Steve

The shape , size and color of a room have profound effects on the mood of its inhabitants. My friend, Steve, lives alone in a very small apartment. It’s a studio, he has one room. I would guess maybe 300 square feet and a bathroom. There is no stove, dishwasher, or even microwave. Steve keeps his room very clean, he leaves his walls blank. The whole room feels very sterile. I frequently stop by to say hello, often at varying times sometimes late, sometimes very early. His bed is always made to perfection. A military standard that not even a strict drill sergeant could critique. I consider this the gold standard of bed making. Sheets perfectly tucked, with matching pillowcases. All the loose ends are folded neatly under the mattress. Opposite of his bed he has a small desk with a lap-top computer where he spends most of his time. Inside the drawers of this desk are various documents, folders, paperclips, and pens and pencils, everything is separated by dividers and diligently organized.

Steve doesn’t resemble his room in the slightest. He’s a punk rocker, always with his studded leather jacket, torn jeans, and his hair changes colors more than my screensaver. Entering his room for the first time strikes everyone by surprise; it’s really quite a curiosity. It’s interesting how a room, even a small room, can have such a profound effect on an individual. If Steve lived in a 10 bedroom mansion, would he keep all the rooms like this? I have a suspicion that Steve’s level of organization is his way of combating the size of his living area. His small room feels very comfortable and livable, despite having a subtle dorm-like feel. The effects of organization, color, and space have been known to have effects on mood. This point is demonstrated in the concepts of feng sheu and interior design. The most interesting part is how Steve’s room does not represent his personality. My apartment, at least I think, very accurately reflects the type of person I am. I’m semi-organized when it comes to my apartment. I use spaces to display things that represent my interest. I have a rack of guitars, art on the walls that I created, good reads intentionally left out as conversation pieces. High tech do-dads scattered left and right. If a stranger came in, they would easily asses I am a musician, artist, and techie. All of my hobbies lie in plain view. Steve’s apartment leaves no indication of interests in plain sight.

I’ve thought a lot about this and Steve. His apartment leaves me with so many questions about the kind of person he really is. I have my theories.

Steve could be an extra-terrestrial, or maybe an android from the future sent back to slay the leader of upcoming rebellion. I hope it’s not me. Maybe his punk rock getup is a mask for his real self. Could be the way he was raised, but that’s not nearly as interesting as an him being an alien.

The List

I found a strange list in the street today. What it is or why it exists I have not a clue. I thought I would create a back story for it. The list has 8 items on it. It looks something like this, only written on a torn piece of yellow notebook paper, it is written in sloppy handwriting and in ball point pen.

1. Walking to a friend’s house

2. Taking a late night stroll

3. Bums, migrating to a new town

4. Drunk wanderers

5. Scouting the area, possibly robbers

6. Looking for a quiet spot to do drugs (this one is crossed out with a note “alleyway” next to it)

7. Searching for a place to hide a body

8. Meeting someone for a drug deal

Here is my story. I encourage you to make your own as a creative writing project.

Nosey Neighbor:

Its dark.

A new moon enhances the effect.

Two figures round a corner and proceed directly to the center of a road. Their faint shadows stretch long and narrow due to a distant street lamp. The agenda of these individuals is unclear, but given the time and the place their intentions were likely suspicious. They proceed shoulder to shoulder through town, houses on either side. Parked cars line the road. All but one of the owners of these cars is fast asleep.

A light turns on in the widow of the corner house. This is the only house on the block with its own yard and independent structure. The others are town homes, newer and stacked backed to back all the way down to opposite end of the road. The man inside lives a different life than his neighbors, and like his home he is detached from the community. He lives a quiet and mysterious life. On this particular night, by pure coincidence, he happens to peek through the blinds to see the two men walking down the center of the street.

“Peculiar” he thought.

He quickly threw on his black hoodie and quietly made his way down the stairs. He carefully opened his front door making sure the old wooden door did not make a sound as he made his way to the porch. There he positioned himself in a crouching position behind a banister, and watched the two men walk and turn down a skinny alleyway. He jarred himself upright and quickly moved across the street. He moved fast and stepped lightly. He darted from house to house, hiding behind whatever structure or foliage he could. He quickly progressed to the building that formed the corner of the alleyway. He peeked around the corner.

He noticed one of the two throw something in a trashcan that was placed out for garbage collection.

“Crap, its garbage night” he thought

He could hear the garbage truck a few blocks down, the low rumble of the compactor carrying far. He scurried back to the house, ran into the kitchen and drug out the garbage, placing it on the curb in front of his house. He then returned to the alleyway to resume his covert spying operation.

By now the two men were not in sight. He proceeded up to the trashcan that one of the men placed something in. It was too dark, black trash bags mixed with the shadows… Nothing important stood out. He reduced his haste to a casual walk and moved up to the end of the alley and looked both ways. There was nobody in sight in either direction.

“Great, I should have left the garbage… yet another uneventful evening. “He muttered to himself He returned home in and slumped onto his couch.

He was sat and thought about what the two men could have been doing. Ideas of all breeds crossed his mind. He ripped a piece of yellow notebook paper off and started preparing a list:

1. Walking to a friends house

2. Taking a late night stroll

3. Bums, migrating to a new town

As the list progressed, the man’s ideas become more and more criminal oriented.

4. Drunk wanderers

5. Scouting the area, possibly robbers

6. Looking for a quiet spot to do drugs

“Nah” he though.. “They would have used that alleyway, its perfect for that sort of thing.” He crossed this entry off the list.

7. Searching for a place to hide a body

8. Meeting someone for a drug deal

For the rest of the night he would regularly peek through the blinds hoping to catch the two men walking again. He desperately wanted to stalk them, his only motive: boredom. Getting tired and fed up with the idea he crumpled up the list and took it out to put it in the garbage bag. Only the pick-up had already come. Frustrated he threw it on the street, went back inside and went to bed.

The Old Man

I often take the long way to work. I use the time to clear my head for the morning, and frequently listen to a mix down of whatever music I had recorded the night prior. This particular road has a railroad track that runs along with the road. Intermittent spurts of shrubbery and foliage zip by in the foreground of the tracks.

After about the 3^rd major bend in the road there is a pile of wood and logs. Despite having seen these logs countless times, I still always think for a split second one of the logs is an old man seated in the grass. The man appears to be solemn, lonely, and even sad. It captivates my attention and pulls my emotion just as if it were real, or maybe as if it were a well crafted painting or statue. Even though I know it’s coming, some part of me expects to see a log and not the old man. It still catches me by surprise.

I think the logs effectiveness as a piece of art is greater than that of a crafted piece due to its coincidental nature. It just happened to fall in this position, begging the passerby to ponder its placement and intention.

I cannot think of many example s of this. There used to be a clothing tree in my room. Sometimes in a tired daze I would think a man was standing in my room. It scared the crap out of me all the time; I have since gotten rid of the clothing tree. This example does not support the natural phenomenon theme I had going, but invoked the same type of response when seeing it.

There are likely other better examples, like the old man of the mountain in New Hampshire. If you’re not familiar with this, it is, or rather was, a large face carved out of the mountains by glaciers. It has since fallen off and now only exists on film. The face drew daily crowds and was considered to be a major tourist attraction for the state.

Anyone else have examples of things like this?

Preferably examples that are not of old men. I think i have exhausted those.

Pizza shop chronicals: part 1

I have spent the majority of my working life in pizza shops. Despite the heat, long hours, and low pay, I continue to choose this trade. In fact I actually enjoy this type of work. If you asked me why I’m not sure I could tell you. I just do.

I have met a large array of interesting characters along the journey, but one crew in particular really sticks out in my mind. There were four of us, three of whom actually worked and one who was very good at pretending to work.

Today’s post will start with the Pizza man.

The pizza man was born in Italy, grew up on his own from age 13 in NYC. He learned English by watching TV, reading magazine captions and attending movies. He has made pizza now for almost 40 years. His interests aside from cooking (which he was very good at) were, pornography, guns, racing (the European gran turismo style racing), and fishing. Each of these interests has a whole slew of stories associated with them. For this post, I’m going tell one of his stories of fishing in Italy.

The story is told as best as I can remember it, I would get bits and pieces of literally 100’s of stories like this that I plan to share in future posts. Do your best to imagine this being told in an Italian accent, and with great enthusiasm. He often told his stories while holding and flailing his loaded magnum revolver, which was brought to work every day. I was uncomfortable with this and would scoot out of the way of the barrel as he moved it around.

Catching the Cernia:

“Ohh the cernia… that’s C-E-R-N-I-A” He would frequently spell things out. He did this to clarify the differences between Italian spelling and English. Cernia is pronounced Chair-knee-uh. The C-E combination makes a Ch sound in Italian.

“I was only about 10, I had a spring loaded fishing spear, I mean this thing had some kick to it. I had to put all my weight on it just to get it down into the lock position. This is how I contributed the family. We were very poor. I spent most of my youth in the water, I love to swim. To catch a fish, you have to dive way down holding the spear… think like a fish. When one is in site.. BLAM you get em’”

He would ramble on and on about how difficult it was and how it took many dives to catch a fish. At the end of each day he could return home with a few fish and they would be cooked for dinner.

“Anyways, there’s one fish… very elusive. The cernia. Everyone in town knows about the cernia. They live in caves at the bottom of the sea. Sometimes twenty feet down. A fisherman might be so lucky as to catch one or two of these in a lifetime. They can only be caught with a spear, they are too smart to catch on hooks. I had spent the whole day catching a few fish. I thought I saw a glisten of light at the bottom, so I dove down to check it out. I took a deep breath and dove swimming quickly to the bottom. A large fish and I caught each others eyes. The fish quickly skirted itself into a hole in the rocks. I couldn’t hold my breath anymore; I returned to the surface and dove back down. My sights on the cave… I shot as quickly as I could to where the fish went and started to swim into the cave”

At this point he made sure to let me know that this was very dangerous. Its dark, easy to lose your since of direction. He is 10 years old with no breathing apparatus around 20 feet down (at least from his account of the story). You get the idea.

He is now about 5 feet into the underwater cave and sees nothing. His heart sinks and he returns to the surface.

“I was ready to head in. I knew the fish had beat me, but I wouldn’t let it go, I had to go back down one more time.”

Once again he took as deep a breath he could, spear in hand, and dove deep down and back into the cave. This time, he thought he saw movement.

“A saw a sparkle, I don’t know what. I pushed the lever on my spear and… nothing. At this point I could not bear to hold my breath any longer. I had to ditch my spear and swim in a panic back to the surface”

Here he was now acting out what it was like to gasp for the air for my entertainment. His arms pretending to swim.

“I was really beat this time, I had nothing left. I just wanted to get my spear back. I dove back down into the cave for the last time. It took me a bit but I found the spear. I swam up to it and grabbed it. And WHAT? It started flailing about like crazy”

Now he’s really into his story. He’s holding a pizza peel as if it were the spear and jerking it around violently.

“I knew I hit the fish, and he as I fought back, it just suddenly stopped. It was dead just like that. I felt the weight of him on the spear.. I drug him out and got to the surface. I realized now that I had caught the cernia, I didn’t think it was even a cernia from the begging. MINGYA WAS I PROUD! “

He is now yelling, the pizza shop was usually empty , very likely due to his antics. Also, “Mingya” a word he used much much more than my interpretation portrays is an Italian curse for groin, or cock, I’m not sure.

“The spear was right in his face, in between his eyes. It took me 20 minutes just to get the damn thing off the spear. I slung that fish over my shoulder and paraded through town. People came out of there houses to congratulate me. It was my proudest moment to date as a fisherman. I was like a celebrity. Everyone knew what I had done. And a 10 year old!! A 10 year old did it?!”

This was as much as I can remember of the story. I asked what he did with the fish. I figured such a fish must be worth a good amount of money. I think he said he ate it that night, and it tasted amazing, but only because he was quite literally swallowing his pride.

Watching Paint Dry

I’m sure you have heard the phrase “watching the paint dry”. It’s usually synonymous with a boring or mundane task.

A few years back I met an individual who is paid to watch paint dry. He truly found it a fascinating subject.

I was on a field trip with my BA301 class to a local, but globally known, chemical products supplier. I remember pulling into the lot, the same lot I had driven past countless times while cruising through town. I have always wanted to see what lies beyond that security checkpoint and was excited to finally be given permission to see this facility. We were to meet at R&D building number 2. The building was big. I was surprised to see that such a big building was allotted for R&D, not to mention there must have been another similarity sized building named R&D 1. Hell, maybe there were buildings 3 and 4 and 5, but this I do not know. The whole facility was much bigger than I would have guessed. It’s like a mini city of offices and laboratories. Large parking lots scattered left and right.

I find R&D2 and park my car in the lot adjacent to the building. I am dressed in my nicest suit. Various other students from class are waiting by the front door, some dressed like me, some not.

“The door is locked” one student said

There were about 15 of us there at this point, all standing there not quite sure what to do. Eventually a woman came down and the door unlocked when she was within close proximity to it.

“Sorry” she said

“I forgot about the RFID locks here, we were wondering where everyone was”

This was very cool to me. Other students didn’t seem to think anything of it. The woman opening the door didn’t either. All employees are given an ID badge, embedded in the badge is a microchip that transmits a radio signal that will unlock doors that you have access to. I want this type of technology on my front door, screw fumbling around with keys.

We were guided up the stairs and into a conference room with a large “U” shaped table. It was clear the presenters would stand in the middle of the “U” and students would surround them seated accordingly on 3 sides. I noticed a table in the back of the room with a coffee dispenser and cups. I was feeling a bit tired and decided it would be good to get some caffeine in me before things got going. Standing at the table was a member of my class presentation group. We had a short conversation about our expectations for the evening then made our way to our seats.

The first group of presenters came out and passed around an amazing piece of technology. Today this device is known as an e-book reader. At the time, the technology was still being developed and none of us had seen or heard of this device. They passed it around and talked way over our heads about how the device actually worked. They drew molecules on the white board and talked about protons and neutrons and how pieces of matter were being moved to form the screen. They told us the screen only uses power to change pages, once a page is displayed it holds without using any of the battery. When it came around to me I was very surprised to find the device turned off. Did the other students not turn it on? I hit the power button and the screen forms Japanese characters. It looks like a piece of paper, it reads like a book. It was really amazing.

The next presenter came out. This guy was a MBA who did business related functions for the company. He simplified our entire 4 year program into 3 circles on the board and told us these are the only things you need to know to succeed in business. He seemed smart enough and I took note of these things. His presentation lasted about half an hour and then we asked a few questions and he left the room.

The last presenter came in wheeling with him a large board. He was wearing a standard white lab coat with shirt and tie underneath. He was middle aged and smiled persistently as he spoke. The thing he wheeled in with him was kind of like one of those chalk boards with wheels on it. Only it wasn’t a chalk board. The display had tiers of planks; each labeled and aligned each with a smear of paint on it. It almost reminded me of an abacus.

“I watch paint dry” he said

The class giggled, unsure how to react to such a statement. He told us how he specializes in nanotechnology. He explained how nanotechnology is mostly about surface area. He used an example of silver to clarify his point.

“Take silver for an example. Silver has been known to kill bacteria. If we take a cube of silver and throw it in a bucket of bacteria, all the bacteria that touches that silver will die. Now imagine we break it into 100 pieces. More bacteria will touch the silver right?” he said

We all nodded and he continued

“So what we do is break things up into billions and trillions of pieces; increasing their surface area, therefore increasing the effectiveness of the desired outcome.”

His particular specialty was finding chemical additives for paint that would reduce the amount of time it took for the paint to dry. He spoke so enthusiastically, he had a true passion for his work and it showed. His board had samples of different paints with different chemical additives broken into varying amounts of tiny pieces. When he found the best additive the company would sell the product in the form of a fine powder to paint companies. His work was ongoing, it was his primary job duty to do this and find new additives on a daily basis.

It really got me thinking about things. I mean, this task is supposed to boring. Is there a fascinating aspect of everything in our lives? I would like to think so. Now, when I am bored I recall the scientist talking about watching paint dry.

There is always something there to spark some interest; I just have to find it.

Education and Creativity

It is nearly unanimously agreed upon that a necessary condition for innovation is creativity. Our world is evolving faster than we can teach or learn. The ability to recognize problems and create innovative solutions will be a stronger driver for success than direct knowledge of material. It is the ability to learn and adapt to new material that the most successful of professionals’ embrace. We need our education system to ready students for a world that does not yet exist.

Legislators will likely raise questions on the ability to evaluate such programs. A standardized grading system does not work for creative development. In fact, I’m not entirely sure creativity can be taught, however it can be nurtured. This begs the question of whether participation is satisfactory for right brain development. If so, no grades would be needed. The mere act of participating in these programs will force the individual to think innovatively and communicate his or her thoughts with their peers. Many questions need to be investigated in respect to evaluation of creative development programs. As a community it is important for us to think about these issues and find solutions to bring down the barriers that prevent their implementation.

I attended a lecture on this issue. The speaker was a high-up at Desales University. He spoke passionately about the need for drastic change in the U.S educational system. I have always agreed with this sentiment. All through his talk he talked about innovation, and how from a global standpoint, the U.S is severely lacking in standards for education. He mentioned how India is producing more graduate-level graduates every year then the U.S has students. India will have all the best scientists and engineers. The job market for these positions will be severely flooded. How can we compete? His main point is the importance for developing “soft skills”, skills that transcend industry. Soft skills include creativity, leadership, innovation, and communication. To date public schools are actually cutting funding to things that actually help nurture these skills. Things like art, jazz band, and recess. While these things are good, they are not exactly tailored for the type of soft skill development that is needed. Cutting these back is only another step backwards for today’s learners.

I challenge you (yes you the person reading this) to think of ways to help our education system. Think about how it can be evaluated. Post your thoughts in the comment box. We need to work as a community to develop a working model. We now have the tools to get students from all around the world working on projects together. Our grade school students can web conference to students of their age in India, Japan, Europe, or anywhere in the world really. This type of learning will teach culture, creative thinking, and ready students for a more globalised economy.

Jacob Feller

In grade school there was a boy named Jacob Feller. He never quite fit in right. He had this sort of reverberation throughout everything he did that made even the most regular of tasks noticeably awkward. It was in his stride. Each step met the floor with tip-toes as if he were always sneaking around. The yellow catholic school issued shirt was often tucked noticeably into his underpants. His too-tight khakis always were well pressed and left lines going down the middle of each leg. He didn’t talk much, or really have any friends.

For someone so socially repressed he had an excellent ability to communicate. His voice had a twine to it, sometimes he would stutter but only when talking fast. Aside from the slight stutter he had a clear and personable way of talking.

After lunch was recess. I always took note of what Jacob was doing during recess. Always up to some peculiar task. Sometimes he would be making noises, moving strangely, or raising both arms in the air for no apparent reason. I watched him do this day after day until the curiosity had my blood boiling. I walked right up to him (Not that he even noticed, he was lost in some kind of imaginary world.) The conversation went something like this.

“Hey, What are you doing?”

“Oh, umm… Playing.”

“What are you playing?”

“Construction site”

“ …”

“I like to pretend I’m a back-ho or a crane building a skyscraper or an en en engineer”

At the time I thought this was pretty lame. I headed back to my regular entourage and played box ball for the remainder of recess. Ever since this instance Jacob would frequently loom over me. I would be reading in the library at a table with three chairs on either side. He would sit and read in the chair directly next to mine. It was very awkward for me. I don’t think he thought anything abnormal of his choice of seat. In one case after about 10 min of reading like this I had to say something.

I talked with Jacob about his book. He had a large picture book of insects. This was relevant to my interests, so I looked at the pages with him and discussed each bug as it passed by. The period ended and we went our separate ways. Another period later the school day ends and I headed home, plopping myself on the couch still in uniform. I would frequently think about what kind of things Jacob Feller would do after school.

To this day I frequently think about Jacob Feller and kind of life he leads. Did he find a wife? Is she like him? What are his hobbies? Does he still walk on his tippy toes? I don’t think I’ve seen any adults who walk in such a way. But I do recall two different students in high school that did. Maybe there is some kind of tippy-toe walking syndrome I am unaware of. If there is it must end around age 20.

Jacob Feller, if you read this. Let me know. I want to play construction site.

The Painter

By: Mark N. Castaldo

I never learned how to paint. A skill I have always desired.

I never bought myself supplies. I have never seriously tried.

Regardless, I like to consider myself a painter.

I am suddenly aware of my mother pestering me as a child

“Have you been practicing your lessons?”

She had a suspicion that I had in fact not practiced my lessons.

“Yes Mom…”

“You have to show me them or you can’t watch tv”

“Ok..” I must have paused for a good five seconds “fine ill do it”

I did not practice my lessons. I was terrified.

I climb onto the piano bench, Mother at my back.

I take a look back and see her glancing back with a stern face that said

“I know you didn’t actually practice your lessons”

I raised my arms,

and my hands,

and my fingers.

My fingers felt the smooth and cold keys, in a position ready to begin.

I press they keys and everything fades

I feel scared and lost.

I feel disconnected

And too I come and my mother smiles

“that’s not your lesson, you can’t watch tv”

What I played was not my lesson,

But something I wrote.

I wasn’t allowed to watch tv, but I knew she was proud.

Typical Tuesday

I wake up and visualize my day. It’s a Tuesday; most of my Tuesdays follow a similar slew of logistical and procedural activities that I have aligned in such a way to give me outbursts of freedom. This is my way of breaking up the monotonous trolling of everyday protocol. Today I decided to visualize something different than a regular Tuesday. I would wake up in a room that I did not fall asleep in. I would walk into my kitchen, where once a pile of dishes lay, and find a glistening stainless steel sink. Or better yet… a new dishwasher mysteriously inserted into my cabinets, which now have more space and storage than ever before. My friends would be seated around the table conversing of our great future endeavors, spurting out creative and thought provoking ideas that had potential for great success. I thought it all through creating a life I wanted more than the one I have. Where all my problems no longer exist and happiness stands out strongest against all other things.

As you can likely presume, I did not find these things today. Not on this Tuesday at least. There are dishes piled high. Clothing has been spewed around the bedroom as if someone had torn the room apart looking for an important document.

How could this be? My room a mess, I so clearly visualized it clean and organized. What if I truly believed my room was different. What If I had not even a morsel of doubt in my psyche? No inkling of “it couldn’t happen” in my brain. Can I not create my own reality? Can my thoughts change the physical world around me? I keep trying, but as of yet, my attempts are futile. I shrug these thoughts off and proceed with my regular Tuesday routine.

I am now showered and dressed. I stand towering over this mess ready to conquer it. While I couldn’t imagine it away, I’m fairly certain I can put things in their places in a relatively short amount of time. My kitchen is still a mess. I do the dishes; it takes 10 minutes or so. I take cloths the laundry mat. While waiting I pull out a handout on new models for education and read it. I finish it and continue to read House of Leaves from where I had left the night before. I finish the laundry, shoveling it all right out of the dryer into my brown laundry bag. Drive home. Put the cloths away. Tomorrow I will wake to a clean room and a shiny stainless steel sink. In an essence, my visualization had come true.