A Day in the Life of Chaos

It was a very special Christmas that year so long ago.  As a young man my family traveled to Europe in the winter.  There is something different about Europe in the winter.  It is a combination of many things.  The cold harkens back to my childhood Christmas’ spent in Alaska.  There is purity in the air.  The kind of Christmas that American’s imagine but left long ago.  One where commercialism and gifts are secondary.  Where cold weather is a sign for people to huddle together in conversation relishing a hot cup of mulled wine or coco.  The steam of their cups collides with frigid air as it drifts upwards into the night.  The smells of hot sausages  wafting through markets and ginger bread baking in ovens behind frosty shop windows.  Small market stalls and street side stores sell hand made goods that are as far from plastic packaged merchandise as we are from the round full moon hanging over our heads.   Some how in this panicked and manic 21st century, Europe has preserved the

In a professional career you come across all sorts of people but none have as much impact on you as the supervisors your work for.  They can make your professional life a pleasure and they can make it hell.  This year I am marking my 28th year on the job and with all sincerity I hope to stay around just just four more years.  Aside from loved ones and a few good friends I think 32 years is enough to devote to anyone or anything. My first two supervisors were illustrations of various styles.  The first was hell.  She was a demonic memory that made me question my initial decisions in life.  The second was a motherly personality never wishing to push the envelop.  After the fourth year of the second supervisor, I was convinced I might need a complete career change and contemplated trading my mind numbing cubicle for an academic life.  It was my third supervisor who changed my life.  She gave me wings by inviting me to work for her for close to six years on the  southern side of th

My son Noah and his girlfriend Momay I am still adjusting to having my son visit me.  No, it’s not like you think, I mean sometimes I just want him to stay.  Being a visitor still seems odd and when he leaves I still feel his presence only to realize he is gone.  Life is scary that way.  Each time he visits I know that the circumstances of life will pull us further apart.  Girlfriends, studies and future plans.  The process is entirely natural but it is still hard.  I wonder if animals ever miss their young or are humans the only ones.  I know my dog seems to miss me when I am gone.  Perhaps the apes join us in our despondency, I have a feeling they might.  Still their youth never leave for college and seldom strike out to new continents where they will make their way.   My life is a blessing and a social curse.  A blessing in that it has taken me to different ends of the earth and allowed me to live there.  To constantly feel different stimulation and to expand my life in ne

The following two reviews were written by my father related to two short films I made.  I put the You Tube links but they will probably not work at some point as all that we create is ultimately doomed to the  hard rives  of companies that will delete us in the blink of an eye...  I liked my father's reviews and wanted to note them for  posterity .   Project 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyw7CKXXaCY "The Heart of Darkness” — reviewed by travel writer, L. Walter Giggle. Explorer and writer  Sir P. Laurence Bauer — is best described as a “enthusiast.” He’s passionate to the point of being fanatical about his food, travel, friends, and even strangers. "The Heart of Darkness" gave him the perfect showcase for his most altruistic passion, namely finding out and sharing what makes other people light up — like turds and turning white women into stone sacrifices.  No one could blame him if he just saw an opportunity for a DEA vacation a

One night I was out to dinner with my now thankfully departed former-former boss.   It was his goodbye party and he chose the restaurant.  The food was excellent and speaking with him I told him how delicious I thought it was.  He responded by saying it was one of about six places in Chiang Mai where you could find good food.  At the time I had only been living in Chiang Mai, Thailand, for two weeks.  "Are you kidding?" I thought.  I wanted to vomit on his shoe. Thailand is a nation obsessed with food.  Food is everywhere.  Before I arrived, my Thai teacher told me that if they raise the price of food staples in Thailand the response is wide spread social unrest.  This is a country that feeds itself and does a good job at it.  In Thai a greeting saying "Hello" is literally "Have you eaten?"  If you say no they will find you food.   Most Thais don't even cook.  There is a network of family run food stands on the sides of the roads that cater

I can speak English, Spanish some Thai and a little Italian and German.  My wife speaks English, Tagalog, Illongo a little Cebuano and some Spanish.  Language is the most curious thing.  It is the illustration of our thoughts, emotions, feelings and desires.  It is the instrument of expression and without it we would be as limited as my loving dog.  I might be able to understand happiness, sadness, pleasure or pain, hunger and when one needs to poop.  Beyond that things start to break down. I have a lot of friends who I communicate with in English but English is not their first language.  This dynamic can frequently create misunderstandings.  Limited knowledge of a language often creates communication without nuance.  Stronger words chosen for convenience can often convey a message that was not intended.  There is always a danger of a misunderstanding, something blowing up that shouldn’t be.  In the face of such catastrophic consequence I maintain the policy of not getting piss