet of rope attached to a large buoy. “Stay to the left side of the rope an you’ll be safe, “ yelled the captain. Ah the rope rule. All sharks know the rope rule. You stay on that side and I’ll stay on this side. Right. Just like on the Discovery channel.

“Get into zee water!” the Cameraman yelled.

“Not so fast Frenchy,” I thought to myself.

Not wanting to be showed up by the Frenchman, the Japanese tourists and everybody else on the boat I jumped in. I could hear a loud repetitive, deep rasping sound along with my heartbeat. It was my panicked breathing through my snorkel. I wanted to just get a bearing as to where I was. I wanted to see where they were at relevant to where I was.

Once I saw the sharks, albeit many of them I was okay. Nobody was immediately consumed upon hitting the water. The sharks did not zero in on anyone and feast. Life was going to be okay.

I’m not sure how the current was running that day but the eau de chum must have wafted our way. Several of the sharks swam at eye level right towards us, but upon seeing us darted away. Mutual respect in nature is a good thing.

Then, one of the sharks disobeyed the rope rule and swam 4 feet directly below me. Once again I puckered, but despite my fear I managed to squeeze off a couple of shots.

We were in the water with the black tip reef sharks for about a half hour. Both Aimee and Jill had jumped in behind me without so much a moment’s fear or hesitation. Jill stayed with Aimee hanging onto the rope, Jill pointing out the different sharks and minions of fish that abounded. Both got back on the boat as soon as they got tired of treading water and had their fill of viewing the man-killers up close.

Shortly after that we headed a short distance to shallower waters and were greeted by a school of rays. Unlike the skiddish sharks the rays were friendly and downright social. They swam directly up to all of us and let us touch and pet them. Aimee had a harder time with the rays because she was not use to them and she thought they looked “freaky.”

Even though we were able to stand waist deep I dove down under to get on the same level as the rays. The rays glided up to and right past me. About 10 feet in the distance I could see 6 sharks, it was time to get back on the boat.

More than just an excursion on a vacation, the trip was life changing for me. Much like my days as a paratrooper I had a fear and without showing it faced it directly. I was able to share part of the experience with my wife and daughter.

It was an incredible day.

Under the Tahitian Sky

2006-07-08T18:04:00.000-05:00

Of earth, of sky and of water, Tahiti is a true paradise. Its sights are breathtaking, vibrant colors, vivid hues in every color of the spectrum.

Mists surround green spires that shoot toward the sky, the sides of the islands weep pure spring waters from fern grottos.

Crystal clear waters gently lap the shores as huge rays glide through the waters and swim up to you as if to welcome you to paradise. In the not too far distance waves break on the motu.

Fish greet you as you swim through azure waters. Sharks swim freely around and under you.

Everywhere you look life abounds. Tahiti is truly an amazing place.

Too Much Moleskine?

2006-05-31T12:26:00.000-05:00

I’ve been writing in journals for the last 22 years but for the last 6 years I’ve been addicted to the little black book. I started out with the sketchbook as a second journal to keep sketches and drawings. One day in a pinch I switched to using it as a journal and have never looked back. With the exception of trying out the Miquelrius for a short period of time I have been a true user since. The only other deviations I have made have been trying the various sizes of the Moleskine plain sketchbook and un-ruled book. Prior to that I used the standard Canson sketchbooks in the 5x7 and 4x5 formats. No sketchbook or notebook that I have used so far is as good as any of the Moleskines. the quality of the paper, the thickness and tooth are perfect and just work for me.

A new Moleskine watercolor book arrived in the mail today. I now have three different versions in my briefcase, a blank pocket notebook, a blank reporter’s notebook, and now the watercolor book.

So you ask, why would you need three?

I’m going to Tahiti at the end of June so here are my reasons:

Blank Pocket Journal
I normally use the Blank Pocket journal, I have just filled up my last journal and I was in need of another one.

Reporter’s Notebook
Whenever I have covered a story I have used the standard issue J-school, spiral bound, blue-ruled, 4x8 Sparco reporter’s notebook. On my next trip that we are taking I would like to take a few notes about some local industries there in Tahiti and write an article or two for submission. I like to keep my reporter’s notes separate from my personal notes and observations. After an article has been submitted for publication I like to they keep the notes filed with the story for later reference.

Watercolor Notebook
When traveling or just out and about I take my Windsor & Newton pocket watercolor set with me. Finding a watercolor book equally as small has not been easy. As others have already observed the sketchbooks is not suited for watercolor work. The current book that Arches 8x16 book that I have is too large. The new Moleskine looks just right. Plus you can tear out the pages after making a sketch, slap a stamp on the back and presto…instant post card. I know that there will be a moment out there in the beach or on the deck of the over-water bungalow where I can capture the moment in watercolor.

Yes, my Moleskine(s) is my obsession, but they now make a different one for each of my needs.

The Death of Common Sense

2006-05-23T02:04:00.000-05:00

“The scone must go on the conveyor belt or it doesn’t go onto the plane!” the TSA agent shouted. I had just placed all of my carry-on items into the x-ray machine and was about to go through the metal detector. “What about the coffee? Is it too a possible weapon of mass destruction and a threat to the passenger and crew? It’s only decaf.” I reply.

This only seemed to agitate the minimum wage federal agent even more. “Just put the scone on the belt!” he shouted.

As I turn I mumble some more acidic comments. “Is this a new plot from al Qaeda? Have the terrorists infiltrated Starbucks and replaced my regular chocolate-chip scone with a Symtex explodie scone?” I could tell that what I had just said was heard by the second agent located next to the metal detector from the look on his face. He shouts at me, “who has the boarding passes!?” “I do and you should consider switching to Sanka, you guys really need to calm down,” I reply. “Just step through the metal sir and hand me your passes.” As I walk through the metal detector I raise my hands above my head and say “I’m an American, hold your fire.” This really sets them off. A supervisor walks over and tells me to put down my arms. I then ask them if my papers are in order. Realizing that their aggression will not get me to act submissive they just give up with their border guard act and send me on my way. For the moment I had won.

“You were in a testy mood,” Jill remarked. Up to the point where the guard had started to shout at me I was in a pretty mellow mood. It was the total lack of logic, the lack of respect and lack of common sense that set me off. Just looking into their sullen, sunken eyes you could see a lack of intelligence, a lack of soul or self.

This leads to the question; Do we have the right people in place doing this? Are they merely a rubber stamp place-holder of a federalized minimum wage rent-a-cop?

...all the TSA really does is serve as a deterrent & take away items from the public...

To be honest we never got it right the moment that the 4th plane hit the ground. We panicked and federalized the airports with the military who were untrained and unable to deal with the public. Problems with complaints began early on about the military and the new security force in place ranging from harassment to inappropriate searches on females.

For the most part all the TSA really does is serve as a deterrent & take away items from the public that are verboten on planes. Most of the time these items that were about to be carried on were forgotten about in the bottom of the bag. The TSA agent merely reminds the passenger that they were there. Many times items make it past the guards and scissors, razor blades and needles make the journey without incident.

What does the TSA do with all of their sharp and pointy booty that they have acquired over the years? Even by modest estimates they should have amassed several metric tons of nail clippers, scissors, and Swiss Army knives by now. According to the TSA website all of the items that are detained or “abandoned” are held for 30 days then turned over to a government surplus outlet.

America for the most part has is in the process of becoming a zero tolerance state. Why is that? A child is suspended for a year for having a bottle of Tylenol at school, another is expelled for having a steak knife packed in his lunch by his mother so that he could cut his food.

I met a salesman some years back, an elder gentleman. Very laid back and easy going compared to the harried mentality of Los Angeles. “Life on the range,” is what he would say about his Wyoming upbringing. He said that his son had recently moved out to LA and just as quickly had moved back. The first time that he got out of his pickup truck with his dog he got a $250 ticket for not having a leash. That’s all it took. “What kind of a place is LA where you can’t even walk around with a dog,” he thought.

What it comes down to is the more people you have the more rules you must have. Think about it. Where that kid came from they probably didn’t have a stoplight in his town. He moves to a town of 10 million or so and sees that just about every move that you make is cover by a law of some sort, including his dog.

I’m not going to discount that the TSA is there to make sure that we are all safe and their ultimate responsibility is to get us home safely. I will not forget the fact that 3000 people vaporized in just a few moments because we lacked the follow through in while pretending to be vigilant. All of these laws, rules and regulation are put in place to protect us. But does that have to come with the price of trust and human respect?
Must regulating ourselves as a society result in the death of common sense?

Once on board I ate my scone after spilling my cup of coffee. I ordered a second cup from the stewardess who was kind enough to show me all of the freedom badges on her apron that she had collected from various military, police, fire and governmental agents since 9/11. I thanked her for the coffee and for sharing her story.

The scone was plain, dry and not very good. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. In retrospect this one was not really worth it. I should have given it to the angry TSA agent. Maybe he would have had a better day.

It’s ironic that they don’t serve food on the plane yet you are subject to an inquisition if you try to bring something onboard.

The Suit of the Future

2006-04-23T22:55:00.000-05:00

Back in 1978 I wanted a suit for my 8th grade graduation that was coming up. Even back then I had a sense of style.

My father and I searched extensively but we couldn’t find the traditional style suit.

He tried to make me feel better about not being able to find it.
He announced, “Son, wool, silk, cotton, those things are a thing of the past.

THIS is the suit of the future.”

I am so glad that he was wrong.

But even then I had to succumb to the fashion of the times

I am so glad that the ‘70s and subsequent comeback are now dead.

Burnt Out in Spanish Hell While Dreaming of Tahiti

2006-04-23T22:54:00.000-05:00

For some reason I’ve been feeling burned out. Perhaps it's my schedule of work, school, working out for the marathons, and family. I may be on overload. Another issue is that I am not exactly happy at school. For the last 10 years I'’ve been going to school trying to get a bachelors degree, I a’m almost halfway there. Because of all that goes into my life I'’m pretty much limited to one class, two max per semester. For the last two years I have been stuck in Spanish hell. I am in the third semester with one left to go for the two- year language requirement for the university. Because I am graduating on the Arts side of the fence I needed the foreign language to graduate from the Arizona college system. I already acquired an AA from a community college in Northern California, it'’s just that the Arizona system requires more. If I can get through this and one math class I can graduate from the community college and get another AA degree. I'’ll still need some more base requirements to transfer over to Arizona State University (again) but if I can I can enter as a junior. I would just need to reapply to the University and the school of journalism for entrance at the professional level.

Spanish Hell
I picked Spanish not because it would be easier or that I already knew quite a bit of it. I just thought that it would be infinitely more usable than any of the axis languages that I had contemplated studying like Japanese, German or Italian. Despite having knowledge of a great deal of the vocabulary already at the level of Spanish that I am working at there is a plethora of verb conjugations which has stopped me dead in my tracks. I hit the end of my Spanish knowledge somewhere mid-semester during Spanish 102.

Plethora? What’s a plethora?

With English you change the sentence around the verb. In Spanish it's all about the verb. Instead of saying and would go or I went, the suffix of the verb changes, this is not even getting into the list of irregular verbs or the reflexive. With around 500 common use verbs that one has to memorize you have to understand that there are 15 conjugations each. That's a lot of memorizing. Needless to say, I am having a challenging time beyond the present tense getting into subjunctive, future, past, past perfect, past subjunctive, mandate and so on.

I guess what I miss are all of the journalism and writing classes that I took at the beginning of my studies. I miss writing for the paper and having my own column. Someday if and when I get to the university and the college of journalism I can write again Until then I'’ll just blog. Scorpion Sandwich has provided me an outlet and a means of sanity and keeps me off the ivory tower despite being a better shot than Lee Harvey Oswald or Clarence Whitman combined. At least it keeps me sane, if only for the moment.

Dreams of Tahiti

Over the years we have taken many of a vacation, during some of the trips I have managed to achieve some level of decompression from the stresses of life. But for the most part because of my a type-a personality, years of built up angst and anxiety I often find it hard to find the triggers that allow me to decompress psychologically while the triggers to only make it worse only abound in my life. Of all of the times that I have taken off of work I can only remember a handful of them where I can say that I was able to fully relax. I now know what it takes to get there at the very least it'’s just getting there and allowing myself to relax.

I have a friend that I use to work with when I worked as a supervisor at the Pasadena Production Studios/Pasadena Camera Rental. At the time Danee Hazama was shooting as a freelance photographer and also worked part time at the rental house.

Danee would come up to me on occasion and say
"Hey, I have to go because the President of Tahiti is here along with the Ambassador to France." Usually when an employee has a head of state in town to see them I thought it best to let them go for the day. About a month after that Danee asked me if I could do a favor for him. As a photographer he would usually shoot for the French and Tahitian governments when they needed him to. But in this particular case he needed someone else to take pictures for him so that he could attend to other duties, so he asked me. The event was a US/Tahitian friendship dinner. The evening consisted of dinner, Tahitian entertainers and dancers, raffle and door prizes and dancing afterwards. Little did I realize that at one of the table was seated the president of Air France and several high ranking Tahitian and French Government officials. It was nice that Danee trusted me with my photography skills and let me work the event. I had so much fun that it wasn'’t like work at all. Seeing all of the culture and hearing about the island, I was hooked. I'’ve wanted to visit Tahiti since.

Shortly after leaving EarthLink I was in a bad place in my life. I had lost my call center, my dog had recently died, my life was starting to sound like a country western song. With the new job things only got worse. I was doing 17 hour days, working through the weekends and under constant high pressure from the job, just over all miserable.

One day in the middle of the fray I had to take a moment and take my wife and kid to the airport. They were flying out of town to see her mom in Reno. I had just dropped them off and as I made my way back to the car I passed by the AmericaWest counter. A man was putting up a new sign. "Now Flights Daily to Zihuatanejo." The gate was open, the first passengers were embarking and I had just remembered that I held silver certificate frequent flyer status with AmericaWest, possibly the shittiest airline in existence. I had spent the last three years flying to Sacramento, Seattle, Pasadena, San Antonio, Atlanta, Omaha, St John Newbrunswick, and Yakima. After all those late flights and crappy meals I had earned one free flight to anyplace that they flew. I had a vision at that moment of me standing on the beach in my business clothes with my slacks rolled up and I was standing in the surf as the waves rolled in. Upon seeing the sign I remembered a scene from The Shawshank Redemption.

ANDY: Tell you where I'd go. Zihuatanejo.

RED: Zihuatanejo?

ANDY: Mexico. Little place right on the Pacific. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That's where I'd like to finish out my life, Red. A warm place with no memory. Open a little hotel right on the beach. Buy some worthless old boat and fix it up like new. Take my guests out charter fishing.

I wanted to just get on that plane and leave. I just wanted to get on the plane, land in Mexico, catch a cab and head straight for the beach just long enough to walk in the surf, just long enough to decompress. I didn'’t want to quit or give notice, just be gone until somebody noticed. But I couldn't. My sense of responsibility, duty and dedication that had been brainwashed into my psyche did not allow me to do the spontaneous thing and just run away. I just sighed, dropped my chin into my chest and shuffled to the parking lot to get into my car and go to work.

Jill's life and schedule are no better, She is driven every moment of the day. Somedays she only gets three hours of sleep yet manages to get herself up to exercise, get Aimee and herself ready for school, work an entire day at school as an aide, take Aimee to either piano lesions, Aikido or a Girl Scout meeting,, only to then come home make dinner for the kid, read stories and put Aimee to bed, then have to start work on either the magazines or one of the books that she is working on at any time. She lives by the way of the shark; swim or die. There have been times where she has dropped off to sleep at work and school, once falling asleep while she was standing up.

With all of the madness going on in our lives we decided to take a vacation. Not just a vacation involving seeing family, but a vacation that was just all about relaxing, doing nothing at all. After looking at all of the places in the world to possibly visit Jill finally succumbed to my recommendation and said
'The hell with it, let'’s go to Tahiti."”

Last year was a good year for many different reasons, which is why we are able to go to French Polynesia. But I can honestly say that this is a vacation of a lifetime.

All I can say is the excitement of such a journey was summed up by Morgan Freeman'’s monologue from the last line of The Shawshank Redemption:

RED: I find I am so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain... I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

Tahiti photos used with the permission of Danee Hazama Photography.

The Ultimate Smackdown

2006-04-09T22:35:00.000-05:00

SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY!

I'd watch, but I wouldn't get into the ring.

Aimee, Jill and I were headed to cultural festival in downtown Phoenix and I saw the sign. I had the camera in my lap as I was making a left turn. Sheer luck.

The First Kill of the Year

2006-04-04T02:10:00.000-05:00

I don’t always kill them right away. I have a strange fascination with them. Usually when I discover them I am also without an implement to dispatch them with.

This time I was on my daily midnight routine of checking the mail. A short walk past one house and around the corner to the mailbox every night with the dog who goes about smelling the urine spots of the other male dogs who have recently passed by. Upon opening the mailbox I didn’t see anything at first, until it moved. About two feet from my right arm on the stucco wall next to the mailbox was an adult scorpion on the hunt for moths. I stared at if for the longest time. Partly out of fear, partly out morbid curiosity, but mainly I didn’t have anything solid to whack the demon to send it back to hell. The mail mainly consisted of a few bills and the latest issue of “Laundry Today” the monthly magazine that Jill produces from the house. Weighing in at only 24 pages it was not a very haughty periodical, not like the “In Style” magazine that arrived the day before. I drew nearer to the scorpion one last time and got pretty close. It just stayed there and didn’t move. Even when the light of the flashlight was on it, it did not scurry away. But as soon as I rolled up the magazine the same DNA trigger that flies have must have kicked in, because in mid-strike it’s tail came up before getting a solid WHACK from the magazine. I checked the dust jacket and there were no scorpion parts such as chela, chelicercae, telson or pedipalps, left on her copy of last months work. I am sure that Jill would just be glad that I killed it.

One Step Closer to Paradise, Just don’t Smile About It

2006-04-02T03:35:00.000-05:00

About three years ago I got the impending order from my boss, “go get your passport, you’re probably going to India.” I went to a local shipping/mail service-type bureau, the type that are in a strip mall located next to a Supercuts or Radio Shack and got my picture taken. At the time nobody said anything was said when the picture was taken, just a quick click and off I went. I never got to use the passport. I ended up going only to Canada (where you don’t need a passport). I ended up taking a different job.

Fast forward to today and all of us were in the same place where I got my picture taken so that Aimee and Jill could get their pictures taken for their passports. For some time now we have been talking about going on vacation. We’ve been talking about going someplace far away, someplace that there is no cellphone reception no calls from our jobs. We decided to go to Tahiti. In a long list of preparations for the trip, getting the passports for the girls was one of the tasks that we had to get done right away.

Jill was the first to sit. “Smile,” I tell her.

“You’re not suppose to smile for your passport pictures, it’s forbidden,” stated the clerk.

“Will the authorities from other countries see that you are smiling and arrest you for being, happy, healthy and an overfed American?” I ask.

“No, because it distorts your face”

“So does the 50 pounds of fat on my face, so when did smiling or not matter?” I reply.

She giggles smugly half igmoring my reply and takes the picture.

Upon seeing the pictures, I am kind of disappointed that both Jill and Aimee look so solem. Aimee looks like Tuesday from the Addams Family.

I guess that they forgot to read me the rules when they took my picture back in 2002.

Now no one will recognize me because in the picture on my passport I broke the rules, I am smiling and I am grossly overweight looking like Pugsly in a green polo shirt.

The Dog Blanket

2006-03-31T12:29:00.000-06:00

By the time his ashes and collar came unceremoniously in a box most of the crying was done. All that was felt was the hole that he left behind. The vet came by to drop them off. I thanked the Vet for all of her care and concern. Placing his ashes and collar on the mantle had just ended a 10-year friendship. Though he is gone I still think about him everyday.

My dog didn't shed, he’d molt. His fur came out in small feather like tufts.
My father was always against having pets and much like the father in the original story " Cheaper by the Dozen" my father thought that pets were useless because they did not produce eggs, milk or meat.

I have heard of people vacuuming their dogs. I have one of those stand-up one-piece vacuums with the rotating brush action on the bottom. My dog would see the beast and always keeps a weary eye on it. While lying on the carpet he’d try to maintain his composure as the Hoover whirred its way back and forth in front of him. As soon as he saw it changing course in the slightest degree toward him he would move out quickly at a brisk pace looking indignant.

I had pretty much given up on trying to keep up with the mess. I would pull out the vacuum right at the point where I couldn’t stand it any more and the house looked like a poultry facility with minions of Sterling's tufts of fur looking like chicken feathers coating the carpet.

I wished that the molt would happen all at once. Sterling would shed in phases. First his back, then his rear haunches, then his chest and tail, until finally his sides slowly began to yield.
The dog shedded twice a year. The first "coat blow" was slow and insidious. His straw-like guard hairs were the first to go. Shortly after his undercoat began to become unglued. This would usually happen just after we gave him a bath. I guess that the dog shampoo washes away the dog hair glue that kept him all together
You can tell where he has walked before because you'll find chunks of dog hair stuck in bushes, lawns & shrubs like breadcrumbs that lead to a gingerbread house in the Bavarian forest. One time we took him to a groomer. While he was being blow-dried so much fur was flying off of him that the groomer had to take him out to the back alley to finish drying him. It was a surreal site to see the voluminous amount of fur flying around. He looked like one of those snowmaking machines coating all of the streets of Burbank.
Sterling’s fur would get everywhere. On a windy day about a mile away from the house a bird’s nest was blowing down the street. I decided to pick it up and show it to my daughter. When I did I discovered that the nest was made from grass, twigs and Sterling’s fur. A few years back I had to rebuild our deck out back. We had lived in the house for five years and I was making some repairs in preparation to sell it. Upon taking apart the deck I had found that dog’s fir was entangled in between the deck planks and serews.

Charlene LaBelle, Malamute breeder and author brought it to our attention that Malamute fur can be collected and that it can be spun into yarn. She pulled off the stocking cap that she was wearing. The cap was soft and pliable. Softer than lambs wool not scratchy like the sweaters that your mom made you wear to school. Malamute undercoat is white or more of a cream color. Sometimes it can be sable or gray in color.
Sterling would know when it was time to be harvested. The brush and zip-lock bag were kept in the same drawer as the dog walking paraphernalia. The drawer pull would make a familiar ka-clink whenever the drawer was opened. For Sterling that either meant a walk or a brushing, and he would scurry over to see. When he saw the brush he’d snap his teeth like an alligator. Sometimes he’d try to nibble on the brush. Jill would sit and brush him for as long as he allowed her to.

If she was wearing a black pair of pants when she was done her pants (and everything else for that matter) would be coated in dog fur. When she stood up she would look like she was wearing a pair of those furry chaps from the black & white cowboy movies. She would stiffly make her way to the trashcan looking like something out of a Tom Nix movie.
My mother-in-law who is an avid knitter knew and recommended a friend of hers from the Coast Guard Auxiliary who spun her own yarn from the traditional sort of beasts like sheep and rabbit. She had never spun dog before and took to the challenge with out hesitation.
I think that she was a bit surprised when she was given 9 bags of dog fur that were bursting at the seams. Over the first two years my wife and I collected and turned in at least 20 bags worth of fur. She called us to tell us to stop collecting.
It didn't take long for all of the fur to get spun. Just like lambs wool Sterling's fur had to be washed and dried. She would put the freshly washed hair into a salad spinner and spin the fur until most of the water was removed. I always wondered if she used her salad spinner to make salad afterwards.

I am a napper from way back. As an infantry solider the military taught me to get sleep whenever and where ever I could. Back then I would sleep lightly like a treed caveman constantly being jostled awake by the slightest crackle of leaves fearing for my life reaching out for my rifle. Now that I am a civilian I have take the art of napping to a new height. I sleep just as deeply during the day as I do at night, no fear or guilt involved. Upon returning to school during the day and working full time at night and after the birth of my daughter, napping had become a survival tactic. I have since gravitated from using a camouflaged poncho liner to a any small soft comfortable blanket I can get my hands on.
Over the years my mother in law has knitted a couple of different throws for me. The first was plain and simple. Blue, with a simple repetitive pattern. The second was a rust colored calico design and the third was made with what ever left over yarn that she had. Each time I reminded her that I already have an afghan that she had made for me. Each time she claims that she does not remember ever making anything for me. Since my marriage to my wife for the last fourteen years I have received three Afghans or .21 per year.

With no fanfare or announcement the dog blanket came in the mail in a simple white box with no note. It was a quiet surprise. My wife and I looked at it with a silent awe. Not only at the color and texture of it but at the intricacy that Louise had put into knitting it. I had seen many an afghan knitted by her, but this by far was the best. Sterling took an immediate curiosity to it. He nosed and sniffed and sneezed at it, then retuned to his eight-hour nap.
The dog blanket sits prominently at the end of our bed. We recently purchased a large Mission style bed. Sterling's blanket hangs over the side much like a tapestry or a coat of arms. Every once and awhile my daughter will take a nap on the bed. I like to cover her with the blanket. Inside I feel as if Sterling is watching over her, protecting her.

The blanket is a sort of connection with my dog, a physical momento of my friend of ten years and the skill, craftsmanship and care of my mother in law.

It’s been three years since he has left us . His departure was a long and difficult one. But occasionally I see the blanket and I am caught off guard and I stare deeply into it and remember.

The John Bingham Arizona Distance Classic

2006-03-12T22:41:00.000-06:00

I performed almost exactly the same as the P.F. Chang’s marathon and in this case that is not bad. This was a VERY hilly ½ marathon. I didn’t prepare for the hills but I did continue to train right up until the time I caught the flu.

I really wanted to run this marathon, more than the Phoenix ½ marathon. I am a big fan of John Bingham. Reading his books helped me get back into running. The great thing about this race is that it is so small, less than 1000 runners over all (and of course I was almost dead to last). When I picked up my race number on Friday I was fortunate enough to meet John Bingham. We talked for a bit and he gave me some advice on what to do with my particular situation. He’s a very down to earth and genuine person who really cares about others.

It was a cold and beautiful day. The night before it poured rain and had begun to snow. Despite the cold it was a clear and crisp day with the snow-capped Catalina mountains behind us.

On the race I did the best I could, ran on the downhill and sped-walked on the uphill. From mile 10 to almost the finish I ran all the way. Then I hit the wall. My left hamstring seized, totally. I was stuck in absolute pain. It was really bad. One of the runners shouted that he was getting the medic. I shouted back that I was going to make it even if I had to crawl. I stretched for a minute or so and was able to limp and run the last ½ mile in.

Because this is such a small race it is very personalized. All of the race numbers are personalized. All of the volunteers address you by name. As I ran toward the finish line they must have looked up my number because they announced my full name and that this was my second ½ marathon.

At the finish line John was there and gave me a high-five just as I crossed the finish line. Just after running past him and hunched over in pain and exhaustion John came over to me and said. “Good job, you did it, you set out to do something and you made your goal.” To have an author and Runner’s World columnist congratulate me after coming in 66th out of 67 in a race was a big deal to me. I was awestruck.

Here are the particulars:

NO 505
FN Ed
LN Flores
DIVISION M4044
OVERALL 825
DIVPL 66/67
SEXPL 391/407
TIME 3:05:22
PACE 14:09
5K 41:05

Special Thanks To:
All of the supervisors, managers and employees at 2Wire
Alice Pike
Tim Williams
Chris Dorn
Roger McDorman
Kyle Scofield
And of course my daughter and my wife who were there to support me the entire way.

The ritual post-race ice bath

Dog Poop

2006-03-08T10:39:00.000-06:00

If you told a person who was looking to get a dog that for the next 12 to 16 years they would be picking up feces one to four times daily, most people would not get one. Most children are potty trained by three. That means that by the time your child is in high school you will still be bending over with a plastic shopping bag to pick up your dog’s poop. Even with a conservative estimate of two doggie bowel movements per day you are looking at bending at the waist to pick up dog waste around 8700 times over the course of the next decade or so. Too bad the dog was not a goose and those 8700 canine bowel movements weren’t golden eggs. As it stands the stuff is not even recyclable by weight, even by this measurement a dog owner might break even over the costs incurred during the animal’s lifetime.

No matter how you look at the task it is not a very welcome idea. The thought of a massive pile of dog excreta warming your hands through a thin plastic shopping bag on a cold winter day as you watch the steam rise from the hot overflowing mass in the early morning sunlight is not as welcoming per-se as, say a good steaming cup of coffee.

It is a disgusting thought knowing that a part of dog ownership is about feces. Dog owners are not preoccupied with the fact, but is does actually occupy a position of notable importance in their relationships.

Most dog owners are keen to changes in their dog’s excreta. Changes in consistency, color and smell are important seeing as it can be a direct indication of the dog’s immediate well being. Many a dog owner has spent their evenings over a stove, cooking rice and turkey meat so their dog can recover from diarrhea. Others can find items that were once thought as missing such as crayons, chalk, plastic and a host of other interesting things that make their way around the second time.

If the stomach pumping imagery of a pile of soupy dog feces creates in your mind is not vile enough, smell adds an incredibly wondrous dimension to it. Depending on the diet of the dog, the waste can be repugnant and rank, full bodied with a hint of meaty effervescence.

Tales form the Dung Zone - The Four Horrors
You see a person coming towards you as you travel with bag in hand down the street. Despite a slick effort to hide the treasure in your bag from view, you still manage to offend as its contents waft invisibly and penetrate the nostrils of passersby who wince at the rankness as if exposed to a smelling salt.

You wrap your hands around a wet gigantor of a dog log only to discover that there are multiple holes in the bag. You must now walk home or to the car with your hand coated in poop juice. Despite the distance whether short or long this quite possibly is the longest walk of your life.

You are mortified to discover that you left your house without any dog bags as your dog is squatting on the sidewalk in front of a high-class eatery with many onlookers.

You come home after work to discover that your dog has giardiasis after you slip and fall in one of the 27 puddles of dog diarrhea that are on the walls, furniture and floors.

Let he who has not sinned throw the first pile
On high average, dog owners are responsible, caring people. They care about their neighborhoods, the areas that they travel with their pets, and just as importantly, how they are perceived buy the non-dog owning public.

Dog scat is a major point of contention amongst non-dog owners and the dog-phobics in general. It seems as if, in their minds, dogs should not relieve themselves in public.

It is this general consensus that has manifested into some of the strongest anti-dog legislature on the books in California. In the city of Santa Monica for example you can be cited for walking your dog if your dog bags are not openly visible. Even if you had several thousand bags stuffed on various places on your body and you looked like Bibendum, the Michelin Man, you would still be imposed a fine of no less than $50 for not having 1 plastic baggie visibly flapping in the wind.

The deed itself carries a deep social stigma in the public eye, even if a dog owner follows the rules of good courtesy and the city laws. The dog is not allowed to go on a lawn if the owner is watching. God forbid that a dog were to crap on a lawn even if the dog owner picks it up. A dog owner can have a bag in hand and appear to be as vigilant as a Yankee catcher on a pop foul ball in the ninth inning of the seventh game of the World Series. Even then, it is a losing situation. As the dog is relieving himself, the owner will bolt come out of his doorway screaming as if someone were about to set fire to his house.
Another obstacle is where to discard the indiscretion. Despite litter laws and high fines, public trash cans are hard to come by. In most parks trashcans are placed close to the picnic tables. If the picnic table is being used a look of horror can be seen on the picnicers faces as a dog owner approaches the can with a plastic baggie of odiferous brown mushy waste.

Even in residential areas, owners find it difficult to find a place to discard the refuse. You would think that on trash day, when the street is filled with cans that have been emptied earlier that morning, it would be easy to toss out your treasure. But this is not so. If you attempt to throw away rovers gift in one of them you’ll have to make sure that the owner is not around. If they are out picking up the morning paper or getting into their car for their morning commute, you’ll often hear a very adamant, “Not in my trash can, take that someplace else.”

One dog’s pile is another man’s poison
It is an amazing thought to see that dogs and their owners in this society are ostracized despite their earnest efforts to clean up after their dogs and keep their neighborhoods clean. Your dog defecating outside is equal to smoking in public, even though the scientific community has never proven that cancer can be caused through breathing second hand dog poop.

Because we consider ourselves a modern society we have managed to separate ourselves from the natural world. Our transportation has evolved from animal to soulless machine whose insidious invisible waste ruins our lives and quite possibly our future. As we “evolve” we try to distance ourselves from nature. The dog is perhaps one of the last connections that we have with nature and our primitive past. Now that we can start fire without flint, have food without hunting, and try to distance ourselves from the cave are we trying to separate from one of the best symbiotic relationships in our existence? Dog owners realize that the fleas come with the dog, and so does his dung.

Sick

2006-02-20T21:49:00.000-06:00

Someone once told me, "Take care of yourself and the universe will take care of you." Although greatly oversimplified as logic, there is a universal truth about it.

Over the last 2 years and 7 months I have not been sick. Let me rephrase that. I have not called out in that long of a time.
I have come in looking like death warmed over on high 5 minutes in the microwave, but I refrained from calling out sick. I don't know why I am so stubborn about it. What am I trying to prove. When I come in sick I just piss off all of the people I work with. I quickly lash out, "where do you think I got this from?' Not that this is the right train of thought either.

Along time ago when I was younger I use to call out, a lot. If I wasn't feeling good or just didn't feel like it I would report to the medic station. Something was always hurting. Why run 6 miles if you just didn't feel good? Then one day I got sick, real sick. I was in quarantine for a week. Later for another reason I was sent away for some further medical tests and looking at the possibility of knee surgery. I had an ephiphany, I felt that being sick was a lousy way to get a day off. I just wanted to be better again.

When I entered back into civilian life I developed a new work ethic, work as long as you can for as hard as you can. You'll never know when it will all be taken away from you. Your work is your identity and you are judged on how you apply yourself. Since that time I have gone the opposite way. I have come back to work just days after a surgery. I have come into work with a fever of 102. For awhile the madness would not stop. In some ways it continues.

Last Friday I got the aches and chills, I started coughing and got a runny nose and a fever, yet I stayed at work. This weekend I was just knocked on my ass by the flu, even then I continued to do chores and do some work from home. When I came into work today I could barely breath without sneezing or coughing. "You look like and sound like shit, " and with that my boss sent me home. I guess I haven't learned yet. I just want to work hard, no matter what.

I'll stay home when H5N1 hits, we all will.

The Manbag

2006-02-20T11:37:00.000-06:00

My last briefcase was getting old. It was time to retire it. So the hunt for the perfect bag began.

I remember once seeing the President land in Marine One and thinking wouldn’t it be cool to own the same bag that the nuclear launch codes are contained in? Not the exact same bag (which would be impossible) but the bag from the same company. Despite an exhaustive search which entailed contacting numerous governmental department and several intelligence contacts I was thwarted in my attempt to gain “the football” I was told that a bag that was fire and bullet proof would be out of my price range and was told to look for something more civilian.

Last Christmas I received a briefcase from my wife, rather nice briefcase I may add. It was the newest version of my old Tumi bag that was old and tired.

She agreed to replace my last bag that she got me that lasted about 15 years and went and got me a Tumi fold-over computer brief for work.

As soon as I stepped into the office that week after the holidays the comments from colleagues, subordinates and supervisor started.

“Nice purse” a coworker commented

“Metrosexual tool bag” stated my officemate

“What does exactly one put into a man-bag?” said my boss.

The last comment led me to think, what should I start putting in this thing?

As soon as I got it I transferred everything from the last case into the new one.

Tumi of course makes a fabulous product and has some features that are both convenient and handy for the use.

As a bonus my wife got some small stocking stuffers that would go along with the theme of the gift. A small mini Mag flashlight with biteplate, a small LED keychain light and a mini micro tool that includes pliers, a file, tweezers and a knife. I added a Surefire G2 Nitrolon flashlight, the beam cuts through smoke, it’s waterproof and the body is virtually indestructible (one can never have too many flashlights).

Some of the features on the bag that I observed:

A water bottle pocket – the pocket is lined to protect against leakage to other compartments and has a drain hole in the bottom in the case of a water bottle or thermos blowout. This feature merited a quest to find the perfect water bottle for the pocket. After searching high and low I selected the Nalgene 16 oz bottle. Normally the 32 oz bottle is the standard fare for most outdoor types but the pocket would hold nothing larger that the 16 oz size bottles. Captain Tippy Cup was the latest comment received at the office as a result.

An expandable umbrella pocket – despite living in Phoenix, Arizona last year had proved to be quite a wet year comparatively speaking thanks to El Nino and the Pineapple Express from the Pacific. Having an umbrella handy has kept me looking civil unlike my wet-rat counterparts at work and school. However this year it has not rained here in Phoenix for over 120 days, so for now, it’s just extra weight.

Business Card Pocket – seeing this prompted me to immediately order some business cards. My wife some years ago had given me a sterling silver business card case with a Frank Lloyd Wright design on it. The case now sits proudly and snugly in the briefcase. Occasionally I remember to hand them out.

Headphone port – There is a small opening that allows you to thread your headphones through so you can leave your MP3 player in the bag. Despite owning an iPod I really don’t use this feature on the bag. When I use the iPod I just take it out of the bag.

The Office Group
I don’t use a laptop at the moment but do keep a large 9 x 11 organizer with me at all times. It’s large enough to occupy the space where a laptop computer would go. I use the large organizer and the Franklin Covey system to organize my work and personal life. Even though I really advocate the use of computers and technology, nothing out there can beat go old analog type organization for day-to-day tasks.

The List:
In the Main Compartment:

Full size day planner/organizer
Prescription glasses & case
Sunglasses & case
Compact folding umbrella
(Three band ham transceiver)
4 X 5 Moliskine journal & Fisher Space Pen
Manual for Ham Radio

Tumi Pencil Case consisting of:

Glue Stick
Collapsible scissors
Tiny stapler
Small inkpad
Date stamp
UFO eraser
Black Sharpie
Red pencil
Micron pens .01, .02, .05 & .08
Black warrior pencils
#3B Staedtler Mars pencil

For some strange reason I went on a bent to fill the bag with things that I may need in the case of an emergency. This really prompted even more comments from coworkers.

The Survival Group
Being the ex-paratrooper and eternal Boy Scout I carry a few survival supplies with me at all times. In my travels they have come in handy on occasion.

I carry two different kits in the bag, one for survival and one for first aid.

The first aid kit is made by Adventure Medical and contains the following:

1.Aloksak® waterproof bag, US Navy certified to 200ft
1 Splinter Picker Tweezers
3.Safety Pins
4.Motrin®
2.Antihistamine
2.After Bite® Sting Relief
4.3X3 Sterile Dressings
4.2x2 Sterile Dressings
1Non-Adherent Sterile Dressing (3x4)
1.Conforming Gauze Bandage
2.Butterfly Closure Bandage
3.After Cuts & Scrapes® Towelettes
4.1x3 Adhesive Bandage
2.Knuckle Adhesive Bandage
1.Tape ½" x 10 Yards
1 Moleskin (7x4)
1.Tincture of Benzoin
2.Antibiotic Ointment

The survival kit was inspired by The SAS Survival Handbook by John Lofty” Wiseman. It’s a comprehensive survival kit that has come in handy over the years on travel, in the city or in the wilderness.

The survival kit contains:
Duct tape
Button compass
Knife
Matches
Pencil
Purification tablets
Snare wire
Candle
Flint & striker
Hacksaw blade
Fishing kit
Whistle
Sewing kit
Safety pins
Wire saw (with finger loops)
Condoms (non-lubricated, for water storage)
Survival instructions
Signal Mirror
Tinder
Water bags
Single edged razors
Butterfly sutures

What’s even more amazing is that all of this fits into an Altoids tin

I also have an emergency space blanket in one of the pockets just incase someone around me should go hypothermic.

Kenwood TH-F6A
I get quite a few strange looks for carrying around a ham radio. It hangs on the outside of the bag and is conspicuously placed with 2-meter antenna sticking up. But when I saw this one it really did an impressive amount of things. Kenwood really did a great job on this radio. Aside from being a three-band transceiver over 144, 220 and 440 the radio has wide receive capabilities. Police, aircraft, television, regular radio and emergency weather can all be monitored from this little 2 x 3 x 1 package. I’ve used it at work to get severe weather and tornado reports and while traveling. One day as two supercells merged and approached overhead one of my peer managers said. “Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea” as the NOAA report about the impending thunderstorm and possible tornado spewed out of the tiny speaker.

The other day I came under close scrutiny from a gas station attendant. He fired off questions quickly and expected answers quickly as a test and gauntlet of truth.

Gas Station Attendant: “What’s in the bag?”
Ed: “Stuff”
Gas Station Attendant: What kind of stuff?”
Ed: “Guy stuff”
Gas Station Attendant: “You mean that’s a guy purse”
Ed: “No”
Gas Station Attendant: “Then what kind of stuff?”
Ed: “Business supplies, survival equipment and a few electronic toys, still a purse?”
Gas Station Attendant: “You keep your cash in there?”
Ed: “No”
Gas Station Attendant: “Credit cards, coupons or any kind of hair product?”
Ed: “No”
Gas Station Attendant: “Okay then.”
Ed: “Fill up on number 3 please.”

Son of Manbag
But if the manbag were not enough, there’s more. Now there’s schoolbag. I’m back in school during the day and because we don’t get lockers I haul all of my textbooks and resources in a rolling pilot’s chart bag.
There is a pass through pocket on the manbag that the handle from the schoolbag fits right through. As I roll along on campus people think that I am either a teacher or a well-dressed homeless person.

Man Sporran
Now on the weekends because I spend most of my time in running togs I often get sent on a random chore to the supermarket or the hardware store. But because my running clothes do not have pockets I had to buy the equivalent of a modern day sporran…a fanny pack. It’s just large enough to fit my wallet, keys, flashlight, Fisher Space Pen™ and a small knife. Nobody at work has seen me so other than the strange looks that I get from people in the market and Home Depot I have not received any comments, yet.

Hmmm…maybe I should get a real sporran. But as my Scottish actor, kilt-wearing friend Scott Cleverdon has told me there is no such plaid as Hunting MacFlores.