the things we think but do not say

Did I ever tell you how much I love what I do?

I work for a company that designs things, services and experiences. My last project, the design of a new children’s out patient clinic in Florida was probably the most satisfying of my career. Partly because I saw the whole project from beginning to end, but mainly because it was a complete project that had us designing environments, architecture and way finding signage, products and print graphics, protocols and services. We even designed some uniforms.

Hospitals and clinics are often disorientating and really can be a lot better. With that in mind, I’d like to make a wish list of dream projects that are huge, complex and often over looked. Imagine if you can take a really familiar, understood and generally crap experience and it better. Great even. Apple did it with retail, why can’t one do it with something else?

So, a list then. Some classics:

An American high school. I only know American high schools through watching TV shows like “Saved By the Bell” and “Dawson’s Creek”.

An airport. They’re huge and really, really complex. Can someone please make a better airport.

A cinema. It’ll take more that a large comfy seat to resurrect the movie theatre experience. And what’s with pop corn costing as much as the tickets. Damn your buttery goodness.

A spectacle store. You’ve got two choices: Vision express where it feels like I’m Blockbuster, or a super snooty store where everyone looks down their nose at you, even if you’re dropping $750 on a pair of glasses.)

A grocery store. The best one I’ve ever seen was called Marsh in a Chicago suburb. It’s brilliant. It makes all other stores feel like dirty warehouses.

What other ones are there? What experience do you regular have to go to, pay good money for and is just rubbish?

It’s near the end of the year and I just did a nice round up of some Chicago photos that I hadn’t previously reviewed or had been meaning to upload. I’ve spent a lot of trips in towns other than Chicago this year, but when I have had a chance to wander around town and had my Nikon, I’ve tried to take photographs of the city that you might not have seen before.

I really do love it here.

I hope you enjoy the photos.

Somewhere in the last five years since I moved to Chicago, my stomach and I stopped talking to each other. I don’t know when we started to have a falling out, but after years of complacency and familiarity, we’ve just stopped communicating like we used to. We used to do fun things together like roast duck, roast chicken, mac and cheese. Nowadays, it seems like we only talk when there’s something wrong.

I was at least 10 pounds lighter when I lived in England, when I was a lithe 25 years old. Skinny even. Now I’m not saying that I’m a ‘deuce, deuce and a half’ but I’ve definitely gotten a tummy and it’s not going away any time soon. So with the memory of my sleek figure disappearing faster than a new promotion at Wendy’s, I have to question what’s going on quick:

Is my owning a car just taking away the bare minimum of exercise I did each day?
When did I start to lose touch with what is a realistic portion size?
Why is the deep seated desire to ‘clean my plate’ still driving my eating habits?
When did a kids’ meal become the actual volume of food a grown adult should eat?
Why do corn dogs taste so damn good?

These questions seem to fly through my mind recently when I started to notice that I was feeling sick after eating. Not just slightly full, but actually uncomfortable from having eaten too much. Jesus, when did I become such a greedy guts? I’m about six months away from that vicious cycle of feeling fat, and eating to make myself feel better. Then feeling depressed about eating too much. Then binging to feel better. Somewhere along the way, I think start purging. Before you know it, I’m on Oprah, and a crane is lifting me out of a Aeron chair, still clutching the Nintendo DS in my clammy, Cheeto-orange hands.

So the plan (suggested by my wise girlfriend) is this:

1. E-a-t s-l-o-w-l-y.
2. Take any meal that I’ve portioned for myself and especially by someone else, and halve it. Really.
3. Drink water during my meal.
4. Get myself a winter bike trainer thingy so I can remind my body of the good ol’ days when I used to bike everywhere.

I’d welcome any other tips!

My good friend Jerry O’Leary got married the other week to his long time sweet heart Jessy. It was tender, unpretentious and intimate. Before they got married by the alter, they walked down the aisle and danced closely together in front of the wedding party. It was so sweet and caring that it was waterworks everywhere. I think that I’m becoming a fan of a smaller, less showy weddings these days. It can seem sometimes that a wedding is more of an excuse for the parents to show off to their friends than it is for the two that are getting married.

In case you were wondering, the small knife held in Jerry’s sock, is a old, traditional Irish custom: If the new bride on their wedding day decides to run away, the groom is obliged to cut her throat. Charming.

I was on hand as a guest and to take photos (I’m available for Bar Mitvah’s and office parties too). The photos from the day are here. Enjoy!

I heard once that ‘down on the farm’ referred to a trip to the CIA headquarters over in Langley, Virginia. While that would have made for a great blog post, this was a different sort of trip altogether. Instead, I went to a real farm for Thanksgiving this year.

My hosts, the McKennas are the just about the most genuine, kind hearted, honest to goodness Americans that one could ever wish to meet and they were gracious enough to let me drop into their family weekend.

They own a farm down in Southern Illinois and put my city boy, pansy ass to work. And over those few days I had a few firsts:

My first time driving a tractor (a John Deere model A tractor, designed my Henry Dreyfuss),
My first time driving a ‘Bobcat’ mini bull dozer,
My first time operating a chain saw (for five terrifying minutes),
My first time splitting wood logs (with the help of an ingenious multi-McKenna designed apparatus),
My first time wearing overalls without a hint of irony.

One of the marvelous things you notice while staying there was just how quiet it is. I slept better over those few days that I think I’ve had in months. Ending the day exhausted from the only hard physical work I’ve done all year, was a welcome change.

I even got to try out a dodgy American accent. “I’m powerful hungry ma!”

Just recently, I bought a copy of “In the American West” by Richard Avedon. This book is remarkable and the photographs are stunning. It’s very inspiring and made me think about doing a riff of his book titled ‘In the American Midwest’, about the people of the southern Illinois and surrounding states. So with that frame work, here are some photos from the weekend. I hope you like ‘em.

Since I got my driver’s license, I’ve driven whenever I can. I’m a lot like that 16 year old kid that you see with a Honda Civic and a huge exhaust, trying to learn how to A) signal before turning and B) put it in reverse and not drive, when you want to go back wards.

I’m also reasonably new to the current state of radio in Chicago. And boy is it a bunch of crap. Like a new born baby, innocent with hope, I try the radio each day and sometimes every ten minutes, hoping that this time it won’t be rubbish. How many times can a radio station play Kanye West’s “Gold digger”?

“Now, for the commercial free hour! Here’s Sean Paul’s new hit!” Please. Firstly, Sean Paul can bite a fat one, and secondly the whole show is paid for by Clear Channel’s advertisers, so it’s a total sham. Endure a ‘commercial free hour’ if you can and the play list is just endless “hit” after “hit”. “Imagination Free Hour” is more like it.

The only stations that I know that save entire experience is WLUW on 88.7 from Loyola University and WNUR on 89.3 from North Western. NPR is of course always handy, but it’s not exactly Billboard 100.

Here’s a selection from today’s jamz. How do some of these songs even get airplay?

Laffy Taffy by D4L:

I’m lookin fa Mrs. Bubble Gum
I’m Mr. Chik-O-Stick
I wanna (dun dun dunt) (oh)
Cuz you so thick
Gurlz call me Jolly Rancher (Oh)
Cuz I stay so hard

We Be Burnin’ by Sean Paul:

So when you see the S.P. floatin don’t provoke him
Cause the girls we be poking have to smoking.

One Wish by Ray J:

If I had one wish, we would be best friends
Love would never end, it would just begin
If I had one wish, you would be my boo
Promise to love you, trust me I’ll trust you

Some of you might have seen an excellent documentary called ‘Spellbound‘ about the anxieties, pressure and constant studying involved in the world of competitive, national level, Spelling Bees. Well for me, what I saw recently topped that.

I got a great slice of America pie a couple of weekends ago; a look into the heated, passionate, and highly competitive world of Forensics. Now, for those of you who are think that forensics merely means ‘the scientific investigation of criminal events’, then let me tell you, you’re living a sheltered life. There’s lots of people (and I wasn’t one of them) that know and love the ‘competitive speech’ kind of Forensics.

The National Forensics League is a organization which holds and runs events in high schools all across the country. And I saw a national level event for a few hours while my girlfriend’s brother competed in it.

Since I’ve never heard or seen anything like this, I was more than a little apprehensive about the thought of listening to hours of loud mouthed, over achieving kids. But I’ll be the first to say that these guys were pretty impressive.

For ten minutes, these speakers were persuasive, compelling and funny in their pieces. I think I’ve seen a lot of presentations from a lot of professionals in the design business do a lot worse than these guys.

But it wasn’t all gold stars that day. Some were truly terrible. But when you’re 14, a lot of things about you are rubbish. There was this one girl that gave a speech about ‘dancing through life’, where by she would intermittently pepper her talk with a five second dance. She was in need of a better forensics coach. In fact, most high schools that have forensics programmes, have forensics coaches. And yes, there are even forensic camps that you can send your kids too.

There was one part of forensics culture though that completely threw me: everyone wore suits. All the boys and all the girls were dressed as though they were having interviews at Accenture. Little consultants running around, wondering if they’ll “break finals” or whatever these ‘krazy kidz’ like to call it.

Incidentally, I think that this is only the second time I’ve ever been to a real American high school. Thankfully I had my camera.

Anyone that knows me will understand that I’m easily influenced. Easily persuaded. Negotiable is my middle name. And for the last 29 and three quarter years, I’m been under the impression that owning a car is cool. But until only recently, I’ve never had the chance to drive one.

On my last trip to Orlando I rented a huge Ford Expedition to drive the team around in. This thing is so large that I just look absurd in it. The wing mirrors are the size of a Prius. That’s me on the right, looking all gangsta and shit. It was enormous fun to drive and when you lay into the gas, it goes from ‘zero to 1 gallon’ in about 6 seconds.

But rental cars and regular bouts of driving my girlfriends wonderful new Golf TDI just makes me want one more and more.

Have you seen that movie with Steve Carell, ‘The 40 year old virgin”? Well, I’m like that guy. But instead of ‘pussy’, it’s a car title I’ve put on a pedestal. Sadly the same apprehensions, anxiety and expectations of wanting to lose your virginity to the hottest babe is replicated with wanting the coolest car around. Should I get an Audi A4? Should I get a Golf GTI? How about one of those tasty little Scion tcs? Argh!

The largest problem in all this wanting (and I was wanting one so bad) is that I couldn’t get over wanting a beautiful, cool car, that I could afford. And my ego was the most influential factor in all this. I know that a Toyota Camry would make lots of sense, but it’s sooooooo boring. I wanted the bling, the cache, the kudos, the spinners, the ground effects… all that stuff with owning a hot new set of wheels.

But in the end, I made a surprisingly reasonable decision. I bought a slightly beat up old truck from a mate of mine. It’s a ‘96 Nissan Pathfinder. There’s tons of miles, it turns like a oil tanker, and the radio antenna is broken. But I love it. He shall be known as ‘Trucky’.

A few months back I had a fact checker from Business 2.0 magazine called me. She wanted to verify a few things for an interview I had with a writer the other week. It was the first time any one wanted to check my facts. The article is a clever piece by a writer called Rachel Wong about air travel and the tricks people have to make it work better, quicker, cheaper or just plain more fun. I’m in it for just a line but it’s rather thrilling seeing your name in a real magazine.

If you remember I took a mileage run this time last year (on Christmas Day in fact) from Chicago to LA, then to Oakland, then to Las Vegas and then back to Chicago all in the space of about 20hrs. I really, really wanted to make it to Premier Executive status with United Airlines.

Premier Executive status is reached when you travel at least 50,000 Elite Qualifying Miles in a calendar year. That’s about one trip a month domestic, and a couple of trips to Europe or one trip to Asia, in a year.

After a year of god like superiority over mere mortals and Premier status fliers, I can tell you this:

It’s not worth it.

Sure. Getting 100% bonus miles all year when I fly is nice, but really it just means that you’re away a lot. I know a few people that are in the next level above Premier Executive. The mysterious and shadowy world of the 1K crowd. These poor bastards fly 100,000 EQM a year. I don’t know how that manage it. You’re never home dude!

My girlfriend told me once that of all the time we’ve been together, I’ve been here for about half of it.
I think it’s time I start putting my seat in an upright position.

And it’s not as though being Premier Executive gets you into those sneaky Red Carpet Club lounges much either. That’s still another $699 a year! (It’s apparently only $350 if I join up now while I hold me lofty status.)

Thankfully I’ve had exit row seats the last dozen or so times, but I suspect that’s more down to my travel agent than anything else. By the way, if you’d like me to pass on the best damn travel agent this side of Texas then drop me a line.

Janine. You’re the best thing about traveling.

But the other thing that I’ve realized after almost five years of work travel, is that I’m getting a little sick of it. And I do mean sick of it. Every time I fly now, I’m left feeling nauseous for hours after. It’s not good I tell you. I used to love flying. I used to love jetting off to somewhere thinking I was the shit and being all cool… but now it’s just means I’m away a lot.

Looks like I’m going to lose my status this year. I think I’ll be ok.