Hidden City

Ninety-Four to Go?

2009-11-03T18:06:00.004-05:00

As a follow-up to this proceeding post, I wonder if Adobe's use of this "error" screen when an iPhone attempts to view Flash content is analogous to Martin Luther nailing his Ninety-Five Theses to church doors?

This has to be painful for a lot of Apple faithful, since many, many of them use and/or develop for Flash; having your Pope tell you that it's a venal sin to do your job must feel like being a good Catholic prostitute.

Okay, yeah, we'll retire the analogy. I don't need hordes of silhouetted hipsters carrying Jonathan Ive designed torches and pitchforks surrounding my bunker.

An' things that go bump in th' night...

2009-10-31T15:43:00.004-04:00

Time and health issues got between me and my efforts at doing something special for my favorite holiday, and now I'm out of time. Enjoy your holiday, however you choose to celebrate it.

Your humble author begging for loose change in front of the crypt of the founders of Burdines, a recently-departed Florida department store whose festering corpse is currently animated by the spirit of some soulless NYC company.

I will be volunteering at the Asylum this evening. (It's fitting, since that was the name given my first apartment.) Should you be attending, please say hello. I'll be providing free brain exchanges to those too... infected... to continue.

A loose pile of personal effects found on a nearby grave site. Abandoned forever? No, I suspect not. Just... resting.

Remember, no matter the trappings of ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties, Hallowe'en remains our sole holiday devoted to the glory of the human imagination. Celebrate wisely. Even in the mind's eye, things seen cannot be unseen.

Happy Hallowe'en.

Eco of the Present

2009-10-29T01:28:00.002-04:00

Umberto Eco in 1994:

The fact is that the world is divided between users of the Macintosh computer and users of MS-DOS compatible computers. I am firmly of the opinion that the Macintosh is Catholic and that DOS is Protestant. Indeed, the Macintosh is counter-reformist and has been influenced by the ratio studiorum of the Jesuits. It is cheerful, friendly, conciliatory; it tells the faithful how they must proceed step by step to reach -- if not the kingdom of Heaven -- the moment in which their document is printed. It is catechistic: The essence of revelation is dealt with via simple formulae and sumptuous icons. Everyone has a right to salvation.

DOS is Protestant, or even Calvinistic. It allows free interpretation of scripture, demands difficult personal decisions, imposes a subtle hermeneutics upon the user, and takes for granted the idea that not all can achieve salvation. To make the system work you need to interpret the program yourself: Far away from the baroque community of revelers, the user is closed within the loneliness of his own inner torment.

You may object that, with the passage to Windows, the DOS universe has come to resemble more closely the counter-reformist tolerance of the Macintosh. It's true: Windows represents an Anglican-style schism, big ceremonies in the cathedral, but there is always the possibility of a return to DOS to change things in accordance with bizarre decisions: When it comes down to it, you can decide to ordain women and gays if you want to.

Naturally, the Catholicism and Protestantism of the two systems have nothing to do with the cultural and religious positions of their users. One may wonder whether, as time goes by, the use of one system rather than another leads to profound inner changes. Can you use DOS and be a Vande supporter? And more: Would Celine have written using Word, WordPerfect, or Wordstar? Would Descartes have programmed in Pascal?

And machine code, which lies beneath and decides the destiny of both systems (or environments, if you prefer)? Ah, that belongs to the Old Testament, and is talmudic and cabalistic. The Jewish lobby, as always....

This is why, in a nutshell, I avoid Apple products. I have never been a church-going guy, nor have I ever believed in infallibility. Zealots give me the heebie-jeebies, and people who queue up outside the deliberately religious architecture of an Apple Store to be the first to get the latest holy relic are just scary.

Personally, I think Apple is stifling innovation in technology, both through their deliberately restrictive policies and action, and through the culture they've created among tech writers who now believe that "no one will ever improve on an Apple product." An Apple tablet will be nice, but it will destroy any serious innovation, as corporate boards will insist that R&D be devoted to the pointless task of replicating the device's success. A pointless endeavor, anyway, as Apple zealots rarely consider the possibility of truth from the mouth of a heathen, let alone converting to another faith. A Windows-based tablet computing device could cure cancer and increase the user's sexual prowess and Apple choirboys would still belittle it.

But this is also a by-product of basing your company less on your product and more on your marketing. There can be no denying the brilliance and success of Apple's marketing: building a church on a foundation of empty words may have been easy a thousand years ago, but it is considerably more difficult now. Fortunately, successful marketing rarely involves thought, relying instead on appeals to emotions and belonging.

This methodology also leads me to the conclusion that were Apple a political organization, it would clearly be the Republican Party. The marketing tactics are the same: claim inherent superiority; ignore or belittle conflicting evidence; offer comfort through conformity to the group; stifle internal dissent; debate via personal attacks; and where possible use weak tokens to "represent" the other side.* It is a highly successful strategy, if one I find morally reprehensible.

I should point out, however, that not every fan of Apple products falls afoul of this. I have even known a few to break free of the programming and leave the flock to strike out on their own, moving to whatever software or hardware best serves them. Unfortunately — much like reasonable Republicans — their voices are overpowered by the lockstep rhythm of the marching white plastic jackboots.

*Something which troubles me about the "I'm a Mac/PC" ads is their use of John Hodgman as the "PC" character. Hodgman — a writer and raconteur for whom I have a great deal of respect — is a very vocal Apple supporter. For me, casting an avowed Apple zealot as the dimwitted, inept, and congenitally uncool representative of the Windows world carries certain uncomfortable echoes of white performers in blackface shuckin' and jivin' for the entertainment of the in-crowd.

Monologue

2009-10-16T17:48:00.000-04:00

The sky is a desaturated blue, a faded summer day filtering forward from my childhood. I'm sitting on my porch steps clutching a tumbler of ice water, wishing a breeze would stir. A rivulet of condensation runs across my knuckles, the glass sweating like I am.

"You gotta publish something soon, you know. Most people have probably already forgotten you. If you don't do something you might as well shut the site down. It's just a blog, fer chrissakes."

I don't bother turning around. I know who it is.

When I first started telling stories and writing them down as I child I didn't give the sources of my inspiration much thought. Stories just poured out of my head constantly, an unstoppable torrent of improbable events and characters. I hadn't yet become aware of the limitations the world tries to impose on creativity, and that we impose on ourselves.

As we get older, though, those limits lose their elasticity, and we often turn to muses for help. I've had many of them over the years, providing varying amounts of help and motivation. We tend to get the muse we need.

My most recent muse stopped showing up for work a few months ago, and after endless fumbling around, I got a new one. But he isn't working out too well.

"Look, like I said, it's just a damned blog. Blogs are for uninformed political debate, pictures of naked broads packed fulla silicone, and epic stories about what you had for lunch. No, wait, that's Twitter now, isn't it? Blogs are for epic stories about how your friend is a lying bitch and you hate her and all her friends and all that high school drama."

My muses have always helped by giving me inspiration. This guy won't even give me his name. More than likely he knows how fast I'll find out his name is Ancient Greek for "flaming asshole."

"Eh, whatever. No way are you writing for posterity here. Just type 'The End' and push the button. Quit playing around."

Still, he has a point. There aren't many people who really try to craft words for their personal sites. The Internet, for most people, is ephemeral, transient, a source of momentary distraction or a way to make a fast buck. Few people look to the web for permanence or quality. If no one cares, why am I wasting my time thinking about what I write?

"Hey, you know, I saw this great video on YouTube, this guy was reading stupid personal ads in all these funny voices. You've got a funny voice. I bet you could do that, and maybe make some money, too. You've got a webcam and a sense of h—"

"Look, knock it off, okay? I'm a writer, I write, it's what I do. If you aren't going to help me write, then just go fuck off somewhere."

There is no response. When I turn toward him he's leaning against the front door, slack-jawed, staring at me with one raised incredulous eyebrow.

"Whoa whoa, look who's suddenly growing a pair! It's about time!"

He's wearing one of my t-shirts. I hate that.

"Oh yes, another thing. Quit looking like me. It doesn't help, it's really creepy, and it's a little depressing, too. I'm not that fat."

He gives me a smart-ass little smirk. God, I hope I don't look like that. Please don't let me look like that.

"Ready to give up, then? Throw in the towel? Take that 'paper or plastic' job?"

My temples start to throb and my hands start to shake so that I'm afraid I'm going to drop the glass. I turn away from him and look up into the blue. Was the summer sky that same color when I was sitting on the patio in Carbondale, reading The Mystery of the Green Ghost and deciding I was going to be a writer?

I turn back to my muse, who is taking a deep chug from what was originally a full bottle of my good rum. I know what I need to do.

"Hey, listen to me for a second."

He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and looks at me, still smirking. "Sure, boss. What's up?"

"Thanks for your so-called inspiration, but your services are no longer required here."

He tilts his head and looks at me with curiosity.

"Are you sure about this? You don't need any help?"

"I'm... Yeah, I'm quite sure."

For the first time I notice that he's actually several years younger than me, hasn't lost as much of his hair, and doesn't resemble me much at all. He looks oddly familiar, though. A thought occurs to me.

"Hey, is your name Malcolm, by any chance? You remind me of—"

He puts down the (now empty) bottle, picks up his backpack, and laughs. The sound is surprisingly open and cheerful.

"It is if you say it is. You're the writer."

With that he heads down the street and toward the college.

I go inside and sit down at the computer to start writing. As I do, I remember something.

The bastard's still wearing my t-shirt.

Previously, on Hidden City...

2009-08-11T16:37:00.002-04:00

The aforementioned elephant has left the room, and is nearly ready to be described in some detail. However, I know there have been some newcomers poking around Hidden City, so I thought I'd take a moment and show them around. If you've been here before you may want to tag along, anyway. I've been writing here for over ten years, so you can be excused if you've missed something.

First, hi. I'm Marc Kevin Hall. I run this place, and am responsible for everything that happens here, other than the comments made by the occasional wisenheimer. A relatively brief autobiographical statement can be found at this eponymous address, marckevinhall.com. If you are interested in a quick background check, go there.

When I tell people I'm a writer I am frequently asked "What do you write?" In general, I write what needs to be written. It was recently said of me, somewhat tongue in cheek, I hope, "Words are your bitch." (Grammatically I suppose they would be my bitches, plural, but the sentiment is nonetheless accurate.) I love language — the rhythmic ebb and flow of conversation, poetry's sinuous and sensuous winding, the vigorous verbal torrent of a good rant — and find it as essential to my life as food, water, air, and love.

I've selected a few pieces from the archives here to give you a flavor for what I do with words when left to my own devices. I hope you find them entertaining.

Sometimes I talk with my cats. Sometimes they talk and I just listen. "Grey Wisdom" and "Climbing to the Moon" are two of the most popular stories.
My dreams tend toward the highly structured and (frequently) apocalyptic. If they seem interesting enough I write them down. I know — no sane person wants to read another's dreams. Read "Value," "Walking North," and "Gluttony," and see how crazy I am.
Where would we be without love? Well, I don't know about you, but I would have a lot less to write about, as "Prom Night" and "All Good Things" will show.
When looking for a good subject it's always best to stick to what is close at hand: your own life. Not that I am claim to fully understand it, mind you. "Slow Learner," "Baton," and "Directions" lift the tent flap on the big top* of my world.

And there you go — a brief tour of what has left my skull and made its way into the world. Keep in mind that these are just examples of the product of my own creative impulse, and not what I can do for money. If you want to see that, let's talk.

Thanks for stopping by. If you have any comments I'll love to hear them.

*Well, it was "big top" or "freak show," and I didn't want to offend my father with the latter.

The Elephant in the Room

2009-04-28T10:33:00.000-04:00

For the last three months there has been a pachyderm in my parlor. It would not be ignored, no matter how much effort I put into it, and when you are faced with something that huge, it's hard to concentrate on anything else. Fortunately, it's tenancy is coming to an end in a couple of days, so I can start to breathe again.

In the interim, consider this some mindful filler. I haven't been holed up in my room for three months, although at times it has felt that way.

Computer: I have a new toy, the obscenely small yet fully functional Sony Vaio P. It isn't the fastest thing in the world, but it is certainly sweet having a fully-featured laptop small enough to slip in to my purse. Since buying it in January it has rarely left my purse.

Film: I went to see Coraline, the stop-motion animated film by Henry Selick, director of Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach, based on the book by Neil Gaiman. It is, in a word, astounding. If at all possible see it in 3D, but if that option isn't available, go see the standard version. While ostensibly a film for children, it is probably more frightening for adults. It is far from a perfect adaptation — I take particular issue with the new ending, which removes one of the strongest features of the book — but the design, acting, and direction are astounding. I loved it.

Music, Recorded: Amanda Palmer is still rocking my world, and Who Killed Amanda Palmer hasn't left my rotation for several months now, which is something of a record for me. It is a brilliant, eclectic, outspoken, and emotionally-charged album, and one which will easily stand the test of time. Amanda has a unique voice, in the literal, musical sense, and in the metaphoric, artistic sense.

Music, Live: I've actually seen an uncommon number of live shows (for me, anyway). But the two standouts are the Amanda Palmer/Vermillion Lies show at the Culture Room in Fort Lauderdale, and the two times I've heard local Afro-Cuban Funk Jazz band Palo! Vermillion Lies is a great duo, performing cabaret-style numbers with macabre twists; they utterly charmed the audience from the opening lines of "Grandfather's Eyes." Amanda managed to make her audience feel like they were sitting in her living room just bullshitting and drinking wine while she pounded her piano and brought us from cheers to tears and back again; she also took requests from the audience via Twitter (@amandapalmer). It was a great, great show, and one I was sorry to see end.

Still in live music, Palo! is a prime example of the power of social media for the arts. I heard about Steve Roitstein and his band through Twitter (@gopalo) and Facebook when some of my friends caught up with him. Steve's a sharp guy, and knows how to use the power of social media for good, not evil. His band can kick out some serious jams, too. (And their lead singer, Leslie Cartaya... so, so good, and so, so hot!) They play in Miami often, so if you love music that makes you want to get up and dance, no matter how white you are, you owe it to yourself to hear Palo!

Books: I chanced across a marvelous novel about the early days of New Orleans and the birth of jazz called The Sound of Building Coffins, by Louis Maistros. One might call it a work of American magic realism; one might also call it an historical fantasy. What it really is, though, is a brilliant, complex, and poetic novel about one of my favorite cities. It has been called the first book since A Confederacy of Dunces to really capture this unique place, and I have to agree.

And in the midst of all this I managed to land myself in the hospital for a few days. It would seem that I have kidney stones, although I can't vouch for that, even having seen the CT scans. I mean, they are supposed to be as painful for a man as childbirth is for a woman, but I didn't notice. All my pain felt like appendicitis. Ah well, that's why they are doctors, and I'm just a guy who tells stories.

And that will have to do for now. Stay tuned for the pachyderm's departure, so I can explain a bit more about what's been going on in Hidden City lately.

7 x 7

2009-01-29T15:38:00.001-05:00

And so begins my final year under 50.

Your host, at work on his birthday

In many ways yesterday was my first social media birthday. In addition to the e-cards — both sweet and scandalous — my Facebook profile page was filled with well-wishes and digital gifts. Contacts on Twitter and Plurk sent their regards, as well. The ease of communication granted by a handful of keystrokes and the click of a mouse makes it so much simpler to offer greetings to people near or far, and greatly expand the circle of friends who have time to spend with you, even if only virtually.

This is shaping up to be a year in motion for me, with quite a bit of change in my life, leading toward my fiftieth birthday. The two, though, aren't intentionally related; there are no red sports cars or besequined blond nymphettes in my future. Sometimes fate just conspires to bring symbolic gestures to life without our planning them.

But things could be worse. I have a lot of friends, both local and virtual, who will support me along the way. The shifts — although some will clearly be difficult — will lead to an overall positive change. And you know, perhaps it is merely my own vanity, but in looking at yesterday's birthday photo, I think I am remarkably well-preserved for forty-nine. (It's all that regrettable clean living, I assure you. There's no portrait stashed in an attic here. Of course, if there were I would have lost track of it by now.)

Stick around. These should be interesting times.

It's an ever bigger honor..

2009-01-19T18:41:00.006-05:00

I am not terribly good at self-promotion. Nonetheless, I wish to point out that two of my pieces, "Directions" and "Climbing to the Moon," have been nominated for South Florida Daily Blog 2008 Post of the Year.

I encourage you to vote for the entry of your choice, of course; there's a lot of fine work on display. However, I do hope you'll give consideration to my two entries. I'm really rather proud of them both.

This is also as good a time as any to thank all of you, my readers, for your support over the years. Writing is a lonely business in the best of times, casting stones into a pond and hoping that the ripples will return; knowing that you keep coming back, and reading, and often enjoying my work makes the effort worthwhile. Thank you.

04/25/2008

2009-01-11T23:00:00.004-05:00

Should you ever visit Hidden City and find that the most recent post is dated April 25, 2008, do me a kindness and drop me a line to tell me? My web host, for reasons beyond my ken, periodically decides that they are going to replace my index file with an old one. This causes the timewarp that just took place again.

Perchance

2009-01-04T23:00:00.000-05:00

This may be an opportune moment to advise new readers (and to remind the regulars) that I have dreams that are extraordinarily vivid, and often irrationally narrative in nature. Yes, I am aware most people do not dream like this. Yes, it can be interesting, and a topic for lively conversation. No, it is not something I would wish on you. Some mornings I wish my dreams were of the "every woman who's ever turned me on comes over to play naked Twister with me" variety, but no. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch, and my descriptive powers come from the wounds inflicted by these dreams.

With that, some of the visions I set into words are a little disturbing; such is the nature of dream. Just because I dreamed it doesn't make it true, or even how I necessarily feel. It is just that sometimes, when I sleep I travel down roads not taken, or not yet taken.

So after you read Value, please don't call for an intervention, okay?

Dawn

2009-01-01T09:50:00.003-05:00

The sun was hidden behind an incoming cloud bank when we first arrived at the beach this morning, which was not an auspicious omen.

Eventually, though, it appeared, slinking out upside down, with only the bottom half visible. It was quite striking, though, and maybe a good omen that this will be a year of unexpected and joy

I know this year is going to bring some profound changes into my life, changes that are long overdue. I hope 2009 brings adventure, joy, peace, and magic into yours, as well.

Happy new year!

Traditions

2008-12-31T13:19:00.002-05:00

Sunrise for 2008

Tomorrow morning I'll be making my annual trek to Haulover Beach to watch the sun rise on 2009.

Of course, anyone within the reach of these words is welcome to join me. It's a low-key affair — I go and set up my camera and then take some photos, reflect a bit on the year just passed and the year to come, and then go get breakfast. Sadly, the Rascal House is gone, so there won't be any corned beef hash for me this year.

But if you plan to do something sensible like sleep in, or something youthful like dancing until Sunday morning, or celebrate in some way not fit for discussion in a public forum, let me take this opportunity to wish you a new year of positive change, of adventure, of imagination, of health, of magic, and of love.

May we experience all of life's joys, together.

Wishes

2008-12-25T23:01:00.001-05:00

My father, my younger brother, and me, 1965

I wish you joy and love and peace and imagination.

Traveler

2008-11-30T21:03:00.001-05:00

I'm falling from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. I can't remember if I fell, was pushed, or jumped, but I hit the asphalt headfirst and go through it, like diving into a gritty, oily pool of darkness. The thickness is filling my eyes and nose and mouth while I am wondering if I can still breathe.

I gasp and disentangle myself from the sweat-soaked sheets, and fumble for my phone to check the time. Not even five o'clock. Damn it. I flop back down on the now cold and damp sheets, swearing loudly. There is a shuffle, and a scratch at the bedroom door.

Shortly I am sucked back into the viscous blackness, only rhythmic pulses of red light illuminating a blasted undersea landscape. When the pace accelerates I begin to realize it's my heartbeat, and wake up again. I notice I am still clutching the phone, so I send a brief text message to a fellow traveler in dreams.

Around six I give up and struggle upright, feeling my sluggish blood begin to circulate. I walk unsteadily to the door, and open it on a sea of swarming cats. I mumble a good morning to them and bend to scratch heads, remembering too late that I shouldn't bend over until my body has adjusted. I fall heavily onto the hardwood floor, nearly flattening a slow-moving feline. I decide to lie on the floor for a while and pet the cats. I still have my phone in my hand, so while I am getting covered in cat hair I have virtual tea with my distant friend. It's odd and silly, yes, but also good and comforting. I live in so many worlds.

Soon I drag myself back up and walk to the bathroom, take care of my body's immediate concerns, and splash water over my face. In the mirror I note I look vaguely deranged, like a mad scientist after a bender, and spend some time considering cultivating the style to deter annoying and easily frightened co-workers, but think better of it. I feed the cats, put coffee on, and take my morning handful of pills (now up to twelve at a time). I also think about eating before deciding against it, a decision I am sure I will regret later. When it is ready I take my coffee to the sanctum sanctorum. I check my mail, the news, and my myriad social networks. I consider responding, but decide to wait for the coffee to kick in. When I look at the piles of media and art and sundries needing attention around the office I sigh heavily and go back for more coffee. My body drinks coffee while my mind drinks data and my soul drinks tea.

Once my informational and chemical needs are met I head into a scalding hot shower and begin to drag three very sharp steel blades across my skull, neck, and face. As I do so I reflect on the personal choices leading me to start each day with the chance of excessive bleeding, and wonder if it is worth writing about. I decide it is not.

In my book-lined bedroom I select my work wardrobe based on the desired effect: loud and bright to encourage interaction, dark and creepy to encourage distance, professional jacket and tie to sow uncertainty about my future career plans. Today I decide on indecisive browns, then select the suitable purse and gadgets for the day's plans. I say goodbye to the cats, I set the burglar alarm, I lock the three deadbolts in the vault door, I put out some food for my porch companions, and I get in the car and begin my professional day.

As I drive to work I observe the strata of prosperity, suburbia, and crushing poverty. It preys on me, but I attempt to avoid depression. I fail. Miami does that to you. Once downtown I park in the garage, reminded that I pay $160/month for the privilege of working for my employer. Again I attempt to avoid picking up additional depression; again, I fail.

I walk briskly to my building, then to my office. I manage to avoid some "hallway meetings" because I am wearing brown; people don't know if it is safe to approach me. Before I can even start checking my e-mail I am brought numerous petty concerns needing my attention, usually support requests from illiterate, incompetent, or self-important employees, or warning about executives marking their territory. I sigh, and begin to solve things.

For the next eight or nine hours I do my job, trying — sometimes successfully — to avoid tearing into persistent idiots attempting to thwart me. I read other people's e-mail, write documentation and proposals, analyze processes, oversee web production, dispense advice — professional and personal — to my co-workers, breathe in the toxic mold spores pouring from the AC vents, and generally wait for the moment where I feel I have caused or healed enough damage for one day. Throughout this I drink actual coffee, virtual (and actual) tea, and Red Bull; eat a salad; and check my e-mail. Sometimes there are fights; sometimes there are successes; sometimes there are kudos; mostly there is tedium. The days of feeling as though I make a difference have long ago passed. Finally, around 7:30pm I drive home.

Once returned I fill my mind with the day's events missed while earning my paycheck, then sometimes do a little socializing (mostly on-line). Occasionally I remember to eat; occasionally it is something healthy. When I can convince my recalcitrant brain to cooperate I do some writing. If we can't reach an agreement, I read or research or watch DVDs. I soak myself in the world, filling the folds of my brain with information and images and psychologies and observations and magic for future use in my travels.

When I feel myself starting to fade I conduct my evening rituals: setting the alarms; saying goodnight to my feline roommates; silently letting my mind reach out to friends old and new, here and gone; wrapping myself in the past and resting my head on the future. And slowly I fall through this world and back into the luminiferous aether where my heart lives.

And I am wandering the halls of a lavender-scented house. The ceiling is made of crystalline shards, reflecting the light from the oil lamp I am holding as I walk past oddly illuminated paintings toward the closed door at the end of the hall. I hear soft breathing coming from within the room, and distant thunder on the wind. The door will open at my touch; I know this. My hand reaches for the smooth brass knob, trembling slightly. And then...

Starfruit

2008-11-28T10:54:00.002-05:00

Some years back my father bought at carambola tree, commonly known as starfruit. He liked having it quite a bit. I think the fact that is grew easily in South Florida appealed to him, and he liked the way they taste, too, a kind of citrus flavor with an apple texture.

The tree had grown to a modest size when Hurricane Andrew struck. The tree itself, being tropical, would have weathered the storm without incident. The neighbor's Australian pine, however, didn't fare so well, and collapsed right onto the starfruit tree, splitting it in half. In the midst of the devastation it was a tiny thing, insignificant, really, but it was a shame, nonetheless.

A few weeks later my wife and I were visiting an exotic fruit show, and bought him a small carambola to plant, so he could replace the one nearly destroyed by the hurricane. He was thrilled, and planted it a few yards away from the split trunk of the old tree.

For a while things went as you'd expect. You old tree faded, and the seedling took solid root. Then one day something happened, and the sapling suddenly died. Meanwhile, the older tree my father had refused to remove from the yard with the split trunk kept going, scarring over the split, and eventually recovering to an even bigger and more productive state than before the storm.

I am sure there is a moral there somewhere, but I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader. I'm no Aesop.

Open your heart and your ears

2008-11-28T09:29:00.003-05:00

Today is StoryCorp's National Day of Listening. As a reminder, here's the concept:

This holiday season, ask the people around you about their lives — it could be your grandmother, a teacher, or someone from the neighborhood. By listening to their stories, you will be telling them that they matter and they won’t ever be forgotten. It may be the most meaningful time you spend this year.

Here's a Do-It-Yourself Guide to get you started. It includes interview tips, sample questions, recording ideas, and so on. When you are done, please consider sharing your story with others.

Listen Here

2008-11-26T01:29:00.001-05:00

A few weeks back I was privileged to hear Dave Isay speak at Books and Books. He is the founder of StoryCorps, a marvelous oral history project featured regularly on NPR. The gist of StoryCorps is simple. Mobile recording studios are sent around the country, and ordinary people are given the chance to interview someone in their life about pretty much anything. A trained facilitator is there to do the recording, and to help you out if you need a little nudge to get going. Once your time is up, you are given a CD containing your interview, and if you agree to it, a second copy is given to the Library of Congress as part of their oral history collection.

It is a brilliant idea. We all have stories to tell, but so often we are too wrapped up in our own lives to listen to the tales told by others. StoryCorps gives us an opportunity to listen — to really listen — to someone else, and to hear their story.

The short excerpts broadcast on NPR are wonderful, as are the book and CD collecting interviews from the first ten thousand interviews of the project, Listening is an Act of Love [book]|[cd]. It is a remarkable achievement, and one which continues to this day largely through supporters' donations.

This year they have added something new: the National Day of Listening on Friday, November 28. Here's the concept, in their own words:

This holiday season, ask the people around you about their lives — it could be your grandmother, a teacher, or someone from the neighborhood. By listening to their stories, you will be telling them that they matter and they won’t ever be forgotten. It may be the most meaningful time you spend this year.

If you've never done something like this before, they have a really nicely done Do-It-Yourself Guide to get you started, including interview tips, sample questions, recording ideas, and so on. And when you are done, if you like you can share your story with others.

I am planning to do this, although I haven't decided yet who I will be interviewing. When I am done, if I have their permission I will run the edited story here. I hope some of you will consider participating, as well. Here is our world of blogging and personal sites we tend to get wrapped up in our own worlds and words; perhaps this would be a good time to listen to someone else for a change.

Untold Stories

2008-11-25T09:30:00.001-05:00

I don't often participate in these blogging meme-ish things, but it has been a while, and Devyl asked so nicely that I decided to make an exception. I never promised to be prompt, though.

So now I'm supposed to tell you all five interesting and/or fun facts about myself. This becomes difficult when you've been operating a personal site for over eight years. You people know rather a lot about me already, and if you don't, then you can find out with a stroll through the archives. So here are five stories I've not yet told on Hidden City.

I've only had one significant physical injury in my life so far (unless you count things like a tiny stroke and a ruptured gall bladder). It was a high school roller-skating injury, a broken wrist caused by a coerced attempt at a trio skate. Yes, even in my teen years women were tearing me apart.
The first woman I planned to marry went insane, and eventually started tearing pages from the Bible and mailing them to me, marked up with purple Flair pen.
I do not like the sound of my speaking voice, although other people seem to enjoy it. Some people have seemed to really enjoy it, if you catch my drift. In spite of this, and of my years of musical experience, I cannot sing. In fact, my singing is so relentlessly awful that people who love me dearly shush me when I start.
For many, many years I was a specialist in emotional triage. Most of my relationships — and many of my friendships — were based around helping to heal the emotional damage suffered at the hands of other people. I've recently given that up, but finding a workable balance between my innate empathy and my tendency to ignore my own needs was more difficult than I would have guessed. I think I have it now.
I love the creative arts: writing, films, music, art, dance, theater, whatever. I am not a genre snob in either direction (although I do have a weakness for the fantastic and surreal): my only criteria is that the work be created honestly, and and for the sake of expression and communication, not to exploit a demographic niche market. This makes it difficult to answer the question "What kind of music do you like?"

And at this point in a meme I am supposed to "tag" other people to answer these questions. No. If you are interested, feel free to run with it, and if you let me know I'll happily read your interesting and/or fun facts. For that matter, use the comments if you are so inclined.

Uniting for Equality

2008-11-23T11:13:00.002-05:00

If you are a South Florida local who is pissed off about the passage of the hate-fueled Amendment 2, please consider attending SAVE's Uniting for Equality rally/meeting today. It is the beginning of the creation of a grassroots movement to build popular support for overturning the amendment, and for the creation and preservation of rights for all people.

The event runs from 5-7pm today at Unity on the Bay, 411 NE 21st Street in Miami. Come and find a way to channel your anger and frustration into positive change.

Some brief thoughts on sundry topics

2008-11-17T13:53:00.002-05:00

To start, congratulations to Laura Kathryn for completing the Phoenix Komen for the Cure 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk. This is the second such walk in six weeks, meaning she's walked well over 120 miles in that time (given her practice walks, and day-to-day running around). It's a commendable effort for a worthy cause from an extraordinary woman. So help her out and donate a couple of bucks to the cause in her name, okay?
The voting is over for the South Florida Daily Blog Post of the Month, and I am humbled to announce that Climbing to the moon was selected as the winner for September and October. My thanks to everyone who voted for it, or who just care enough about writing to take the time to vote. There are some terrific writers in this area, and I am honored that you think my work compares to theirs. Thank you.
I spent Saturday and Sunday at the Miami Book Fair International. The highlights for me were seeing the presentations by Scott McCloud (Understanding Comics, Zot!) and Art Spiegelman (Maus, In the Shadow of No Towers). Both are terrific speakers who understand how to use presentation software to support their talks, and not supplant them. The fact that they are both geniuses — and very, very funny — doesn't hurt, either.
Last, for now, I want to direct you toward one of the best-written and most interesting sites in the South Florida area. Tile Fort Lauderdale is run by the pseudonymous "Mary Tiler Moore," who paints wonderful characters on small tiles and then leaves them to be found in various locations. For each tile she writes and posts a fabulous character sketch, delightful and entertaining vignettes which stand alone. Couple the stories with the light-hearted art and the brilliant concept and you have one of my favorite sites. See for yourself.

An offer I hope you won't refuse

2008-11-15T09:06:00.004-05:00

I know that everyone is feeling the pinch of our collapsing economy these days, but I would like to ask for your support for a good cause, and for someone very special to me.

Komen for the Cure is an organization dedicated to finding a cure for breast cancer. They conduct a very large number of events around the country to raise money and awareness for this cause, including the Race for the Cure here in Miami (in which I participate every year). In addition to these 5K events, they also do 60 mile 3-day walks in certain locations.

Laura has participated in the Phoenix 3-day for a number of years. This year she extended her commitment to include the Washington, DC 3-day, as well, which took place six weeks ago. This also doubled her fund raising commitment.

While she made her goal for the DC walk, in between the two events our economy started to fall apart (or the collapse at least attracted the public's attention). This has made reaching her goal for the Phoenix walk a challenge, to say the least.

So I am making a plea to you, readers of Hidden City. If you can find some lose change, a couple of dollars, whatever this undeclared recession allows, please contribute to help Laura reach her goal, and to help defeat this terrible disease. We would bother really appreciate it.

And, taking a cue from public radio, I will offer you a premium. I haven't formally announced it yet, but in the next couple of months I will publishing a small book of my stories. If you donate $20 or more and list "from Hidden City" in the donation dedication, I will give you a free copy of my book (suitable for reading on the train, at the beach, on — ahem — on the throne). How's that for a deal?

Thank you for reading, and please consider helping cure this terrible disease, and helping someone dear to me at the same time.

Miscellanea

2008-11-12T05:30:00.000-05:00

Please forgive this, another scattershot catch-up entry while I continue sorting out other matters.

I am honored to report that Climbing to the moon is a finalist for the South Florida Daily Blog September/October Post of the Month. If you are so inclined, your vote for my modest effort would be appreciated. However, if you are a resident of South Florida (or have some connection to the area), you owe it to yourself to keep up with SFDB. Rick does an excellent job of keeping up with the local writers and media, and providing his own color commentary. (And I am not ass-kissing, either; the contest is a popular vote.)
The good people at Miami Beach 411 have a new venture: Miami Tour Company. I've not yet taken one of their tours, but I know that Gus, Michelle, and company take a lot of pride in both their knowledge of the South Florida area, and in their ability to provide good service to their clients.
The Miami Book Fair is underway, and once again their information distribution leaves a lot to be desired. Fortunately, the rest of the fair seems solid. I am particularly happy to note the addition of comics and graphic novels to the offerings, including tonight's "A Celebration of the Life and Work of Will Eisner." Eisner virtually created long-form graphic novels, and was the first to codify the grammar of visual narrative storytelling. The panel also includes Scott McCloud, a personal hero of mine for his amazing scholarly work Understanding Comics, which should be required reading for anyone involved in visual communication (and is also a lot of fun).

There is water flowing underground in the Hidden City. Stay tuned for further developments.

Bittersweet symphony

2008-11-11T13:41:00.001-05:00

After the elation and bitterness comprising Election Day 2008 — elation that Obama won; bitterness that Florida, Arizona, and California voters feel that not everyone deserves civil rights — it's taken me a while to get back up to speed. So, given that the atomic turbines are not yet up to power, here are some scattered reflections.

It had been years since I'd been called a filthy sodomite. I didn't expect the streak to be broken by a sweet old couple heading in to vote. How dare they call me filthy?!
Oh, okay, I'm not a sodomite, either.
There were only a couple of McCain supporters at my polling place. The main one was an oddly-familiar tiny old veteran who seemed genial enough until he got his rant going. And even though he was only there to support McCain, he still went out of his way to tell voters to vote yes on amendment two. It took most of the day, but eventually I realized he was Hank Hill's father from King of the Hill.
There were a fair number of people who had made up their minds before arriving at the polls, coming in with cheat sheets. They seemed genuinely surprised when I responded with "Thank you for taking the time to consider the issues" and didn't pressure them.
Working with the SAVE team was a great experience. These are some dedicated, hard-working, and loving people who are giving their all to fighting inequality, and I am proud to have worked them in the past and against Amendment 2, and will happily work with them again. (I miss my buddy Pamela already.)
Going to News Lounge with the team after the polls closed was nice, even if it was off-the-rails crazy in there. The sadness at realizing that we had lost our fight for equality was ameliorated (for most people) by Obama's win, and being swept up by the amazing and unfettered joy in the room during his acceptance speech is something I'll not soon forget.

The struggle for equality and civil rights isn't over yet, although this is a set-back. As long as I am able, I'll keep working to see that all my friends who choose a life partner can enjoy the same rights and privileges.

Election Day

2008-11-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

I'll be spending today at a Miami Shores precinct, encouraging people to Vote No on Amendment 2. And I mean "the day" as in the entire day, from before the polls open until the I've spoken to last person allowed in line at night. This issue is important enough to me that I am using a vacation day to do what I think is right, and help ensure that basic human rights aren't taken away from unmarried couple in Florida.

So if you are in the Miami Shores area Tuesday and want to say hello, stop by the C. Lawton McCall Community Center (9617 Park Dr, Miami Shores) and look for the bald fellow in the SAVE t-shirt. I'd love to meet some new people.

The sound bite

2008-11-03T22:14:00.003-05:00

If you have not yet voted but plan to, please vote no on amendment two. In spite of the distortions you may have heard, this proposed amendment doesn't "protect" marriage at all; it simply removes rights from all unmarried couples, gay or straight. When is it ever a good thing to remove someone's human rights?

Florida already has some of the most homophobic laws of any state in the nation, including four which make gay marriage illegal. Voting No on Amendment 2 will send a clear message to the hate-mongers and bigots: Floridians believe in fairness, equality, and human rights.

Thank you for your support.