Supernova Review: Read my blog about art, music, sports, TV, movies and travel.

Pho at 6am

11/19/2016

If you happen to be crossing many time zones, one of the first things to hit you, other than culture shock is jet lag. It’s during the first few days upon arrival that you feel the most discombobulated, kind of like coming out off of a waterslide while downing a gallon of in. It’s during this time that you fall asleep around 10pm only to wake-up around 3am. And vice versa. Feel relatively okay for a few hours when all of a sudden you turn into a moaning, withering ball of goo. Where like a toddler coming off a sugar high, may pass out anywhere; in your bowl of soup, mid crosswalk, or even at a rowdy street carnival/soccer riot. It doesn’t matter how experienced a traveler you are, jet leg will hit you hard making you feel dreadfully hungover after a night of heavy drinking while listening to the ear splitting screeching sounds of Yoko Ono cranked up to 11.
   Being a fairly regular solo traveller, I’ve noticed that like getting caught in a rip tide where your better off swimming with it than fighting it, the same philosophy goes for jet lag. Until a fairly recent trip to to Tokyo, I used to employ the lizard brained fight method of dealing with it. This would usually mean I would spend the first few nights passing out too early, then waking at an ungodly hour and would proceed to roll around in bed before heading out around 7 or 8am. Then I would spend the rest of the day bemoaning my current state of affairs and obsessing about when I would no longer feel like I was in the octagon with Connor McGregor. Or I would fall asleep around 7 or 8am, wake up around 11 or 12 and bemoaning would ensue, depending on which hemisphere I happened to be in.
   On that trip to Tokyo, I had a revelation. This meant when I woke up at 4am instead of rolling around trying unsuccessfully to fall back asleep only to emerge from your hotel once the general population started their day, I would immediately drag my ass out of bed and hit the road. This became a revelation because, although I was staggering a bit and it felt like my eyes had been rubbed with sandpaper, I noticed that for a few hours, I essentially had Tokyo all to my self. Granted, like getting to Disney World early, most of the rides were closed but once the trains started running, I had free reign to one of the worlds largest cities. It felt a bit like a zombie apocalypse only without the zombies. And by the time my jet lag was gone a few days later, I had seen more of the city than I would have in a week.
   Traveling around cities that early, not only gives you a certain sense of freedom but it also allows you to see and experience a city from a totally different perspective than during the day. Not to mention it’s an interesting feeling to witness a city going from seemingly abandoned to fully running in just a couple of hours. It starts with the buses and trains rumbling, then onto the clinks and clanks of restaurants and business’ prepping for opening, to old people going out for their morning walk, followed by traffic and finally people spilling out of the subway on their way to work.
   A couple of years after this, I had one my most memorable travel experiences while dealing with jet lag, early one morning in Hanoi. I had been to Vietnam once before the previous year but this was my first time to Hanoi. After arriving the night before, I realized I had forgotten what an attack on the senses Vietnam can be. It starts with the stifling heat and humidity that hit you like a hot, soggy beach towel as soon as you exit the airport doors. This is followed by what seems like walking into an underground cock fight where everyone is seemingly yelling and hurriedly pushing past one another to make a bet before bell rings. And lastly you’re hit by the unrelenting traffic and overall street noise that surrounds you at all times. I know this doesn’t sound like a delightful description of Vietnam but it is. It’s the sound of a living breathing organism that’s all it’s own and once you fall into it, it starts to feel like piece of classical music leading you from one place to the next.The only only hard part is, falling into it.
   Having realized this from the previous year, when I woke up that first morning around 5am after sleeping little, I put on my shoes and got out of the hotel. My hotel was located in The Old Quarter which is a heavily touristed area but also has a heavy local population as well. When I got outside it was still dark and the air, although still a bit heavy, had a cool misty quality to, which along with a lack of street noise, gave the one the sense of stillness and calm. As I wandered aimlessly through the streets people were just starting to rustle about, getting set up for the days business. Not having any clear direction I was leading with my nose as much as my ears for a bowl of pho and a cup of coffee.
   I knew I was close when I turned a corner the calmness I had been feeling turned more into anticipation. It seemed every other doorway had people setting up shop. One man was busy defeathering and deep frying what seemed like hundreds of tiny birds. Another man was hauling out whole pigs and slapping them down onto curbside tables while a woman with a cleaver the size of a tennis racket precisely hacked the animal up into more manageable parts. While another woman was going at a bucket of live frogs like a well seasoned field surgeon. At the end of the street on the corner, I found what I was looking for and that was a slight congestion motorbike, car and foot traffic coming and going. That’s the sign of breakfast being served.
   The place had your standard Vietnamese decor of tiny aluminum tables with even tinier plastic stools in a room that could have been a motor bike maintenance center or a salon just as easily as a restaurant. When I creaked my way too tall and tired body onto a stool, most of the people were indifferent to the clumsy giant nearly dislocating his knees while just missing from kicking the table across the room, except for the grandma sitting in the corner. She’s all alone and sipping coffee, seemingly overseeing the operation but once I’m able to fold up my body without incident she sends a gentle nod my way with a little twinkle in her eye. This is then interrupted by a quick, sharp yell from a slightly agitated teenage girl who’s manning the curbside, makeshift kitchen.
   She eyeballs me and gives another quick aggressive shout. In my clouded mind, I can’t tell if she’s tossing me out or just doesn’t like me? So there I am, sitting uncomfortably, looking around for help while most people are not paying attention and one laughing directly at me. The girl then looks in the back and yells at a young boy who was dozing off on a stack of crates and he staggers over and puts a picture menu in front of me. I point to the picture of pho and give the boy a thumbs up. He rolls his eyes and yells at the girl and without stopping, she knowingly nods and the boy goes back to his crates.
   As I wait for my breakfast under the slime green tinted fluorescent lights, I start to notice that things overall, my surrounding are getting a bit louder and faster. Outside of the sounds of boiling water and slurping noodles, people are starting to chatter more, motorbikes are oozing into the streets and the clever chops from around the corner are becoming louder and faster. Then as I look a top near by building the sky is turning from a deep purple to a warm pink which like a green flag on a race track, is marking the start of the day.
   As I’m soaking up my new surroundings, the steaming bowl of pho arrives and the old lady, now giddy, jumps from her post and comes over to demonstrate how to apply the condiments of raw sliced chilis, limes and hot sauce. As I dress my bowl, I can’t help but notice the coolness of the air dissipating and getting warmer and heavier. It’s not yet uncomfortable but you can tell it won’t be long before it will feel like a wet sponge that’s just been microwaved.
   As I’m preparing to take my first slurp, I get the feeling that all eyes are on me. The old lady is waiting for happiness on my face while it seems everyone else, including the cook are hoping I’ll spit it out, while making a mess just so they'll have a laugh before they start their day. When I take my first taste I’m immediately hit with a mouth full of hell fire broth which nearly does make me spit it out and flip my table over in search of the closest glass of water like a crazed man-gorilla. But I keep my cool and just as quickly as the heat engulfed my mouth, it dissipates a little and it combines perfectly with the full flavor spectrum of savory from the beef, sour from the lime, heat from chilis and a hint of sweet. Add to that the mild/crisp green onions and herbs, along with the al dente/slick rice noodles, made me scour the walls looking for the Michelin stars.
   When I looked up after my first bite with a bit of a glow and smile, grandma returned the smile and looked at her granddaughter with pride before warmly rubbing my shoulder and returning to her post in the corner. The next few minutes I spent savoring my pho as the ingredients coagulated making the broth thicker, starchier and heartier. When I was done, I popped a toothpick in my mouth and sat back with my mouth in flames, my belly full, my shirt sweated through and watched the sun rise feeling like a new man.
   By the time I made it back to my hotel, the city was fully awake. The sidewalks overflowing with business, the streets buzzing with motorbikes and coffee shops packed with locals. Upon arriving at the hotel I was asked go to the dining room for the complimentary western breakfast. When I happily declined, the concierge wondered why not and when I told her I was stuffed with pho, she got happy and said with a smile, ”Oh, that’s much better.” And with that I went back to my room and happily crashed out with the excitement of what else this trip had in store for me.

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Make "New" Mean "Useful"

8/9/2016

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Today, we are living in a state of constant and never ending change. Attention spans have reached an all time low and everyone is in a constant phase of searching for something new. You see it all the time, from people immediately checking phones when getting in line at the supermarket, to talking on cell phones at the gym, to not being away from Instagram, Twiiter or Snap Chat when watching a movie, out at dinner or having drinks with friends. This search of "new" goes beyond the emotional realm and is readily found in the physical form as well. Whenever a new car model, cell phone, TV or appliance come out it's always featuring "new" this or "new" that. That's all well and good but if the actual “new” features are changes for the sake of changing or primarily vanity driven, then what’s the point of making the changes in the first place?
I understand companies want to make more money but when companies started making that their driving force over product improvement, I started to seriously question what I was spending my money on. At first, this seemed like a bubble idea, where companies would come up with a great new product and then proceed to milk it dry for along as possible until the bubble burst. And it was. People would buy the new product in masses for a while and like seeing Kiss live in concert, the first show is amazing but as the years go by and the line up changes and gets older and jigglier, it turns into a been there done that experience. Thank you very much I don’t need to spend anymore money on the seventh Farewell “Man Cellulite” Tour. But unlike Kiss, the big consumer companies realized this and instead of running a product totally into the ground, they made them so they would be linked up to essentially every part of your life. Bringing you and their product into a codependent relationship that runs about as smoothly as an floundering marriage. This caused the the consumer to “need” the new version of the product rather than “wanting” it. Therefore, making the company not really giving a damn whether the changes are in line with the wants and needs of it’s customers.    Once this shift of making a product, milking a product and causing a need for the new product happened, it not only took over the consumer product industry but has taken over the service industry, the travel industry and pretty much any other industry where money is to be made. The airline industry, in my mind is one of the biggest culprits. They create a brand that offers state of the art airplanes, with the best service and the best routes. Make a reputation for going above and beyond to get people to where their going in as much comfort as possible. Then milk it for as long as possible. Even when new upstarts start creeping in, it’s no matter because they already have all the routes and frequent fliers to still make money. And what revenue is lost, they’ll milk some more by making the experience worse for the consumer by cramming in more seats, up charging for everything and using fewer planes causing more delays. But these companies could care less because as long as they have the routes and the frequent fliers, they're still making money. And if they happen to lose money, they’ll just merge with another big, crap airline and make a mega mutant suck airline.
This really hits home with me because growing up, my mom worked for, at the time, biggest airline in the business. This was at a time when it seemed the airline actually cared about it’s customers, employees and reputation. Even during it’s down fall, I stood loyal to them even though it had become shabby, with frequent delays and mechanicals. Eventually, after being stranded in Tokyo and having to buy new ticket on a different airline, I vowed to never fly them again.
Even though flying isn’t what it used to be, there’s still a side of me that enjoys getting whisked away high above the clouds to a new place far away. Even if the plane is dingy, the flight attendants salty and the mass of humanity overbearing, I can still feel what it used to be like and take comfort in the fantasy that it may one day come back. A few years back, for the first time in many years, I got genuinely excited about flying because I found out I would be flying on a brand new 787 Dreamliner from Boston to Tokyo. Granted my seat number was 97 Q and the flight was scheduled for 14 hours but hopefully being a new plane would make the flight slightly more bearable. Also, after a layover of a couple of hours in Tokyo, I would be continuing onto Vietnam on an old, slightly refurbished 767, giving me the chance to do a little comparison.
A few days before take-off my excitement had slightly diminished when I read an article saying that the fine people over at the airline I would be flying had decided to make the seats of the 787 more streamlined and form fitting than their old seats but in the process, had reduced their overall size. AKA: let's squeeze as many seats in the plane as possible and in order for the customers to not feel screwed, we'll tell them the seats are more streamlined for their comfort. Kind of like a sports car I presume? After reading this, let’s just say my slight hope for a more comfortable flight sank like a turd in a pool.    By the time the departure morning arrived I was as limbered and mentally prepared for the next 24 hours as one could possibly be. But just to be totally sure, I arrived at the airport a couple of hours early, and hit the bar. This is generally part of my pre-flight routine, unless of course my flight is at 6am, which is rarely because early morning flights are just another term for masochistic torture. Another part of the bar routine is coming up with a spacing plan between cocktails. The ideal flight is to be happily buzzed by the time the flight attendants come around with the first beverage service and then to pace yourself to stay in that state until you land. You don't want to be under buzzed because then you won't be relaxed and you don't want to go over the limit into slightly drunk because that will either lead to being totally drunk or hungover, both being suboptimal when flying.    So there I was at the airport bar trying to figure a game plan for a 14 hour flight. To the uninitiated this is like being the coach of El Salvador trying to make a game plan to play Germany in the World Cup. You know that the chances are less than zero that you'll win, so your plan is to somehow keep the game as competitive as possible and do your best not get blown out and embarrassed. One of my general rules is stay away from beer and stick with mixed drinks. This rule is three fold. First, beer will make you pee more which means being that douche constantly crawling over people to get out of your seat. Second, it's also an economical decision as once on the plane, a cocktail costs the same as a beer so you might as well get more booze for your buck. And third, beer will bloat you and the last thing you want is to spend half the flight uncomfortably holding back beer farts and foamy burps.
However, on this occasion I called an audible and figured it would be best to have a couple of beers at the bar and then once on the plane, I would cruise through the flight with scotch on the rocks with an occasional beer thrown in. The reasoning behind this was that I had an aisle seat so a beer buzz to start would get me loosened up and I wouldn't have to crawl over anyone to get to the toilet. Also, scotch on the rocks is something I can sip at for an extended period of time like an old man sipping hot soup at the Wendy's salad bar. And then I'd throw in a beer here and there just to throw the flight attendants a curveball so they wouldn't think I was gonna turn into Gary Busey at any minute.    After my bar beers, I boarded the plane and the first thing you notice is how much sleeker everything is and how it had that new plane smell. The main positive developments you notice is that the overhead bins are higher up and at angle so you're not constantly ducking and banging your head every time you get out of your seat. They also did away with pull down blinds on the windows and had it replaced with a push button tinting system and the bathrooms were nicer not only because they were new but they seemed less cramped and everything system to be placed more conveniently, rather than haphazardly clumped in one spot. By the time got to my seat, two rows from the last, the freshness of the plane along with my two beer buzz was making me feel slightly up lifted. As I was about to take my seat, the guy in the seat next to mine asked if I would switch with his wife? I looked over and saw that his wife was sitting at a window seat and although I wanted to help them out, I knew it would be cramped for my 6'2" frame. I was about to decline the offer, when I noticed that in the seat next to the guys wife was an extremely attractive young lady, who could've if she wasn't already, a model. With that, I told the guy "Would I!" And was over at my new seat before the guys wife could get out.
I noticed the older lady was having trouble getting out of her seat and it seemed like it was a cross between her being older and my new model friend not getting out of her seat to let her out. I thought this was a bit strange but who knows maybe she was a nervous flyer and was holding in a fart? Once the lady got out, I leaned in and in my finest James Bond impersonation, excused myself while pointing that I needed to get to my new seat. The young ladies response was to give zero acknowledgement of my presence and after a few beats of realizing I wasn't moving, ever so slightly move her knees about a bees dick length to the left. I tried to give her a "WTF" look but she wouldn't make eye contact. So I did what any good gentleman would do and that's throw my bag onto my seat and do the leap frog while just nearly skimming my ass against her face. This too got zero response from her. By now I knew I'd made a poor choice of switching seats and couldn't tell if this girl was a human tree or a new version of a Real Doll?
When I got situated a few minutes later, the first thing I noticed was, yes the seat was definitely smaller and no it wasn't more streamlined to contour my body, making me feel like I wasn't old enough to sit in an adult chair. The TV screen was HD and big enough to cover most of the seat back from the tray table up. It could also be operated by a control on the armrest or by touch screen, which was cool and amazingly the two operated glitch free. In addition to the hardware layout, they also did a fine job with the software and gave a very good variety of movies, TV shows, music and games to keep one entertained for as long as possible. At this point I was thinking, If the designers had just stopped there, it would have been great, especially considering it was coach. The problem is they didn't stop there and decided to get all grad school with the rest of the design.
The first useless addition was a fold up footrest!? I mentioned how the seats were smaller, which also includes the legroom and the space under the seat in front of you. So assuming you're taller than you're average jockey, you will notice the footrest by accident because shortly after take off you will start to wonder what that pressure is up against your shins? Only to look down and find it's a folded up "T-Bar" metal footrest. Your first thought is "WTF" and "Why the hell did they put a footrest in a space the size of a child's booster seat? This is followed by some aggravation before going to unfold it, only to find that that makes it even more useless. In order to do this, you have to pull your legs to your chest (like your performing a cannonball in a pool) so it can unfold past your shins. This leads you to being stuck in that position because the footrest will only go a third of the way down before it hits your bag, which will be inevitable because unless your bag is a can of soup, it will be sticking out. This makes you more aggravated because you have to flip the footrest back up and sit on an angle with only one butt cheek in your seat at a time so the footrest will only press up against one shin at a time.    The next useless addition is a small knob next to the TV screen. At first you don't know what it is and start twisting it and pulling at and pressing it with nothing happening. Then you sit back and stare at it confused for a while like the guys from Hangover 2 when they discover Mr. Chow's dong. I started looking around the cabin and noticed one lady was trying to use it as a coat hanger. She was about the size of a glorified garden gnome and her coat still couldn't get past her knees and plopped down in her lap. To this day, I'm assuming it's a coat hanger/blanket holder hybrid knob. Meaning you put your coat on it and drape it up to ur shoulders if you want to try and pass out at some point with a cover.
The last little nugget of innovation I came across was a folded up cup holder on the back of the folded up tray table. On first impression, this seemed like a really nice idea. You're sitting there enjoying a film or television show and you have a cocktail but you don't want the whole tray table down so you retract your little cup holder and voila you can enjoy your cocktail and film and don't have to have the tray table down and worry about turbulence knocking it over. That was until beverage service started and when I tried to utilize this device, the cup they gave me was too big for the opening and only fit in about a half inch. This leaves for a nerve wracking experience because the half inch of the bottom of the cup that's hanging out is about a quarter of an inch from your knee, so one arrant sneeze or fart will send your cocktail flying in the air like a just exploded water ballon.    Having noticed this, I took the drink out of the holder and put it on the tray, until I had to use the facilities. Knowing that the human tree wasn't about to uproot and foreseeing an impending disaster, I got up, balanced my self with one arm on my seat, pulled both my legs clear of the holder, while putting it down and placing my beverage in the holder with out spilling a drop. All the while making a 180 degree twisting leap frog over the human tree (this time nearly hitting her face with my gentleman's region) and into the aisle for a perfect landing. I looked over and the East German judge held up a 10.
When I finished with the facilities, I waited in the aisle for a little while to stretch, while at the same time hoping that maybe the human tree would get up at some point. Sadly, she stayed planted and after 20 minutes or so returned to my seat. I tried to get the human trees attention but she just kept staring blankly at her TV screen, which was now turned off. So, I eyed the East German judge before going for the move I made previously but in reverse. Leading with my left foot, I started the 180 (ass just missing her face, starting to think she's just a perv), swung my right leg over clearing the beverage, plop in my seat and then my plant leg (left leg) was unstable on my bag strap and it slid hitting the bottom of my cocktail. The glass tumbled in the air in slow motion while I thought "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" It's contents staying firmly in the glass while it did a few somersaults before exploding on impact directly in my crotch, drenching my whole seat and ass. The East German judge solemnly shook his head in shame and held up a 2.5 without making eye contact.
The next 15 minutes was spent trying to convince a flight attendant that no I'm not drunk and I did not pee my pants and that yes, I essentially soberly knocked my drink in my lap and I needed a towel to clean it up and yes, I need a fresh cocktail. At first, she seemed confused that a grown man would dump a drink in his lap but after some pantomiming, she seemed to understand and got me some towels. She also noticed how I was awkwardly bending over the human tree as she just sat there still as a totem pole and emotionless and attempted to get her to move. I just kind of thanked her and waived her off and made a pill popping motion and she nodded looking a bit concerned and left to get my drink. The remaining ten hours of the flight I sat there with a scotch soaked ass and crotch as if on a long ride home from the beach with out changing out of your bathing suit. By the time I got off the plane, my pants still weren't totally dry and was getting suspicious looks from local law enforcement personal. This wasn't help by the fact that I wreaked of a grimy distillery and was walking funny as I was trying to get the blood flowing back to my legs. Eventually I cleared customs and was able to go to the bathroom and , to bemusement of fellow travelers, dry my crotch under the hand dryer.
The point of all of this is to show to manufacturers and designers that most of what you come up with is not new or innovative and when designing something the question of "Will this ultimately be useful," needs to be asked and seriously tested and contemplated. And if after extensive thought and testing, the answer is "No, it's ultimately useless and could result in a guy flying for 10 hours with scotch in his crotch and bruises on his shins" realize that it's okay to omit them and leave your product as is with a nicer, newer and more efficient TV screen and entertainment package. People do want new but they want it in an upgraded and more efficient version of the previous model. Want we don't want is new crap just for the sake of calling it "new" with little regard to whether or not it's more useful...when it usually isn't..

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Street Art

6/30/2016

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At this point in time street art can be found pretty much everywhere across the globe. Over the past 30 to 40 years we have seen it go from simple tags and mostly graffiti and/or vandalism to fully recognized works of art where often the artist is paid for their work. This is due, I believe, to artists not only being persistent in their endeavors but also through their decision to raise the bar and create great works of art that people will want to see and pay for.
   I won't deny the fact that as I was growing up and attending art school, I saw street art, for the most part, as gimmick art at its best and vandalism at its worst. Granted, this was a time where most street art was some guy named Jerky or Ballz who spelled their names in such a way it was incomprehensible and spray painted it on some poor bastards garage door or across a street sign that had now become illegible so every time you passed by it while lost, you'd yell if you ever caught Jerky you'd kick him in the balls!
   During my time in art school in the early 2000's, there was always a select few students who'd attempt to change my view on the subject and even though, on very rare occasions, I would come across some street art that was quite good, there just wasn't enough of it to be considered as a viable art form. Also, being a student at the time, it didn't make any sense to me as to why people who called themselves "artists" would spend so much time, energy, and money to create something that would just piss someone off and be painted over by the city or a building owner?
   Then something changed. You started seeing street art as actual art and not only did it stay up on building but artists started getting paid by owners to do it. It was at this point, I believe that street artists started not only getting smart but also very creative with how they went about making their art. They must have realized that in order to be taken seriously that they'd have to band together and create truly great work and make it in abundance. Which in turn would change people's minds about what they were doing all the while separating themselves from vandals or (in some cases) converting from a vandal to a street artist.
   By the time I was converted and started seeing street art as a an actual art form, it was rather late in the game. But like seeing snowboarding in the olympics for the first time, making it officially a sport and no longer an activity, my views were just as quickly changed with street art. When I saw truly great artists like Dave Choe, James Jean and Shepard Fairey commit some of there finest work to the side of a wall or a building, I knew there had been a shift. Later we all saw this shift continue when art stores started carrying spay paint and artist no longer had to go to Home Depot to buy their wares.
   I saw further confirmation of this while walking around foreign cities during my travels. Now, I'm a person who one could say does a good amount of traveling. By that I mean I will always do one big international trip a year and if at any point during the year I end up with time off and/or can get a good deal on flights, I'll do 2,3 or even 4 trips a year. This has been a motto for me since college and it' something I find myself doing more as I get older. And recently, the one thing I've noticed that most cities have in common is an abundance of quality street art.
   Typically, when I land in a new place I've never been before, there are a few things I do first in order to get not only acquainted with but to find the pulse of a particular place. These things include, finding a popular local places to eat, local places to get a drink and a places that have good local live music. These things, I've found, are the best places that, if found, can not only make a foreign place feel less foreign but give you a greater connection to yourself and the new community.
   In addition to the places mentioned above, I've also included finding street art to my list and the reason is that it allows direct access as to what is going on at that particular point in time at that particular place. This can range from politically, to people feelings and emotions regarding the place they live, to what's the newest fad, to music and sports. I also find street art preferable over museums and galleries because generally what you find in those places is either dealing with what was happening in the past or you get a skewed view of what is presently going on in the mind of one particular person, who's views quite honestly are usually far from what is happening in reality.
   Recently. I was in a museum in Oslo and there I saw a cow and a calf split in have and suspended in jelly so people could walk in between. Now I know not all art is supposed to have any significant meaning but what really was this artist saying? Maybe he's a former butcher and wants everyone to see the innards of a cow and like cows, we humans should understand that we have innards too? Or maybe it's just to make us grateful that no one has invented a cow corpse flavored jelly? Whatever it is, and regardless if you consider it art or not (it's not) one gets the feeling that it's creator probably resides on the fringe of society and spends his days taking centerfold photos for his own publication "Mooboy."
   On the other side of things, in this same museum, I came across hundreds of plastic heads placed on the floor, claiming to resemble Tom Cruise (they didn't) and I also saw a giant glossy statue of a lounging Michael Jackson and his monkey. Like the sawed up cows, I struggled to find any meaning or significance in these pieces but at least they were amusing, fun to look at and showed artistic craftsmanship.
   The reason why I bring up these three pieces is not to say that every work of art created has to have deep meaning or cultural significance, I mean look at my work. I'm also not saying that all street art has to have some deep cultural meaning either. Right now, somewhere in the world Mr. Jerky and possibly Mr. Ballz are probably out spray painting beef jerky and their testicles to the side of some poor, unsuspecting shop owners store. On the other hand, I've noticed that a lot of street art in general, whether done by one person or few people, does show in one way or another, what is going on in that particular place at that particular time. With that being said, if you find yourself in a new city and you're having trouble getting a foothold on the place walk around the block find some street art, then go into a bar, meet some locals, have some food and with a few cocktails floating around in you, go to the museum and have a laugh at Michael and his magical monkey. And remember, whether you like it or not, street art is here to stay.

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Pilots

4/21/2014

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Commercial air travel is a funny thing in that over the years, flying has gone through a good amount of changes but very few of these changes have actually been seen as a positive thing. Fifty years ago flying was a leisurely activity that was pursued with joy by passengers and crew alike. The passengers, decked out in their Sunday best, would either spend the flight mingling at the full service wet bar or would kick back in their choice of Barcalounger while the beautiful crew took care of their every need. Today (with the exception of a few airlines) flying is like getting crammed on the last bus out of town during a prison break. Change has always been an ongoing thing in the world of air travel and will continue to be as long as there are planes. Over the past few years, I have noticed that one of the biggest changes has not only come in the planes themselves and the flying experience but also in the pilots.

When you flew twenty or thirty years ago, you had, for the most part one kind of pilot. You would see them walk through the airport with a fully pressed suit, hat and aviator glasses, as if Ron Burgundy had a total opposite twin brother. They would hold themselves and speak in a direct way with purpose, as if they were still in the military. They gave you the feeling that they were flying to complete a mission and if at any point that mission were to go awry, by God they would find a way to get it back on track!

Today, you have two kinds of pilots. The first one, who you see sparingly, is an older/slightly more mental, if not beaten down version of the one above. He’s spent the last forty years flying and is on his last leg. He should have retired ten years ago but couldn’t as the airline cut his salary along with his pension. Now he’s a shadow of his former self. He spends pre-flight hunched over in the cockpit drinking coffee laced with broken glass, while hoping for a storm so he can see if the passengers and the 747 can handle “combat maneuvers.” If there’s a weather delay, he will call the air traffic controllers “chicken shits” because by God “he can make it!” The only words you will hear out of his mouth are, “Flight attendants please prepare for takeoff/landing.” And if a problem is to occur mid flight he will do a shot of bourbon and rely on his hard wired combat instincts to take over and land the plane at the closest Walmart parking lot…or on a river.

The other kind of pilot is more often than not, the type of person who on first impression makes you think his original career choice was management trainee at the local JC Penney’s rather than a pilot. He is always a bit too cheery and is seemingly more than eager to greet passengers as they board the plane. During his announcements, his cheeriness continues as he excitedly tells you about what a great day it is too fly (even if you’ll be flying through a category 3 hurricane) and which landmarks you will be flying over, leaving you to wonder how many pieces of flare he’s wearing on his uniform. He gives you the feeling that, although a nice fellow, he would have to consult his training manual if he had to pull off anything beyond landing on a balmy afternoon at the Burbank airport.

Now I’m not saying that one of these pilots is more qualified than the other but in a time when flying is more stressful than enjoyable, this new breed of pilot seems to add to the stress rather than alleviate it. It’s one thing if you’re in a third world country and flying on a 70 year old sea plane who’s propellers are duct taped together and the pilot is wasted and wearing an eye patch. You realize you’re taking a gamble and it may or may not work out to your advantage. But when you’re flying commercially with a large, well-known airline you don’t want the pilots’ words and/or actions before takeoff make you want to call home because your afraid you may not make it back.

Flying has gotten to the point that the airlines need to make a Do’s and Don’ts book of conduct, or at the very least a pamphlet, that every pilot has to abide by when they get hired. This pamphlet should include:

“Don’t - belittle the control tower over the intercom because they told you to delay your flight due to bad weather. We know you think you can make it but you don’t need to tell your passengers, in hopes that they will side with you. This is not a game show.”

“Don’t – before take off, come out of the cock pit and shake hands with everyone in first class and thank them for flying the friendly skies. They will look at you like a mental patient and truly hope that you are an insane passenger and not the actual pilot.”

“Do – strut through the airport like Leonardo DiCaprio in “Catch Me if you Can” You will be perceived as a confident person who can handle any situation thrown at him.

“Don’t – at any point come out of the cockpit with your co-pilot (AKA no one is flying the plane) to play grab ass and bullshit with the flight attendants mid flight. Even though you think you are showing your passengers that you think you’re Leonardo DiCaprio from “Catch Me if you Can,” they will look at you as an inept moron who is probably drunk and will start to look and see if Liam Neeson is on the flight so he can land the plane.

“Do – wear aviator glasses (even if they are to hide a hangover) whenever a member of the public can see you. Even if you are not cool, people will feel good because at least you are trying.

“Don’t – if taking off from a small island airport announce to the waiting passengers “Ok, everybody on the plane!” with a wave of your arm as you climb up the stairs onto the plane. They will think you experimented a little too much with the local flora and will wait for the next flight…even if a volcano is erupting.

“Do – keep all announcements short and on point with nice level voice. This will instill confidence in the passengers that you are taking your job seriously even if you’re too drunk to complete a sentence beyond eight words.

It is my belief that if every pilot followed these simple rules it would not only make the flying experience better for the passengers but for them as well. Now take to the skies!

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The Super Bowl

2/1/2014

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It’s that time of the year again when you gather with friends and family to eat too much, drink too much and be merry in celebration of the years first holiday (well not officially), the Super Bowl. This year the big game travels to the Big Apple for it’s 48th incarnation where the Denver Broncos will be pitted against the Seattle Seahawks. Like every year we are promised a fun night for everyone from fans of the game, to fans of mediocre live music, to fans of extreme consumerism. Everyone has their favorite part of the Super Bowl and it seems with each passing year it becomes less about the actual game being played and more about the event/circus surrounding the game.

The first Super Bowl was played at the Los Angeles Coliseum in 1967 where the Green Bay Packers defeated the Kansas City Chiefs. The game was invented to find the best team between the countries biggest leagues, the NFL and AFL. Later after the two leagues merged into the NFL, the game was to find the best team of the NFL’s two leagues, the NFC and AFC. The concept of that first game was simple, have the two best teams play each other where the victor is crowned champion and play the game in a city with a warm/tropical climate...and that’s it.

This year we are being promised a game for the ages. We will see the top ranked offense versus the top ranked defense. One team is being lead by a future Hall of Famer and arguably the best quarterback to play the game while the other team is being lead by the quarterback of the future along with a maniac, who when he does his job likes to yell and do pose off like Van Damme after connecting with a perfectly placed round house kick to the face. The Broncos have a long tradition of success, being to five SuperBowls and winning two, while the Seahawks are trying to win their first Super Bowl so they can say they are more than just the loudest team in the league. This all sounds like a perfect lead up to the big game, the only problem is that unless you are a regular fan of the game, you wouldn’t know any of this.

For the past two weeks we have been bombarded by Super Bowl coverage but little to non of it has had to do with the actual game that will be played. The biggest story so far hasn’t been about how the two teams match up but rather what the weather will be. This is usually a side note but since this is the first Super Bowl being played outside in a colder climate, all we have been hearing is how during the game, there could be a storm of Biblical proportions, with Buick sized balls of ice falling from the sky and a wind chill that would make the heartiest of ice road truckers shutter. It turns out it’s going to a balmy 40 degrees and cloudy...but I’m sure they’ll still have the National Guard on stand-by just in case.

Once it was realized that weather probably won’t be an issue, attention turned to the next big story and that is...the halftime musical guests. Supposedly this year there will be two, Bruno Mars and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Obviously the NFL has chosen not to reach for the stars like in the past with acts such as U2, the Rolling Stones or Bruce Springsteen and have instead chosen to mash two current day middle of the road acts together into a musical barf bag of excitement, a-la Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake or Aerosmith, ‘N Sync and Britney Spears. We don’t have to be reminded how those turned out.

I have nothing against and actually quite like the aforementioned Mr. Mars and The Chili Peppers that happen to be Red Hot, even though the Chili Peppers haven’t been at the top of their game in ten years and up until a month a go I thought Bruno Mars was MIchael in a Jackson 5 tribute band. The problem I have is that their performance should be a secondary to the game itself, not the second biggest story leading into the game.

During the few breaks we have had of all of these non-stories we have been hit with proof positive reasons that the Super Bowl has long lost it’s way and that it’s time to scale it back a bit. These reasons come in the form of commercials...that are for commercials. And many of us wonder why so much of the world can’t stand us? We have it so good and we have taken things so far that now we are running commercials for a commercial that will be aired during the Super Bowl. The whole purpose of a commercial is to give you a preview of some piece of crap that some company wants you to buy. Now, we are being force fed a preview for a preview for a piece of crap some company wants you to buy!!! If a company can’t doll up their product enough in a commercial to get people to buy it that they then decide to doll up the commercial with another commercial, then you know their product is a piece of crap and doesn’t deserve your time or attention.

Now because of this brilliant lead-in non-game coverage, on the night of the big game we will find ourselves at a divided Super Bowl party. The division won’t be Seahawks fans versus Broncos fans but rather between people that have been waiting all season for the game and that is all they care about versus people that want to watch the commercials and the halftime show and comment on whether or not they think there will be a snow storm during the game. One side will be patiently dissecting and enjoying the game play by play with quiet anticipation of a touchdown while the other will be constantly yapping about how funny that last commercial was and how they can’t wait to see if Flea will be playing in a diaper. Like when they mix musical guests for the halftime show, there is a strong chance this could go pear shaped in a hurry.

The NFL were geniuses in that they took their biggest game and they made it into an event that everyone could enjoy, even if you knew little or could care less about football. It become understood that once a year you would gather with friends and family and celebrate the gift of the Super Bowl. The only problem is at some point the league went too far and lost the plot. What was once a joyous event that brought people together has now become a parody of itself and is dividing friends and families. In a way, the leagues blatant disregard for it’s fans has become comical because this year they decided to ban the one thing that is holy and right with football and that is they banned tailgating from the stadium parking lot! Sounds to me like the work of Communists.

So this year, if you are on the side of just wanting to watch the game and are invited to do to one of those inevitably divided parties, don’t. Instead do what the great Bill Burr does, stay home with like minded people and when the game starts, tape it, turn the TV off and start the grill. After about an hour and a half start watching the game and fast forward through all of the commercials and half-time show and then by the time you catch up in real time the game will be in the fourth quarter. You’ll find this much more enjoyable and relaxing, a lot like watching the game back in the 60’s but without the St. Mary of the Holy Cross High School marching band playing at halftime.

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Bad Hotels

11/17/2013

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I think that it’s safe to assume that at one point or another, we’ve all been down the bad (at times truly awful) hotel road. Generally, I’ve noticed, that the bad hotel is a place you find yourself in more out of necessity than by chance. Probably the most common instance is when you miss your flight, forcing you in a Plane, Trains and Automobiles like situation where you can either spend the night in the terminal, trying to sleep on the only chair less comfortable than the one on the airplane or you can shack up at “Big Verns Wild Rodeo Motel and Tire Care Center” out on the local interstate.

Just for the sake of being able to lay down on some sort of mattress, you choose Big Verns, knowing full well that outside of stranded travelers, this place generally caters to Ladies of the Night and people on the run from local drug cartels. You sleep with both eyes open, clutching your belongings, listening to the local ambient noise of screaming Mac trucks and threats of violence yelled between individuals if payment isn’t made...in full...NOW! You then spend the rest of the night debating whether or not it’s safe enough to escape to the comforts of the Baggage Claim carousel.

On the other hand, every once in a while, you find yourself spending your night (hopefully that’s all) in a “Surprise” bad hotel. I call them the “Surprise” bad hotels because they are the places you willingly book yourself into under the promise and expectation that it will be a decent place. Then upon arrival, you find that it more resembles the dump the Wolfpack woke up in in the Hangover 2 than the local Ramada Inn.

I’ve had the worst luck (more like blind stupidity) booking a hotel from hawkers outside of train stations in a foreign cities. You pick the least seedy/mafioso looking guy to show you his binder of local hotels with vacancies for the night. Once you find a place that seems suitable, you haggle a price and then once you get to the hotel, you pay him and carry on with your day. This sounds like a reasonable transaction as you get to pick your price and then pay once you’ve checked the place out. Hotwire eat your heart out.

There is a problem with this, which I have found out the hard way. Once you arrive at your hotel of choice and it seems to check out as advertised, you pay the Hawker your negotiated price (the equivalent of a pack of gum and a handful of marbles) and you part ways. After you check in, the proprietor of the hotel will tell a Quasimodo like dude to take you to your room. And here is the problem. Sometimes he will take you up to your comfortable room where you will unpack and figure out how you will explore the city. Then on other occasions, he will take you on an exploration of the cities underbelly. Taking you from one dark, rancid alley to the next before dropping you off at the hotels’ “satellite” rooms.

Once Quasi gives you the key and gallops away, you notice that not only is it located in the middle of a busy industrial yard but there’s a brawl to the death between at least twenty stray dogs in front of the entrance. As you walk in the head the head of security is passed out in his wife beater on an olive green vinyl sofa and there’s a couple in the corner staring into space while having their complimentary breakfast of stale PopTarts and coffee that was filtered with the proprietors old underwear. You then notice that at least the couple isn’t dead and because you don’t have anymore packs of gum or bags of marbles left, you decide to spend the night anyway.

Your mood fails to improve when you get to your room and first off notice that it is furnished with a few sets of bunk beds left over from when the local prison closed. Will you be getting some roomies?! When you first step in, your shoe comes off because it got stuck to the floor and then you notice that more than one of the windows has a nice spider web mosaic on it, the burlap blankets on the bunks are riddle with cigarette burns and blood stains, the towels are so stiff that would crack if you were to drop them and...oh yeah, you do have a roommate, his name is Olaf and he just strolled in from the communal shower down the hall and he’s wearing nothing but his mullet and a cheap gold chain around his neck.

At this point, your solution (or at least my solution), is to take your stuff and and get out of there and proceed to get so drunk that you either won’t find your way back or if you do you won’t care where you pass out. In my case, I did get lost but in the search of a park bench to spend the night, I stumbled upon the alley of the hotel. When I turned the key and opened the front door, I heard someone yelling at me from behind. Being just coherent enough, I turned and across the street was the security guard in his wife beater yelling at me to get in the hotel, which was behind him. It turns out my hotel key was the key to the city and worked in strangers apartments.

With that being said, if you ever find yourself in a new city and you want to spend the night but you can only get a room through a hawker...don’t. On the other hand, if your stranded at an airport and it’s between Big Vern’s and the baggage claim carousel, use you bag as a pillow and hope no one turns it on.

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Street Food

11/4/2013

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    Having spent a decent amount of time traveling around the world, I have come to the conclusion that Street Food is the greatest invention of all time. For just a few dollars and little effort you can find yourself sitting on the side of the road, blissfully slurping up a mind numbingly good mystery meat noodle stew. Street Food is so good that people have tried to capture it’s greatness here in America through food trucks and pop-up cafes but it always seems a bit JV compared to what you get on a street corner or in a municipal parking garage in say, Bangkok. It’s kind of like soccer in America. We form a league and have teams in most major cities but it’s a far cry from what you will find in England or Spain or Germany.

    You know if you’ve had truly great Street Food because you can’t just describe the food, you have to tell a whole story that goes along with your experience. More times than not, your story will go something like this: It’s early in the morning and you find yourself wandering down a nondescript street in search a magical elixir to clear your head from the night before. When, out of no where, you hear a slight commotion and rustling coming from up ahead. As you continue to wander forward, the commotion grows louder and louder. Not knowing what is going on but knowing there is a good chance you won’t be welcome, you start to turn on your heal to high tail it out of there. But something stops you. There’s a faint, yet growing aroma of deliciousness in the air. The hunger inside you is triggered and like a moronic character in a horror movie who finds his dead buddy with a knife crammed up his ass and decides to investigate the creepy basement, you too decide to continue on.

    As you trek on, like in any good horror movie, there are many indications that tell you to turn around and go home. You might encounter downed power lines, screaming babies, a flash flood, confused/lifeless stares from old women or a salty old fisherman might appear out of nowhere and actually say: “Turn around and go home.” But none of this will stop you because with every step closer the smell gets stronger and pulls you towards it like Dark Helmets tractor beam in Spaceballs. Finally, against all odds, you make it to source of the commotion and the aroma. And unlike the character from the horror movie, your day is not coming to an end, it’s just beginning.

    The smell, it turns out, is coming from a makeshift kitchen that is ingeniously welded to the side of a moped and the commotion is coming from the long line of anxiously waiting people, hoping that breakfast won’t sell out before they get to the front of the line. Before you know it, you find yourself waiting nervously online like a degenerate gambler next to a roulette wheel. When you make it to the front of the line, you hand the proprietor a few coins and graciously take the steaming bowl of magic to a nearby broken card table and pull up a cinder block for a chair and dig in.

    Half way through the first spoonful you feel a warm glow come out of your soul and surround you and everything around you. The skies open up and you are awash in warm sunshine. The downed power lines have been fixed, the screaming babies are giggling, the old women are no longer staring but are laughing from the bottom of their bellies and the salty fisherman is now a leprechaun handing you his pot ‘o gold. You are a changed person. You are no longer the snarky tourist considering everything you encounter as inferior to it’s counterpart you would find back home. You now, truly, see the world differently.

    Now I know that if you visited a place like this on a daily basis, it would become like listening to your favorite album over and over again. You wouldn’t get that same magical feeling as the first time but you wouldn’t love it and appreciate any less either. With that being said, I wonder if anyone has ever visited America and gone back home with an amazing Street Food story? Probably not. But don’t give up hope because like great Street Food there is always a story involved and with any luck that story is just beginning here in America.

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Inspiration

10/18/2013

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We have all been hit by inspiration at one point or another in our lives. It is one of those things that seems to strike you out of thin air and then mysteriously vanishes as quickly as it arrived. It can come in a large form like after reading a Tony Robbins book you decide to quit your job to pursue the career you’ve always dreamed of of becoming the spritz boy for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue photo shoot. It can also come in a smaller form like when you’re sitting on the couch dreaming of becoming a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue spritz boy and a loved one comes in the room and yells at you to take out the trash for the fifth time that night, or she’ll force you to watch every Hugh Grant movie until you puke.

Like the examples listed above, i believe that all inspiration starts off as motivation. You read the Tony Robbins book, you get motivated to change your life and as you’re getting your shit together you get inspired to become a spritz boy. Or your loved one motivates you by making a threat of Biblical proportions. This motivation then inspires you to do what she wants you to do, like take out the trash.

Being an artist, I find it fairly easy to get motivated, it’s just turning that motivation into inspiration that I have trouble with. Just the other day, I woke up feeling motivated to start a new painting. I had an idea of the subject matter, so after a quick breakfast, I searched the web and perused some magazines to get some photos to use as reference points. Once I gathered up enough photos, I set about starting the piece. About 20 minutes in, nothing was flowing out of me and my painting was looking a bit wonky to say the least. So, I went to the computer and Youtubed “Will Smith Inspiration” and after watching a few clips, I felt motivated again and got back to work. After another few minutes of work, my piece looked like the left overs of a clown walking through a mine field. I then noticed that I was listening to Rammstein and like any good German industrial music, it tends to be a bit loud and violent. So I turned it off and put on some nice Brasilian Samba music. This put me in a better mind set and got me flowing better, but still the art piece looked like an exploded clown carcass.

This back and forth pattern continued throughout the day and it actually got to the point where for some reason I had rearranged my sock drawer, twice! Around 10pm or so I conceded that no matter how motivated I was, inspiration would continue to evade me. Needing to clear my head, I went to the gym. While on the elliptical, I was listening to Queens of the Stone Age and alas, inspiration hit me! In my head, I saw the piece I was working on take shape right before my eyes. The colors were beyond vivid, the line work crisp and everything was situated in the right place. With this charge going through my system, I rushed home, got out my paint and just as my brush touched canvas, nothing. Like the mysterious lady at the end of the bar who you finally got up the nerve to go and chat up, was gone! Hopefully, when I come back tomorrow, she’ll be there waiting? A man can only dream.

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Welcome to Supernova Art

10/18/2013

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Welcome to the Supernova Super Rant for Friday, October 18th!

I’m happy to say that this is my first entry for the Supernova Blog. This is also the first and last time you will see me use the word “blog” as I can’t stand it because to me it sounds like a mild infection one would contract from swimming through a school of diseased jelly fish. I also find the word “blog” to be very manufactured and I think I can do better by using a different word. With that being said, I have decided to forgo calling this the Supernova Blog and have chosen to call what you read here the Supernova Super Rant. This to me sounds much better because who couldn’t use a good rant every once in a while? It also helps that I tend to spend a good part of my day ranting about one thing or another.

In the Super Rant, you can expect to read about pretty much anything that I might find interesting and/or entertaining. As you can probably tell from my art work, I have many different interests in many different areas and I’m always curious about how things work. As I explore these different areas, regardless of how serious or light hearted they me be, I will always try to keep my writing as amusing and entertaining as possible.

So, before I start ranting about my rant, I will move onto my first column. In it I talk about the mysterious lady in my life, that is inspiration.

Until next time, I’m Adam Campbell. Good Times.

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SUPERNOVA: Art and Illustrations

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