Green Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Are you wearing something green? Drinking something green? Puking something green?

To commemorate this day, here's a fun spot from Guinness: a shepherd and his dog round up the attention-span challenged into a pub. The reaction of these guys is priceless. Completely frightened and confused.

George Harrison iPad App

Here's something which should satisfy any iPad owner who needs a Fab Four fix - The Guitar Collection: George Harrison app brought to you from the estate of the late, great Beatle.

From his father's vast guitar collection, Harrison's son Dhani has managed to bring an interactive experience to music fans - and from the looks of it, they're going to be diving into this app with the giddiness of a kid at a candy store. It could also settle some of the numerous online debates as to which guitars Harrison played on, for what songs, and for what sessions.

This seems to be a real labor of love, and Dhani seems to "get" what the fans would want while treating his father's legacy with the utmost respect.





I can see this iPad app setting a future precedent for other artists: the potential is promising. There's a real market for fans who would LOVE to get a glimpse of these relics, hear the stories and to feel the creative mojo that still resides within them.

Here's also a video of Conan, a known music aficionado, in the presence of George's gear. Love it. Humor gives way to reverence.

What to Do When You're Called a Soup

Since Feb. 4, a relatively obscure Taiwanese-American from Harvard has actually managed to take the world by storm in math  science  good grades  professional basketball. Now what were the odds in Vegas for that? Probably would make a great movie, as long as Michael Bay doesn't direct it. 

And there goes Madison Square Garden. 

I've been reading up on this underdog story just as much as the next person, but what really caught my attention about "Linsanity" wasn't his pick-and-roll game, the puns that have been out of control, or the obvious fact he's an Asian kid. Instead, it was when I read the following:


"Lin has regularly heard bigoted jeers at games such as ‘wonton soup’."

Funny. Not literally, mind you. But funny, because I've also been on the receiving end of being called a 'dumpling served in broth' during games - in my case, football. And yes, it's just as ridiculous as it sounds, when some troll calls you a dish from the take-out menu. I remember one time, it was right after we stopped a team on fourth down, and one of their offensive lineman came right up to me:

"Whatever, wonton soup."

"Excuse me?"

The field of competition, whether it's in sports, work, Halo - whatever - can really bring out the worst in some people.

What did you just call me?

Regardless, I'll say that these taunts were few and far in between. Maybe once or twice every three years or so (I played 16 years), which I guess is still way too many. But did these taunts hurt me? Not really - and I'll get to how I dealt with them in a bit. Just didn't find them all THAT offensive as some others might. Lame? My goodness, yes. Plus I've been called much worse on a personal level, such as "distant asshole" by an ex-girlfriend. Looking back, they were also well deserved at the time. Screw you, hindsight.


Anyway, it's not like progress hasn't been made on this front. It has. It IS indeed getting better. Google "Jackie Robinson" to get a reality check in how bad it once was and what a true trailblazer he was for the rest of us. "Bigoted jeers" will never go away, but there is a light at the end of this long tunnel, and hopefully it keeps getting better without it getting overly sensitive/insensitive and too "politically correct."


Jeremy Lin's story may have opened up a real can of worms regarding this very topic, but I'm digging it because it also opened up a room for discussion and debate. Plus, if it leads to more kids of any race, religion or creed picking up a basketball -or any kind of sport- I'm all for it. Let'em play. Have FUN.


So to all you potential young athletes, here are some helpful things to know when it comes to racial taunts from trolls:  

• Use it as fuel - I'd use the taunts as an incentive to blindside the punk when he wasn't looking. Nothing after the whistle. I'm 100% sure a kid like Lin used it as motivation on the court. What's the quickest way to shut'em up within the rules? Find out what that is, and execute it.
• Keep Your Head Up - Don't get discouraged and stay focused. You're not a victim. If they're targeting you, chances are you're making a big difference.
• Run up the score - Taunts usually come from the trolls out of frustration. Chances are you're kicking their ass, or they're losing. So rub it in their wounds. It's probably bleeding already. Time to grab a handful of salt and make it hurt. 
• Trust your teammates - You really couldn't ask for a better rallying cry. I was fortunate enough to have some great teammates that had my back, and now the taunting idiot has a target on his back for the rest of the game. If the kid wonders why it's getting a bit more physical out there, it's not a mere coincidence.
• Don't hurt your team - In this instance, cooler heads always prevail. Don't get ejected or receive a penalty that could put your team in jeopardy.
• Correct them on their ignorance - This one is a personal favorite of mine. When that kid called me a 'wonton soup,' I corrected him on his mistake: I'm Japanese, so the correct insult should've been 'miso soup.' The puzzled, confused look he gave me in return was priceless.
• Racial taunts never came from a player, coach, or school I respected - Seriously. NEVER. I can't stress this point enough. 
• Real racists, the ones that are really out to get you usually stay under the radar - The comedian Bill Burr once said, "Real racism is quiet. It's subtle. People look around, and make sure the coast is clear." I happen to agree. 
• People who are NOT racist can make racist remarks - This is what usually happens more often than not. Everyone makes mistakes. Whether you're willing to accept an apology and forgive is up to you. But holding a grudge...isn't the way to go. It isn't the way to live.

Sort of a heavy topic - even for my tastes - so let's leave it on a positive note...

Dell Has Gone Off the Rails of a Crazy Train

Great. Another vimeo video that's way too long (3:30). But hold on a sec. Just keep watching and you'll eventually get to the prize of this Cracker Jack box. Either someone at Dell has a real sense of humor, or they have collectively lost their minds.

Why not both?


Clayton Sotos - Visual Innovators from Visual Innovators on Vimeo.

The Flip Side

Happy Valentine's Day, a day Hallmark grins from ear to ear as they get fat and wealthy. It's a holiday, but it's also a pretty insincere reason to get romantic. Shouldn't people show their love and affection...more naturally?  Not because they have to, but because they want to? We're not some pre-programmed robots here.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go order some flowers.

For those that do not have a significant other, this video is worth watching. For those that do have a significant other, this video is worth watching. I've never seen a woman act like a "douchebag" (1:39) before, or the guy-friend (2:10) ruin it for everybody quite like this.

In a nutshell, are guys this bad? I'd have to say yes. Just different with an impulse to think about the act of reproduction constantly (act of reproduction>reproduction). I say this while watching one of my dogs "hump" a cushion - and this guy is neutered. Maybe Valentine's Day is a way of balancing out a guy's basic instincts with romance? Or is it an evil plot by Hallmark to buy more of their sh!t?

In my opinion, the best way to show affection is when they least expect it. Like a sneak attack. When all is lost. When we didn't remember some "important" date or special location. Then BOOM. You shouldn't have. Oh, but I did.

Regardless of my twisted ways, we should all definitely drop the "L" word on someone special today. As the great Satchel Paige once said, "love like you've never been hurt."

The Beach is My Enemy

My trip to Puerto Rico confirmed a lifelong suspicion about the relationship between the beach and I: we're not compatible. Like at all. This just isn't going to work.

Did I mention I never swam in the ocean while living in South Beach for a year?

Pure Evil

Visually speaking, I think it's one of Mother Nature's most majestic creations. A sunrise or a sunset on the beach? Fuh-get about it. It's breathtaking. Everybody be quiet. Jaw, meet the floor.

I also confess to my enjoyment of running at the beach. It's fulfilling in a mysterious way. It provides a unique aesthetic that you just can't get at a park, a track or a treadmill. It's peaceful. Serene. It's "me" time. It can turn a light jog into the reason you get up in the morning - the best part of the day.

So where does it go all wrong? It's the sand. When it's combined with salt water, it turns into a sticky, jam-like substance I deplore. After a dip in the ocean, I feel like a glazed donut covered in sand sprinkles. My towel turns into sandpaper. Sand also manages to get into crevices of the human body you did't even know existed.

But the real deciding factor was stepping on a kid's castle by total accident.

Happy Birthday to Jim

Happy birthday to Jim Marshall to whom I had the honor and privilege of being an admirer, fan, as well as a customer. Too bad I fell short of sharing that drink he always talked about over the phone whenever I inquired about his work (in his crackling, nasal voice: "I like it neat. You?"). What a crazy bastard, man - a real character! Jim was probably the quintessential music photographer (although he was much, much more versatile than that) who took some of the most iconic images of the biggest stars from back in the day: from the likes of The Beatles, The Stones, Janis, Jimi, Coltrane and Cash. And those names are just the tip of the Marshall iceberg, with stories for each and every one of them that could make you laugh or your skin crawl.

Cream!

He was someone who always reminded me of a character right outta the pages of Hunter S. Thompson's Rum Diaries. If rock had the likes of Keith Richards personifying its reckless ways, then photography had Marshall leading the way with his love of cars, guns and cameras (not necessarily in that order). It's a rather potent mix which guaranteed that aggravated assault and bail money was usually right around the corner. But like Keef and the guitar, when Jim had a camera (in his case, his trusted Leica) in his hands, he had a creative gift that could create pure magic. And thankfully, he was willing to share it for folks like me who knew the music, but not necessarily the visuals, the stories, or the pictures. You know what they say about pictures and what they're worth...

He LOVED Duane Allman

Whenever I got in touch with him, he'd ask which subject I was interested in or was particularly looking for, and one of the biggest problems I encountered consistently with his work was, I wanted them all - some of his best images that I saw were never even published! But regardless, he'd go out of his way to help me find just that right picture - and he always treated me well. It was a fun process, and now with him gone I certainly miss this part the most - with numerous stories that had F-Bombs being dropped everywhere, while occasionally calling someone a "real dick" or an "asshole." He would occasionally show me his proofs to look over, and they always left me in complete awe: shot by shot sequences of Jimi Hendrix at Monterey Pop Festival, Duane Allman taking full flight onstage, or John Coltrane sitting back to relax during an interview. All of it, just like it happened.

Jim Marshall may have been quite the character, prone to be aggressive and rather ornery: but he was also an invaluable witness to a time when the music flourished. He just happened to use a camera for posterity and be mighty damn good at it.

Happy Birthday, Mr. ("call me f*ckin' Jim, man") Marshall. I'm usually a "on-the-rocks" kind of guy, but tonight, I'll take it neat. Cheers, mate.

Salute!

One More Finger Before the Road.