June 28, 2009

A Catalogue for Life

I missed Father's Day. Again.

Like last year, I booked a trip to LA only to discover it coincided with the day my family was supposed to honor my fatherhood. And just like last year everyone was happy to celebrate my family contributions this weekend instead.

These yearly sojourns to Southern California are meant to keep connected to family and friends. Our mundane moments are communicated pretty well through email and periodic phone calls. These trips reveal more subtle changes: walking with a walker after a Thailand accident, no longer dying her hair, the desperate need for a dentist, and the bright smile I've forgotten.

On last year's trip I discovered a gold mine when I unearthed a bit of Gates family history: Malibu Clothes in Beverly Hills. This, my faithful readers will remember, is where my father bought all his suits wholesale for fifty years. And, this is where he bought me my first suit at the age of seven. You had to know somebody to get in. Cheap prices for quality material, yes. But this was Beverly Hills. Even in the 1950s exclusivity was a must.

On this trip I decided to make a return visit. I certainly didn't need another sports coat but a pilgrimage seemed in order if I wanted to truly reconnect with my father for Father's Day. And, I wanted to get a photo of the biggest Rolodex I'd ever seen: The Acme Visible Strat-O-Matic.

Not to be confused with the Strat-O-Matic game company, purveyors of sports simulation games, this Strat-O-Matic neatly housed thousands of clients' clothes-buying histories on a million 3x5 index cards. "Don't you have a computer database of these records?" I asked my salesperson. "Yes, but having something tangible to carry with me while you shop allows me to quickly scan your buying habits --what you like and don't like and how many times you've come in and bought nothing. Stuff like that." As I scanned their latest selections I knew my entry for that day would be ¡Bought Nada! Bought nothing! But as I said, I wasn't there for the luxurious fabrics. I was there for the Strat-O-Matic.

The owner chimmed in: "We've had five computer systems over the years. But our Strat-O-Matic has lasted 40 years and hasn't broken down once. I saw it in a library back then and knew right away I had to have one."

I wanted one too; really bad. All that organization potential made my head spin. But where would I find a million pieces of information to fill it? Perhaps I could start cataloguing my friends and relatives. After my trips to Los Angeles I'd go to my Strat and pull out their thick card decks. For every occasion I'd write down the details of our visits. Yes, there'd be those days every now and then when I would write: Bought nothing. But then there'd also be those subtle moments I'd savor: the slightly overcooked asparagus she apologized for, kicking my foot under the table when he thought I was carrying a joke too far, and the childhood embarrassment finally explained.

Good relationships are filled with these moments. And they need to be catalogued.

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June 12, 2009

Sweet Sixteen

Sixteen years.

After sixteen years of marriage certain things fit perfectly. Two artists, we started with an artists' wedding and each year we're reminded of this beginning. It's a day to remember our coupling but also who each of us is. We both want to get back to making art.

We've been going to the same restaurant for the past seven years to celebrate. Because of the restaurant's database, they always remember which anniversary we're celebrating and our menus are printed with a celebratory "Happy [Fill in the year] Anniversary." They always take us to the same area of the dining room where there are three tables-for-two set in a triangle. Some years we dine alone. With young children it's wonderful to be adults and not just parents. And we marvel how facile we are when slip into adult conversation. And there's always wine. I make a play for the sommelier, describing at length the flavor and finish we're looking for. It is my finest hour as a wine connoisseur. Well, I know what we like—we're a very compatible wine couple.

If there are others at the other tables we may converse with them, sharing our celebratory events. If not, we're happy to be alone.

This year, the couple on our left was already seated when we arrived. We could tell she was celebrating her birthday. But it was obvious they only had eyes for each other. The table on our right was still unoccupied. There was a chance we'd meet someone interesting.

Finally two gentlemen were seated. My wife and I continued talking with each other. When our entrees arrived one of the men looked over and commented on our food. A good conversational opener. I've used it myself over the years. We were happy to engage.

They were in town for the weekend, up from southern Virginia. Hampton Roads if memory serves me. He was a lapsed Catholic priest now in local government and the other he was retired. They loved DC. Easy to get to, they'd spent the day traversing the Smithsonian on the Mall. I, of course, felt it my duty to wax poetic on the American Art Museum. Not on the Mall, often people will miss the splendor and history of the Old Patent Office Building where the museum is housed. I know my lines (it's my job). It was easy to make a visit there enticing. They were leaving the next day but would make sure they went before taking off.

I asked Mr. Lapsed Priest how he felt about Father Alberto Cutie, who had just left the Church after breaking his celibacy. "When I left the Church we wanted to get far away." "Far away from his former parishioners," his partner added. So we moved from Michigan to southern Virginia. And then he chuckled (not a laugh, it was definitely a chuckle).

"The first weekend in our new home we went to church. As we were leaving someone tapped him on the back and said 'Aren't you Father Smith?'"

You can never get away from your past. That evening, that was just fine with us.

• [ Wedding Anniversary ]

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May 3, 2009

Handling Hotel Bathroom Origami

I have just returned from the GEL Conference in New York—a fantastic opportunity to listen, meet, and interact with many wonderful and fascinating minds. Remind me to tell you about the game Werewolf: a parlor game on the surface, but one filled with intrigue and issues of trust and paranoia. But I digress.

The purpose of today's post is to introduce you to a new series of photographs I've been taking over the last few years. Of course, you know that I've recently gotten back to my love of photography. So, today I'd like to publicly present my ongoing series: Hotel Bathroom Origami.

Why would any one want someone else to touch the toilet and tissue paper and the towels in our hotel bathroom? A rhetorical question as it seems to be more and more the norm as I travel around the world. Every time I arrive at my hotel destination, my first stop is usually the bathroom for a pit stop. But with the Swine Flu consuming us (or at least our germaphobe tendencies), who wants anyone handling anything we touch to our noses and unmentionables? To say nothing of wasting paper just for the sake of presentation. Really!

Werewolf has nothing on the scary paranoiac (yet oddly beautiful) Hotel Bathroom Origami.

• [ Hotel Bathrooms, Origami, Photography, Flickr, Swine Flu ]

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