Jeff Likes to Tell Stories

Welcome to my blog. I haven’t kept up with it in a while. But I hope to get back to writing the types of stories you’ll find here. If my life was a sitcom, these might be considered scripts for the show. I write about my life, my interactions with my family and those strangers I encounter on a daily basis. My more serious writing can be found in various places. But I often post them on Medium.

Worker's Comp / 01.06.2004

At key junctures in our projects my boss will gather our team together and ask if we can "touch magic rings." Can all of us agree to sign off on the work we've done so far? It's one of his endearing phrases that has made difficult large scale undertakings, and even project management itself, well, manageable. Bringing order to what was once chaos is hard work. A lighthearted approach (sparking childhood memories of secret clubs and swashbuckling adventures) takes the edge off arduous tasks. One for all and all for one.

Not surprisingly, the rest of us have found that "touching magic rings" has begun to enter our everyday lexicon. "Bob, have you had a chance to look over that PMP? I need to get it over to OMB with a cc to OHR asap. Can we touch magic rings on that?" Rather than rings, Bob and I gently touch knuckles in manly contemporary acknowledgement. I laugh whenever I hear myself say these words. My coworkers nod in acknowledgement. My wife thinks I'm nuts.

Fairly Odd Parents-Past, News Outta My Control / 29.05.2004

Sailors: vintage and contemporary at the World War II Memorial, Washington, DC Ten years ago, during my father's final visit to DC, we were walking towards the Treasury Building to see how money is made. As we passed the Holocaust Museum, without warning, he said to me: "You know Jeffrey, I don't think I ever told you this but I was one of the first to liberate Dachau. No, he hadn't. And he never mentioned it again. He was not one to elaborate. In my earlier years I admonished him for his silence. For a moment I was shocked by his words....

Fairly Odd Parents-Present, News Outta My Control / 23.05.2004

The Mrs. and I were invited to the Veep's house this past week to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Art in Embassies program. That's Dick and Lynn Cheney's temporary abode.

Adam & Eve by Susie Krasnican

The real Ambassador in Moscow: Adam & Eve, ©1989, Susie Krasnican, glass

Forget exporting troops to distant foreign outposts. Art is our best missile defense system. And artists are our most accomplished and eloquent ambassadors. Susie has a piece in the Ambassador's residence in Moscow.

I am a humble Web hack and artist-raconteur. Where in the world can politico sightseeing and hobnobbing be so imbued with power? Especially in these times. It was not my first encounter with the Republican powers-that-be. And I wondered what type of opportunity I might have to affect public policy. On the other hand, I also considered the weather this time a year in Guantanamo.

Fairly Odd Parents-Present, Medicinal Properties / 15.05.2004

She looks a little tentative. I focus on her eyes, looking for clues as to why she is here. I notice she is clutching a small stuffed animal in her hands. We are both waiting.

Hollywood Squares is blaring on the TV. X has just won the square. I must concentrate on waiting, but the volume is too high and distracting. It takes me 30 minutes before I get up enough courage to cross the room and turn the thing down. I'm quite relieved no one objects. My angst is at the rim.

A nurse in her operating room scrubs walks nonchalantly across my path. Her hands are cupped together. Something small and encased in plastic comes along for the ride. She is delivering something to someone.

I am aware of everything as I wait for my wife to get out of surgery. My neck is stiff. I'm sitting in the audience of an off, off-Broadway play, more like community theater. Before me are construction workers, bureaucrats, husbands, and mothers, all part-time actors on stage. And I wait for each of their stories to unfold before me.

The doctor told me she'd be in the operating room for about 90 minutes. The closer that deadline approaches the tenser I become. Time moves slowly when you demand something else.

Professional Auteurism / 02.05.2004

In today's Washington Post it was revealed that Micah Ian Wright, who last summer published the wickedly creative book of repurposed war posters called You Back the Attack! We'll Bomb Who We Want! lied about his own war record.

Former Army Ranger turned antiwar comic book artist Wright had what he calls a moment of clarity after participating in the U.S.'s 1989 invasion of Panama.

Publisher's Weekly

Wright lied about his war record. He never served in the Rangers or the military and is now apologetic that his minor lie became a major mistake. That, by itself, is hard enough to swallow. It's difficult to see someone who speaks with such clarity be caught in such deceit. So unnecessary. Yet, what really caught my eye in the Post article was this gem:

Wright's book of satirically "remixed" World War II propaganda posters was a minor success, selling more than 20,000 copies [emphasis mine].

A minor success. That's an interesting oxymoron.

Barely Socially Acceptable, Commuting with Nature / 22.03.2004

In this month's Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable office politics meets low carb but tasty recipes. March madness: cell phone monodialogues® from the subway underground: We've got to nail this guy! If we don't we'll be knockin' on doors. Yeah, tomorrow at the latest. Wait a minute, I forgot to tell you. I had the best cauliflower at Janet's last night. Yeah, amazing. Well, you cut the head into little florets. And spread them on a cookie sheet. Preheat the oven to 450. Yeah, it's gotta be hot. Brush on double virgin olive oil And bake for 20 minutes. Are you writing this down? Then just salt and pepper to taste. But for the best...

Fairly Odd Parents-Present, News Outta My Control / 29.02.2004

"What brings you here today, Mr. Gates?" Dr. Warner thumbed through my chart without looking up. "I think I'm growing taller," I said. "That's impossible, Jeff. You're 54 years old."

Jeans that make Americans taller

It appears that Levi's®, one of the oldest maker of jeans, has quietly resized its pant legs. Whatever your previous and long standing inseam measurement, the bottom of your pants now rests comfortably at your ankle. The White House and the Office of Homeland Security refused to comment on the rumor they asked the jean maker to alter its sizes to make Americans appear taller than they really are. But sources close to the White House assured us this is not part of their election year strategy or their quest for global domination.

I have been wearing Levi's for decades. And while my waistline has fluctuated over the years my inseam has remained steady at 30 inches, top of my shoe to my crotch. While I am an average 5\'9\" I'm fairly long-waisted (and short-legged).

But all of a sudden my longstanding length is too short. At first I thought my jeans must have shrunk over the multitude of washings and dryings. Or maybe my posture improvement regimen had altered my height. I was standing straighter and taller than I had in years (worldwide domination aside). So a few weeks ago I bought a new pair. Same size. And while they seemed to be just right standing in front of the store's full length mirror, I was becoming suspicious.

Commuting with Nature / 23.02.2004

My iPod with Wifi

It's Friday afternoon. The weekend beckons after a long five days. Major Web site redesign almost ready for launch. Me: on the subway home with thoughts of a mellow Chardonnay nestled sweetly in a Reidel crystal glass. I'm listening to Pink as my antidote du jour for today's non-stop link checking on the redesign. I'm boppin' my head nonchalantly to the beat, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Just off to the right I notice someone moving his head to my beat. It's sort of like being in the left turn lane and seeing the car-in-front-of-you's turn indicator click to the same meter as yours. You wait for them to go out of sync. I wait for his head to miss. It doesn't. I watch. It's been five minutes and we're still together.

Both of us are lost in our own secluded worlds. But what if iPods came with built in WiFi --not just to download music to our stereos but with the ability to receive and broadcast other people's playlists? Not file sharing but music sharing. We could become our own mobile and micro DJs. Why limit our rotations to what we've downloaded to our units. Why not share them with others as they pass near us on our daily commute.

The range wouldn't have to be long. Envision a tuner where you could tune in and out people's "shows" as you commute home or walk down a crowded urban street. Think of the Meetup and Smart Mob possibilities. Everyone converges on 28th Street and K. You know your group by in-sync bobbleheads.