On the importance of U2

One of my best friends wrote a Facebook note about the upcoming U2 album, and how previous albums have played roles in his life.

There have been pivotal moments in my life coinciding with U2 albums, but I guess I never really paid attention to it.
I can reduce it to this... The U2 albums I like most really don't speak to the honesty and grittiness that gave the band their start and their flavour; their soul, if you will. I mean, I have damn-near all of them. Boy, War, Unforgettable Fire, Rattle and Hum, etc... They're all classics, and they all feel as honest as the day is long.
But they're not my favorites.

• Achtung Baby is one of my all-time favorite albums. Musically and poetically, it's one of the richest albums I can think of. And they used everything they could to make that album and their namesake a true bellwether of popular culture. Their 'One' videos? Stunning. My favorite was the one with all the buffalo.
• I really like Zooropa. It's kind of a bat-shit crazy album, actually, and that brand of craziness was endemic of the relationship I was in at the time. Kray-Zee! We're talking Flava Flav Kray-Zee...
• Passengers is just so amazing on so many levels. If I have to explain why, you won't get it. But it is, so deal with it.

To be honest with you, All That You Can't Leave Behind was a sort of nail in the coffin for me. I think it kind of sucked. There are a couple catchy ones in there -- The Edge's towering, enigmatic guitar riffs in 'New York' shouldn't be missed, and 'In a Little While,' which, allegedly, Bono sang to Joey Ramone on his deathbed.

Otherwise, I think it's insipid.

I won't turn my back on U2, but I'm probably not the typical fan. When I saw them in Cleveland some years back (help me out, Joe... When was that? 2000?), it really was one of the very best concerts I had ever seen. Not only did they sounds so very good, but they sounded so very good. This is to say, the sound quality at the show was the best I had ever heard.

And, they performed 'Stay (Far away, so close!),' which is one of my faves.

I'll leave it with this:

Bono was able to verbalize, in just a few short words, my sentiments about religion:

"The god I believe in isn't short of cash, mister."

Solving the country's problems -- a running commentary, v1.0

I think that I'm far from a political visionary but from time to time, I feel it necessary to demonstrate my command of the obvious. I typically do this among friends on a mailing list that I've been a part of since 1997 -- hard to believe it's been that long. Most of us know each other quite well, and most of us would call each other friends.

Last week, we got on the topic of THEY. You know... them? Somewhere in New York, probably along the Avenue of The Americas, there has to be an office building which houses an office. On the door to this office bears a placard which reads:

THEY

And, that's where you can find them.

Anyway, this particular conversation started, somehow, with one of the people on the list bringing up the subject of banning all peanut products in schools. Now, this is issue is actually two-fold. On the one side, there's the recent salmonella-in-peanut-products outbreak (and that's where the author of this subject got started), and there's the peanut allergy issue which, while rare, is very real for those who are deathly allergic to [peanuts].

From there, the conversation shifted to how schools are run, and how silly it is that certain things happen there. The issue turned into "Zero Tolerance" initiatives implemented by many school systems today. The quote that started it for me was as follows:

"Don't forget "Zero-tolerance" rules... A kid with a knife at school------
a butter knife! A kid with drugs at school------- aspirin! A kid kissing a girl
without her consent (sexual harassment)---- 4- yrs. old! All suspended or even
expelled.

Stupid."

He's right. It is stupid. However, those zero-tolerance rules were developed and implemented by school boards -- school boards that you and I elected. They don't spontaneously generate or work autonomously. If they do, and you don't like it, fire them.

People usually don't realize that there is a zero-tolerance policy at their children's' school until an example is made of a student. Maybe it's a child bringing a butter knife to school (why he or she would bring a butter knife to school escapes me, but whatever; I don't think it's any more lethal than a pen or pencil), or a bottle of Tylenol that a parent gave him, because the parent feels that her son is capable of regulating his medication. And that's fine. Certainly by age 12 or 13 I don't think my parents were too concerned about me O/D-ing on OTC drugs -- or any drugs for that matter.

The school board has no choice but to follow the letter of the law that they wrote. Now there's outrage. 15 second soundbites have mothers and fathers decrying such draconian measures. "How could THEY do this?"

But no one ever wants to ask these people where they were for the school board meetings, which are very public, very open and very-much rely on feedback from the people the board serve.

So it all comes back to the responsibility of individual parents. If the same four people keep coming to the meetings -- probably the same four people who voted in the school board election -- the only information the people sitting on the board will get is from a hugely misrepresented populace.

School boards across the country, every day, put out desperate pleas to parents to attend the meetings. Parents are too busy, I guess --or they're not interested in what happens.

So everyone, please... Seriously. Stop the bullshit. Saying, "THEY" are doing this to "ME" and my family. It's all "THEIR" fault. It's "THEM." As the saying goes, "They is us." We do this to ourselves. It's just easier to blame someone else because we couldn't be bothered with voting or lobbying for something we believe in -- or don't believe in; our children's schooling.

Our school boards and public offices would be very different places if people invested real time and dug deeply to choose the candidates who represented their beliefs. My family makes fun of me because I vote absentee. I spend as much time as it takes to review as much information as I can find about the candidates to make some semblance of an informed decision. It often takes me several hours -- because really, who among us really knows who any of the various court candidates or county commissioner candidates are?

Heady topics for a collection of people who have been brought together by a 20 year-old motorcycle that was a sales failure in the US.

Ducati's Latest, Tastiest Offering

So, with the passing of the new year, the annual IMS has come and gone. It was, again, kind of a yawner. No surprises, and not really anything there that I would plunk down hard-earned cash on -- if I had extra said hard-earned cash lying about.

Except for one.

The new Ducati Streetfighter.

It's ridiculous, and hopefully, one of my friends will buy one so I can blag a ride.

A 155 hp 1098 powerplant makes this move when you twist the loud handle.  I can hardly wait to try it.

Steerage

I think people complain too much about air travel these days. What more could you possibly want on a three-hour flight -- than this?

It is, after all, a premier snack mix. Its sustenance is an embarrassment of plenty.

Just look at the size of that pretzel. It spans nearly two keys.

TWO keys!

Great Salad!

Should I care that there's no punctuation on the protective seal of a store-brand jar of mayonnaise? Probably not. 

It's not so much that I care, but I love what happens when you read the label literally:

"Convenient shatterproof jar makes a great salad."

Hmmm...  Delicious, BPA #2 plastic makes for great salad fixins.

Eat up!  It is the holidays, after all.

It really is the little things that make all the difference

Of late, I'm not much of a birthday person. I guess it's what happens.

So when people ask me what I want for my birthday, I usually reply, "Nothing." Because to me, it's silly at this age to reward someone for having completed yet another year -- or for beginning a new one, whatever your perspective.

Some months ago, my wife asked about the contents of a box in my office.

This box:

With glee, I took it down and opened it up.

 I explained that when MotoGP came back to the US (500 GP was a different series, but was held in the same regard) in 2005, it was a very special time. It was huge for the American riders in attendance; it was their opportunity to really shine for their home fans. Most of the American riders had one-off paint schemes on their motorcycle, special leathers and one-off helmet designs. 

One of those riders was Colin Edwards, shown at-speed coming down The Corkscrew, with his resplendent helmet design:

This design was so popular, and the representatives from the Arai Helmet Company received such paralyzing demand for this helmet design, they decided to make a commemorative, limited edition of this helmet. It was called the Edwards Legend - Laguna. There was a similar design, but in white, that Edwards wore in Valencia Spain; not surprisingly, this version was called the Edwards Legend - Valencia. 

In the summer of 2006, I had an opportunity to buy one of these helmets. So I did.  I truly think it's one of the most beautiful helmet designs Arai have ever pulled off. It so perfectly complemented the historical Yamaha livery, but it also stands on its own as a special.

So back to the box.

I open the box and give a similar explanation of the helmet's significance. 

"If it's so great, why don't you wear it?"

"Because it's a limited edition helmet, and if I wear it, it'll get messed up -- I mean, I know that's kinda' silly, but it's a piece of artwork to me."

"Well if you like it that much, why does it just sit in a box? You can't look at it in the box..."

"I dunno...

I guess I could get a helmet display case, but they're pretty expensive."

"Jerry (a friend of mine with another fabulous helmet from Arai commemorating Joey Dunlop -- the best TT road racer ever) got one from... I can't remember; some place on the west side."

And that was that.

In spite of my self-proclaimed ability to notice most things in life that others don't, I never noticed that the box was turned 90 degrees from how I left it. I guess I didn't think much of it, as my mother in-law is constantly rearranging furniture and everything else that's not bolted down in our house.

Now, comically enough, the day of my birthday, my son said, "I'm not gonna tell you what mommy got you for your birthday, daddy..."

"Can't tell you about the helmet-thing..."

Truly, I think he did great -- for a four year-old.  I mean, you can't really tell a four year-old a secret, tell him it's a secret, and that he shouldn't tell anyone else. 

The rest of that day, I'm thinking:

Helmet-thing...  What helmet-thing?  Did she get me another helmet?  How would she know what to look for?  Ah, well...  We'll see what it is when it's time, I guess...

The helmet-thing, turned out to be this:

And really, it's one of the best presents I've gotten.  Ever. The resourcefulness and attention to detail she paid to this gift can't be overstated. The wood is cherry, and unlike most cases that use plastic or plexiglass, this one uses glass for crystal-clear, distortion-free viewing.

It's one of the many reasons that I love her more than words could ever explain.

Snapshots

As a former photojournalist, I never much cared for snapshots. I still don't, really.  They often feel so contrived; so forced.

I think that I fought it too much. Sometimes a snapshot is all you need.  It won't fill four columns of newshole (which is so often what daily photojournalism is relegated to -- filler).

It can, however, be a bounty of love.

A snapshot can show us the embarrassment of riches we have, drawn on the bank of love. And until now, I may not have ever realized it.

I don't believe in luck, but I am fortunate. My wealth far exceeds any dollar value I could ever show on either side of a balance sheet. 

It's hard to imagine how life ever felt complete before I had my amazing and beautiful wife, and my boys. Especially my boys.