A girl friend once wrote to me, "May the sun shine down on the path you are going and the wind tickle the soles of your feet as you pass." Or something to that effect. Deserving as it was, I got right to work on an equally thoughtful response. Unfortunately, "May the wind blow your skirt upwards as I trip and fall at your feet", failed to elicit the reaction I was hoping for. Lesson learned. There's a fine line between clever and stupid. So, with that in mind, this page is really nothing more than a dumping ground for random musings and various (mostly old) essays of mine.

-   High Speed Photography
-   Spark-e yells, "Cut!"
-   A Better Job
-   The Sunday Newspaper
-   The Life and Times of a Working Stiff

I became interested in high-speed photography when my father brought home some pictures his students made of bullets going through many different things, like playing cards, apples, balloons, and soap. To take that type of picture at home I needed a sound-sensitive synchronizer (which my father loaned me), an electronic flash, and a camera with a shutter that could be left wide open. I decided to shoot one of my miniature electric race cars popping a balloon as the car went off the ramp. I set up a track and ramp, and taped a sharp nail to the front of the car. I tested it several times, and the car exploded the balloon so fast I could not see what happened.

-  Andy cover shot -  short balloon, stage 1 -  short balloon, stage 2 -  long balloon, stage 1 -  long balloon, stage 2

I knew that pictures taken by hand would be blurred, because the balloon popping happened so fast. Also, it would be almost impossible to snap a picture at the exact moment when the nail made contact with the balloon. My father told me electronic flash pictures would be sharp, because the flash only lasts about 1/50,000 of a second. The balloon and car could not move too much in this short time. To make sure the flash would go off at the right instant, I used the sound-sensitive synchronizer. This device automatically fires the flash when its microphone picks up a loud sound. I focused the camera on the balloon, and suspended the microphone only inches above the point of contact. To make an exposure at the exact moment the flash went off, I had to lock the camera shutter wide open. This meant everything had to be done in total darkness, because any room light would ruin my picture. I turned the light out, opened the shutter, ran my car down the track and off the ramp, and popped the balloon - all in darkness.

The first few times I would bump something in the dark, or forget where I had put something. But after a few mistakes I got some good pictures. After the car popped the balloon and the flash fired, I closed the camera shutter, turned on the lights, and prepared for another picture. (Because I used an instant camera, I could see the immediate results of each picture.) I tried two different kinds of balloons. Round, short balloons opened like a clam shell and the long ones looked like they ripped along the top. To see the balloon at different stages of breaking, I moved the microphone farther away. Because the sound took longer to reach, the flash went off a millisecond later. Just six inches made a big difference. By then, the bursting balloon was almost gone. This showed that balloons break very quickly, almost instantly. The process is entirely too fast for human eyes to see, but not too fast for a camera to capture.

This is a story about mans' best friend and the many roads he never traveled in a Buick. Spark-e, as no one used to call him, was a canine streaming movie director. Born the runt of a litter and only able to see in black and white, Spark-e created barely coherent stories out of personal hardship and strife. Like "East of Edinburgh", about the neighbor's Scottish Terrier with the weak bladder and yard flamingo fetish. Perhaps it was his crushed velvet den that inspired his dark film noire, but no one knows for sure.

Up until his quadruped stupor in the late mid-eighties, Spark-e worked movie magic from his monogrammed director's chair next to camera two. Unfortunately, he was no longer allowed on the furniture. His timely fall from grace eventually inspired the true story behind his epic swan song release, "The life and times of I have it and you don't."

Critics and audiences alike ignore him, but Spark-e will always be remembered as gruff and slightly pigeon toed.

Admittedly, it was a rather dull day at work that inspired this little narrative about an opportunity for something better. Granted, it's a bit off the cuff. A bit soft in it's use of pillowy phrases. A bit optimistic in the face of an uncertain economy. A bit idealistic given my discomfort with the business of getting paid. Maybe a bit narrow, given my pleasure for many things. But none the less, this is my motivating vision for what a typical day at the office should actually be. Something more akin to a creative culture that sustains itself, rather than a business that is driven by, well, business. Something kinda like this...

For starters, like most people, my day would begin and end at the front door of the work place itself. Only in my story this isn't any ordinary door and it's certainly no ordinary place. Instead of swinging open with the clinical push and pull of a glass office tower, the double wide entrance to my world rolls up with a proud clatter into the rafters of a building more reminiscent of an old warehouse or barn.

This 80 year old building still looks much like it was found, with it's massive wood joists and tarnished iron hardware. There are large open spaces that allow us to move with a subtle structure that brings intimacy to those that seek it out. It's a place that reeks of hard work, yet with the same warmth and comfort that a stone fireplace on a wintery night might bring. The kind of place where when the wind is blowing outside, you would hear it on the inside. Where the remnants of organized chaos left by creative and practical people is the only decoration it requires. And with no dress code or pretension, the afterthoughts of wardrobe find tweed jackets and painter pants equally at home.

In addition to these lofted open spaces, one can retreat to adjoining vestibules and offices that lower the ceiling and din of those collaborating around you. Formulate ideas or contemplate a nap, it's entirely up to you. This is the kind of place clients and business partners would visit for the first time and be immediately transported into a world that knows no stress, no honking horns, and no misguided crisis. They always look forward to their return. Be it strategies or late night brainstorming, politics or sports scores, cappuccino or hot chocolate--you'll find them all served well from deep within a pillowy sofa as feet rest comfortably on a fine hardwood table that's not afraid of scuffs or coffee cup rings.

It's now 6:00am as the door clatters it's way open. A new day begins.

As I step inside just beyond the coats, I proudly park my bicycle where it will soon be joined by dozens of others. They are owned by a jovial bunch of talented people who continuously challenge their minds and those that surround them. Yet with every possible tool of the trade at their disposal, ideas remain their most important one. It's a familiar place that I always look forward to. Doesn't everyone wish they could say the same?

There's an old disconcerting breaker box here on the wall, just waiting for my signal to shed some light on the day. I'm the first one here and often last to leave, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

It's an exhilarating bike ride from my home just outside of town, so the mornings usually start with a quick shower in the locker room of our small but well-used gym. We have a basketball court too, which you will soon hear more about. Gathering my things I seek the quiet peace of my office--the last one at the end of a wood-planked hallway that doubles as a bowling alley when the good folks from Ben & Jerry's come by. My poppy seed bagels are fresh from the oven and the orange juice is still settling from a squeeze. I spend a little time with the trades and morning papers, clipping out the Beetle Bailey and tacking it to my brown cork-covered walls. Gradually settling into the punctuated rhythms of my PowerBook, I attend to email and familiar correspondence from Barry, Carter, Jobs, and my dad.

Even from the bellows of my little brown lair, I can hear the building gradually coming alive. I soon find myself exchanging pleasantries and anecdotes with my peers, and formulating plans for the days work ahead. For the past several weeks, Howard, Gene, Ashley and myself have been building the miniature sets for our stop-motion animated feature, "There Goes My Bus". It's a close collaboration with Aardman Entertainment that will start shooting here in the coming months. It's only one of the many diverse projects playing out in various states of unrest. Never the same from one day to the next, yet we are confident in our abilities to meet the challenges that come. There is an impenetrable calm over the risks that we take.

I spend the bulk of my early afternoon soaking in the creative spirit that abounds, always happy to lend an ear or thought or strong back where it's needed. On this particular day one can experience the methodical traffic in the halls, the conference room voices and library peace. Moving from one collaborative hub to another you can hear the quirky blend of jazz stylings emanating from our recording studio. There are writers and art directors draped over beanbag chairs with Bennetton ads on their brains. The wood shop is buzzing with photo shoot sets as our web guys complete an all-nighter getting ready for a launch. I look forward to the opportunities to step back and admire the view, the very moment a manifestation of our collective idea comes into focus. We create something real. Something that in turn helps our clients run a business, or entertains a grateful audience, or even moves someone to feel--something. Anything.

Slotted nicely between long periods of productivity comes the ritual escape. Every Wednesday at 1:00pm sharp there's a rumble on the lower west side. Okay, not really a rumble, but a highly charged basketball game--just out back and a few yards to the left. When my partners and I started this company, the first thing we did was salvage the urban court from beer bottles and thick jungle weeds. Our good neighbors at the Honey Bear Bakery are the usual challengers, and to the victor goes "Dave", a life-sized cardboard cut out of Mr. Late Night himself. He's presided proudly over our sporting traditions for the past 13 years. The cardboard likeness has seen better days, but then again so have the Bakers. Our once spirited contests have recently turned predictably one sided. However, as the author of this story, perhaps I'm merely exercising my creative license and wishful thinking.

As we take a deep breath and settle quietly back into our respective projects, we're all afforded a moment to reflect on the work at hand and how great this is that we get to do it here. It's three in the afternoon, the place is humming and I'm sneaking away for more dutiful calls. Being in the huddle of this great team is what I love most. Up to our eyeballs in Elmers Glue, X-acto blades and balsa, we find ourselves cutting and pasting a miniature world into a life full of fantasy and wonder. Not unlike this one.

And so this is how it goes. Something like yesterday, but probably nothing like tomorrow. A hammer hammers. The paint dries. A witty line gets a fading cackle. As the clock strikes six, the steam whistle blows like the one in Flinstone's quarry. It reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously, while serving as an important and democratic reminder that we all have lives taking place outside these storied walls. While most of our good folks don their sweaters and say goodnight, there are always obsessive stragglers that come to embrace their roles as the busy little elves that work secretly through the night. I am one of them.

As the frenzy grows quiet, you might now be thinking that this wouldn't be your idea of a job worth doing. But I for one will take a shabby old barn over sculptured glass walls and Technion cubes any day. And with that, my day at the office is complete. See you tomorrow... I'll get the lights and roll down the door.

The beginning.

The sun is creeping through my window and cutting rays across my desk. Sunday mornings are when I, in past years, spent a good two hours or so digesting fresh poppy seed bagels, orange juice, and a super-sized Sunday Seattle Times. Page by every page I would take this time to update myself with the goings on in the world.

The Dalai Lama was right when he said there wasn't nearly the amount of attention paid to the acts of kindness and goodness in this splendid world, as there are the ever so sensational orgies of horror. The stories themselves or just the way in which they are focused on and reported, does indeed say much about our culture. Or lack there of. Either way, I find this insight into the pros and cons of being human oddly fascinating and enlightening.

There is an order, a method to the way I approach the reading of a Sunday newspaper. First, I clear myself a large area in the middle of my hardwood living room floor and position myself in the direct path of morning light crossing the room. And if the sun should yeild to the incessant pouring of rain, I will instead listen affectionately to the droplets upon my roof as I fall deeply into zen.

With everything organized around me and my body laid out in anticipation, I will first reach for the center of the stack and remove all of the colorful sale inserts and comic strips, setting them aside for last. These are for dessert.

As I unfold the thick stack of sections that will soon be so thoroughly studied, I must first give them a firm backward crease so that the paper will effectively lay flat. Then page by page, I start with section A and methodically work my way through to the last, which is usually no more than a lame commentary on Habitat or Automobiles or Sex in the 90's.

Admittedly, there are times when I anxiously await a particular sports score or entertainment review from a Saturday event, but none the less force myself to wait. Wait until I arrive at that section, reading all that come before it in the ever so sacred order the newspaper boy arranges it. I repeat, I DO NOT JUMP AHEAD!

I see that the precarious push and pull of Iraq and the western world has entered it's eighth year. Tired. People have become so jaded and thoughtless, that the threat of World War III has been relegated to a single column on page A-23. We also have a doctor in the midwest who will be cloning humans within the next ten years. Perhaps the single most awesome challenge our collective morality will ever face is about to descend upon us, and we are so incredibly ill prepared to deal with it. I just hope that it too doesn't soon become a relegated story found somewhere between the President's preference for boxers or briefs and yet another shot of Diana's head on collision.

It's rather sad how the death of Mother Theresa went quietly by without the world's attention and respect. When it comes to the qualifications for entry into todays headlines, it is scandal that sells while integrity is forgotten. Am I buying into that philosophy when I insert my six quarters into the newpaper vending machine? If I was, would I stop?

After hundreds of stories of life deprecation and world wonder, it is now time for a little light hearted desert. I wonder if I'm the only liberal, tree hugging vegetarian that will admit to reading Hollywood gossip from the Parade magazine that's stuffed in with all those Radio Shack and Circuit City sale bonanzas? Please tell me where this intrigue into the lives of the rich and famous comes from.

Although I would never trade my life for theirs, there is still something so awfully tempting about the revolving bedroom door at Madonna's estate. Alec Baldwin has just beat up a paparazzi. Robert Downey Jr. is either doped up on drugs or a dope all together. To no one's great surprise, Roseanne Barr and Tom Arnold have finally split up. I wonder what became of their mutual odes of loyalty that were so permanently tattooed on their butts? Ouch! And you thought they hurt going on.

No, there is nothing here written about Andy or his propensity for late nights and drinking right from the carton. But that's just fine with me. I would just assume keep my butt out of the gossip rags.

Alas, on this particular Sunday morning in the quietness of my island paradise, I am not reading a thick juicy newspaper. However, I am thinking about it--remembering all of the good times we've shared. And of the of the even better times when a special friend would join me for this ritual of editorial consumption. That was even better.

Reading newspapers or otherwise, I so much enjoy being in the presence of a warm and radient body in complete silence. A moment where there exists no particular urgency to speak, and there is no critically important agenda for the day to rob us of this bliss. After all, what could possibly be more important, more perfectly splendid than sharing a few quiet hours whilst eating fresh poppy seed bagels, sipping fresh squeezed orange juice, and feeding our minds with the goings on in the world.

All is quiet. All is calm. All is so utterly peaceful in the middle of Andy's hardwood living room floor.

Even though I was born and raised in Rochester, New York, I was always pretty eager to leave it for something more. Something different. So on the very evening of my high school graduation in 1985, I packed up and moved myself to the abundant nature and more liberated culture of Seattle, Washington and the Pacific Northwest.

My early creative passions boiled over with music and the pursuit of financial solvency without the suit and tie and people telling me what to do. "Good luck!", my dad would always say, when what he really meant was, "Yea, right!". My efforts to save face lead to several totally obsessive years practicing jumping up and down in front of a mirror and jamming hard rock riffs on my Jackson single-humbucker electric guitar.

Eventually the late eighties saw me living and working in Hollywood as a recording engineer and playing in various rock groups that never got much further than the Whiskey-a-Go-Go on the Sunset Strip. And just so you don't think it was all sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll (not even close), I was also working hard at the proverbial day job just to make ends meet. I had the dubious honor of being the first long haired stock boy for Nordstrom's lingerie department in Redondo Beach. Interesting experience, but another lifetime entirely.

After achieving some modest success with my studio work, I decided to get out of the business of music as it began to tarnish my love for the music itself. Additionally, maybe I didn't really have enough talent for it. And so it went, with the possible exception of stocking bras, I returned to Seattle with no practical experience to show for it. Despite this, I was able to get work merchandising and designing window displays for large department stores like Frederick & Nelson, REI, and the Bon Marche. During a brief stint at JC Penny, I somehow managed to turn a simple sale display of black and white costume jewelry into a statement on social and religious injustices. Customers were outraged and the store manager publicly ripped it down in disgust. Just a guess, but it probably had something to do with the black & white mannequins being behind bars with not so subtle mentions of "god" and "one people". Needless to say, this is a career highlight of mine still.

Clearly the retail environment didn't afford the creative freedom I sought, so I began working for an interior design firm lugging furniture, hanging pictures, and anything else that allowed me to hang out there. At their request, I also began measuring and drafting simple floor layouts for the designers and architects, upon which they could plot their room settings. I guess I was doing a decent enough job, as I soon found myself designing and drawing custom cabinetry and commissioned fine furniture of my own. It was here when I first really started to appreciate my abilities in the fine art of "making it up as you go".

In 1991, I continued some of this freelance interior and furniture design work while taking a part-time job as a facility shift manager and assistant for the University of Washington varsity tennis teams. It was also in and around this time that I started doing roofing and general carpentry to earn extra money and satisfy my desire to build things.

Ever since my junior high science fair when I built a scale model replica of a Kiss rock concert stage that actually catches fire, I had always wanted to be a set designer. But it wasn't until 1993 that it seemed like a distinct possibility. The Seattle Shakespeare Festival was seeking volunteers to help with the upcoming season and the design of it's poster and brochure. Despite lacking the requisite experience or graphic arts portfolio, I was still able to charm them into letting me do it (more like annoy the heck out of them until they relented). In the end it turned out well for both of us, as they got a nice enough poster for free and I gained a little more of that fore-mentioned experience.

I continued to build on my good relationship with the Shakespeare Festival, so when their prop designer pulled out at the last minute, I was in the right place at the right time. By the following year I had become the set designer I always wanted to be. Albeit not for Van Halen. I had the opportunity to take on a few acting roles as well, but for some reason the directors never gave me any lines. Anyway, in the two or three years that followed I went on to design and build sets for SSF, Ilene Ford Modeling Agency, Village Theatre, Fox Television, and other small performing arts groups.

To supplement my rather meager income between shows I started taking on freelance graphic design jobs, such as logos and business cards for doctors and other small businesses. One of these early works was a letterhead system for a physician that was made of band aids. With that I won my first awards with Print and Communication Arts magazines. Not surprisingly, you can still find it proudly displayed in my portfolio.

My traditional mechanical design and production skills soon lead to my first real graphic design job at an arts and crafts company in San Rafael, California. This was motivated in large part by the hope of securing a girl's hand in marriage. The promise of a steady paycheck seemed like a prerequisite, though as I would learn later, not by itself enough. Anyway, I took that chance and left Seattle once again. For the following 12 months I designed and produced a wide assortment of packaging, advertisements and catalogs. In those days a lot of the paste up and production work was still done by hand, which was fine for me as I didn't really care for computers or know how to use them. Come to think of it, for some reason, my employer thought I did (huh). Anyway, I figured it would be a good idea to learn enough (about computers) to get by and soon became the resident Photoshop expert.

After that I went on to work for an ad agency in Bellingham, Washington as an art director and writer in 1995. And as luck would have it, that was just about the time this Internet was gaining some attention. So, in what was certainly the smartest move I ever made, I got our little agency connected and began teaching myself and the rest of the staff the basics. I was now able to leverage that experience into great new work opportunities and increasingly better pay days.

I put in several years of requisite 16 hour work days in the Bay Area until such time I could take off for awhile, retreating to a nice little rented house on a small island in southern British Columbia. Apart from a few freelance projects I worked on remotely from the comfort of my home, I had another part time "job" of sorts making house calls to residents in need of Macintosh technical support. Instead of actual money for my services, I received the occasional apple pie, farm fresh cheese, massages, and a whole lot of island good will. There was still plenty of time left over for quiet hikes, starlit nights, and paddling an ocean shared with sea otters and Orca whales. I enjoyed this idyllic existence very much, but after a year found myself starving again for challenge, collaboration, and creative adrenalin.

In 1998, again I found myself a hundred miles to the south in Seattle taking on my first Creative Director gig which was going well until the company folded after only a short time. From there I went to New York City to work for a comic strip character of all things. I got the fortunate opportunity to be the executive producer, ghost writer, designer, programmer, and everything else for Dilbert.com and DilbertTV.com. I just couldn't get over how cool it was that someone would actually pay me to read comic strips during several weeks of "research".

It was the summer of 1999, during my brief stay with my girlfriend in Massachusetts, when global branding and web development company, USWeb/CKS, came calling -- encouraging me to join their large, talented and seasoned team. Needless to say I jumped at the chance, and for the next couple years had the opportunity to work with and learn from really great people and help lead some challenging projects for interesting clients and brands. Though I began working in our Silicon Valley offices, it was not long before I was living on Avenue Montaigne in Paris and running one of our biggest global accounts. Which in turn led to my promotion to Partner and Creative Director in Atlanta. Some people say that I was the only one stupid enough to take that gig. Either way, I was happy to give it a shot.

Through various mergers, acquisitions and name changes, I witnessed CKS become a company that "marched FIRST", only to see it stumble towards bankruptcy court instead. By May 2001, it was dead. So too was the dot com hype that surrounded them. Despite everything, my time at USWeb/CKS and marchFIRST was yet another great experience that will continue to bring value and perspective to my professional life in the years to come. I earned a few scars for my efforts. But if there's one thing I like better than winning, it's simply learning.

I'm a firm believer in that everything that goes around, comes around. Which is probably why I'm once again unemployed and hanging out with my dog. I don't believe in waiting for the phone to ring, so I've recently been contemplating what I might like to do next. Another incarnation of myself. I'm now giving serious thought to driving around the states in my pickup truck and mowing the lawns of unsuspecting locals. Or I suppose I could go hang in Morocco for awhile and write that book I've often threatened to write. But then again, maybe I'll just move back in with my parents, watch cartoons, and never clean up my room.

The middle.