Page Turners

At its best, writing a children's book must be an act of love. Not only the love of a specific child, but the love of language itself. The lyrical qualities of words in sequence unlocking newfound emotions.

However, setting aside Dr. Seuss, because perfection demands a category of its own, there are countless books for our kids that I simply can't stand to read. And as I've watched my children grow in turn, unique as they are but still moving through a similar procession of understanding, I'm forced to compare the experiences of transporting pages in my own youth.

My daughter has only now begun to appreciate the joys of Winnie the Pooh, but has been hooked on the chapterized version of Daniel Tiger for years. The Bearenstain Bears early work comes off a bit out of step with the times, and the newer editions tend to read like they hope to make up for the former. Don't get me wrong, when my toddler asks for one more rendition of Pigs in Hiding I am doomed to oblige, but no parent in their right mind would trade a few minutes of reading for an otherwise unnecessary tantrum.

While I'm sure they won't work for everyone, the books on this list all share a common trait: they get better with repeated reading. As my oldest child recently turned 4, and will clearly soon be bound for college, allow me to share a week's worth of stories that bring me everyday pleasure in reciting.

All the World Sometimes, even though it's a short read, the lessons taught transcend the time invested. The story follows a day in the life of a coastal family and emphasizes the intrinsic value of all creatures great and small. The illustrations are spare and movingly colored. The text simple couplets of rhyming verse. It's a portrait of aspirational living, in tune with nature and surrounded by the bonds of community. I'm hard pressed to think of a more wholesome book of child like discovery.

City Moon As the title implies, here is a story of urban twilight. A boy and his mother walk out into the mixed residential neighborhood of Jane Jacobs' paper cut out dreams. The setting is that perfect stretch of autumn, when night falls early, but the air is not yet cold enough to chill a wandering child, and the joy of being out of bed after dark is still new. While pushing a stroller across darkened sidewalks, I can't help remember Fievel and his sister Tanya singing Somewhere Out There as the moon rises slowly over a sleeping city, but for parents who have to travel away from their families, here is a less Disney centered tale of reassurance that we all sleep under the same sky.

Du Iz Tak Is there anything more magical than the transformation of nonsense into order? I think about that a lot watching my 1 year old move through a daily reinterpretation of vocabulary. I think about it as I struggle in my adulthood to acquire fluency in a second language. I think about it especially while reading Du Iz Tak? when two bugs discover a small sprout and wonder what it could become, at least I'm pretty sure that's what's happening, but since the text is all written in gibberish, it's only fair to say that hilarity ensues. It's impossible for me to read this book without embodying the cartoonish nonsense voices, each with their own unique inflection. It's just too much fun to put down, and too playful of a story to forget.

The Golden Glow It's also totally entertaining to watch a child's expectations be realized. As an adult, it's hard to remember the tension and release of pages turning, but when young kids know what is coming next in a story, it almost seems more exciting. Here a bookish Fox sets out to find a fabulously, fascinating flower, and the quest is filled with beautiful adventure. The stylish illustrations are more than half the fun, but whileThe Golden Glow begins and ends in the same place, the mysterious adventure in between contains an introduction to basic ecology, botany, orienteering and conservation.

Tomorrow I'll Be Brave This slender volume is bursting with visual panache, hand drawn super saturated colors, and bold typography. Each spread provides a different encouragement to try new things without fear of failure. I'm a sucker for any story whose moral can be applied as much in grown up life as childhood, and this book manages to be inspirational without resorting to cliche. Cover to cover and back again, the skillfully designed layouts pull the reader forward into imagined possibility.

Aaron Slater Illustrator If you're following along at the library or local shop, you may have noticed a theme here. So much of watching my kids develop has made me think about the character traits I want to cultivate in them: kindness, curiosity, and self-expression are all high on the list. This is a book that resonates across all three, while still providing pages rich with detail rewarding the frequent reader. However, it's also the only book here that brought tears to my eyes on multiple occasions, that's based on a real person, and that's part of a series of equally compelling other volumes called, "Questioneers," which may be my new favorite euphemism for "children." I relish the adventure and take comfort in the verse. A reminder that joy and beauty, and art, all come from inside of a questioning heart.

Escargot One last journey here, this one across the wild and fearsome expanse of a picnic table, in the company of an adorable garden snail. Perhaps when you too are small it's especially satisfying to see something smaller than you, with such big feelings. Perhaps the thought of vegetables as "scary" is universal to both children and insects. Perhaps interacting with a book should always be this way, filled with snorts of fierceness, guffaws of laughter and smacks of kisses. There are so many fictional characters that feel as real as friends, whether because they remind us of parts of ourselves, or simply the best of one another. Here is a book filled with wit and kindness, a reminder that even the tiniest creatures are just searching for a little love.

In Praise of the Voicemail

It may be a bit old fashioned, but the pandemic has reminded me of how much I love voicemail.

While the telephone was invented in 1876, it took 50 odd years for the answering machine to appear in a primitive form, and another 25 after that for the digital separation of messages from physical devices. Over the next half century, voicemail spread into every corner our lives, tying friends and family to one another as easily as business and industry, but for most people around the world today, the text message is the preferred mode of communication. It's cheaper and has the potential to be directed at many simultaneous recipients via group chats. It's quicker to skim, disregard or respond to as needed. It's easier to justify as an interruption and ostensibly less invasive, but as increasingly more of our lives take place online in the palms of our hands, a text is just another alert mixed with notifications from our calendars, apps and advertisements.

Don’t get me wrong. A handwritten letter is still the paramount of communication. The permanence of emotion flowing from the page at a distance of days, months or years never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps though, growing up in the eighties with memories of long phone calls between friends, and parents who refused to employ an answering machine, the novelty of voicemail never quite wore off. The background noise from a busy street corner in a missed connection fills my imagination with romance. And those people who know me best, who know I rarely ever carried a phone until I became a father, know that I have saved some messages for years. 

Maybe it’s because of those scenes in movies where a lover plays back the last recording of their long lost partner. Or it could just be the nostalgic nature of sound, the reason why we all love great songs as much as we do, the empathic power of repetition to turn any noise into music after enough playback. I can’t be certain, but it could simply be a longing for the human touch, instead of the chilling sharpness of the screen.

I’ve never been a big fan of mobile phones. My dad was always on call, being pulled away from family gatherings and special events, so the idea of being reachable at all times fills me with dread. The sound of his pager is etched into my memory, and though it took me many years to understand the larger good created by those piercing interruptions, I can’t abide it as behavior adopted by the world at large. Leaving aside all the magic tricks modern phones seem capable of performing, it's important to remember that the privilege to disconnect is hard fought.

For many folks these days, an actual phone call seems quite foreign unless it’s from scammer or a telemarketer. My most recent iPhone actually refuses calls from anyone who I haven’t had previous contact with, but so few strangers leave messages, I tend to feel relieved for the filtering service. Much like a covert note stuck into a forgotten pocket, or a picture tucked away in a book, a voicemail from long ago is a sort of time capsule. The human voice is a revelation of intimate detail. Tension and ease, joy and sorrow, nervousness and calm are all betrayed in the shortest of speech. In our current day, do we default to the anonymity of digital text because we seek to hide our emotions? Or have we simply forgotten how the tone and timber of real talk can be a salve for all that ails you? 

A Cook's Tour

Especially in the COVID era, I feel lucky to have grown up in a household where cooking was enjoyed. After knocking off from the office, my Dad had dinner on the table for the family like clockwork. Now that I'm a father myself I appreciate more than ever how difficult that can be, but striving to keep things simple goes a long way in the kitchen. Taking pleasure in regular practice while feeding yourself and others is immensely satisfying, and at the end of the day, rather than succumbing to the allure of endless scrolling, paging through the chapters of a cookbook can be a savory past time. I tend to prefer volumes that are long on personal insight rather than those that aspire toward encyclopedic inclusiveness. I'm also a sucker for a genre I call "spreads," books that pair a beautiful picture on one side with a single page recipe description on the other.

Formatively, I’ve got an anthology of classic Italian recipes from my Great Grandma Jo, and another set of vintage American dishes from my Grandma Lila. By now I’ve worked my way through a good number of both, but I didn’t properly begin my own adventures in cooking until I met my wife. While our courtship lasted the better part of a decade, it was rich with everlasting meals and culinary adventure. Along the way I went from being able to turn out only half a dozen bachelor staples, to mixing and matching steps from multiple recipes whenever the mood for cassoulet or curry strikes. As the years have passed, I've moved through countless plates courtesy of Epicurious, Food52, and the NYTimes Cooking App, but really nothing beats the editorial selection bias in a good cookbook. At this point, my library has grown unruly, but there are a few trusty friends I find myself constantly referencing from both necessity and simple pleasure.

Book Recommendations

12 Recipes Either Cal Peternell’s first book found me at the right time in my cooking history, or it really is simply the best primer for elevating your cooking intuition. Ostensibly written as a book of straight forward cooking advice for his son, this book cultivates a great set of skills that accumulate over the course of the chapters. 3 types of toast?!? Who knew that could change your life. Pasta otherwise? Yes please… This book has the most reassuring tone of playful utility in the kitchen and probably contains the highest ratio of “actually cooked” meals of any volume I’ve ever purchased.

The New Best Recipe As far as reference books go, the folks at Cook’s Illustrated created one of the clearest and most beautifully designed manuals imaginable. The prose is clean and direct. The accompanied images provide detailed context and the organization of the material progresses logically. The recipes are explained in depth along with the reasoning behind the test kitchen’s decision making. Working through this book in its entirety would certainly make for a thorough kitchen education, but I find opening it at random and just reading for a few minutes to be incredibly calming.

Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat Samin Nosrat’s masterpiece of a debut is really two books in one. The first half is a literary exploration of her philosophy of cooking, while the second contains recipes for practical and delicious treatments of a wide variety of dishes. Numerous vividly useful illustrations are also strewn throughout the pages, each forming a sort of cuisine matrix: wheels of ingredients, flavor maps, salting timelines and kitchen workflows.

The Making of a Chef Michael Ruhlman’s first memoir is a freshly detailed account of a year’s work at the Culinary Institute of America. It’s the sort of hyper-articulate immersive journalism I love, but more than that, it’s a playbook for any aspiring cook. The notes on stock making and knife technique alone are worth the price of admission. An everyman’s journey from diner denizen to haute cuisine enthusiast.

The Raw and the Cooked Jim Harrison’s incredible collection of articles has been an inspiration for years. As a former midwesterner, I feel strongly attached to Harrison’s descriptions of wild country cooking. For a roving gourmand, there’s no one better to take a cue from. Countless phrases could be mistaken for aphorisms if they weren’t so distinctly Harrison in tone. It’s a book best read with a good glass of wine in hand while a pot is long simmering on the stovetop. A legendary appetite for indulgence is captured in fine form, and nothing feeds the soul like a shameless meal.

Shaken... Not Stirred

When I was a kid, we had Saturday night movies. The family would gather on the couch after dinner and pop a tape in the VCR. Even though I'm sure there were many different films we watched, mostly I remember the ones starring James Bond. It's not like we had all of the Bond flicks on VHS, but we watched a certain few of them over and over. Dr. No, Goldfinger, Thunderball, and Diamonds are Forever on a rotating cycle. Even today, they remain my favorites, despite their many flaws. Something about the first few films' progress toward a satisfying pattern of production fills me with nostalgia for a vanished past.

When you grew up is perhaps the most important factor in determining who you believe is the authentic James Bond. There's no denying the facts that Sean Connery originated the role in the 1960s, Roger Moore largely carried the franchise through the tumultuous 70s and 80s, Pierce Brosnan rebooted a series out of sync with the 90s, and Daniel Craig has held sway over the majority of 21st-century pictures. True Bond fans have come to blows over the relevancy of George Lazenby's single addition to the catalog and the darker duo of films fronted by Timothy Dalton. However, in the larger history of western cinema, it's hard to think of a more simultaneously admired, reviled, imitated, and derided character than 007.

James Bond grew out of his literary roots and onto the silver screen under the constant vigilance of EON Productions. The same company that to this day maintains an iron-fisted control over the exploits, adaptations, and maturation of Ian Fleming's original creation. No Time to Die will be the 25th officially sanctioned episode of the uniquely fused genre, and it's tough to imagine a comparable achievement to the almost 60 year legacy of hard-boiled espionage, high-tech thriller, and romantic global adventure stories. There are many other singular films whose box office receipts and critical response exceeds any one of the greatest Bond projects. Still, in our era of divided attention, the cumulative impact of the series would be impossible to replicate. While the scope of Disney's Marvel cinematic universe presents a comparable achievement of epic possibility, the antics of Ironman, Thor, and Captain America are braided across countless competing storylines. With Bond, a singular thread binds together the entire twisted lineage of victims and villains. Amidst all of the stunts, death defying escapes, and explosive chase scenes, audiences around the globe have developed a long term relationship with a remarkable matinee idol.

Blockbuster film-making involves countless stereotypes, suspensions of disbelief, and convenient changes in loyalty. For better or worse, these are the narrative tools of the trade. Unfortunately, there is also a fair amount of misogyny, entrenched prejudice, and gratuitous violence built into this type of storytelling. Part of the enduring appeal of Bond is his license not only to kill, but to say and do things outside the boundaries of political correctness. The on screen combination of exotic locations, outlandish happenings, and provocative seductions is a calculated fantasy. He lives a life of abusive excess, above all rules of law, and comic book in scale. He fights with dramatic flair, but rarely sickening realism. Over the years, narrative development has occasionally been overshadowed by visual spectacle and gratuitous destruction, but attempts to curtail extravagance in set design, action sequences or location budgets tend to occur when the aura of leading man is passed to a new star.

Having recently rewatched the entire series chronologically, I'm reminded of how each iteration of the character has presented a new archetype of masculinity. Connery personifies rugged classicism, easeful and sardonic. Lazenby is the rebel, unable to escape the cool shadow of his predecessor. Moore is the playboy of the bunch, a self-effacing sly charmer. Dalton is the brooding romantic, most casual by far and yet always seething with an undercurrent of rage or bemusement. Brosnan could quite often be mistaken for an international banker, with a sophisticated exterior hiding absurdist bursts of agility. While Craig embodies the rogue, every motion fraught with a weight of lived betrayal. Each version of Bond is a product of his generation, accentuating aspects of the social currents swirling around politics and pop culture.

The precise details of this ageless agent provide the real-life feeling in an otherwise unbelievable set of stories. Specificity is easier to appreciate on the printed page, but the James Bond movies are filled with endless moments of idiosyncratic personal attachment. It's the accumulation of evocative specificity, the drinks, guns, cars, and clothing, that make the man a myth. The aspirational markers of consumption that either inspire or infuriate an audience. As the years have passed and product placement assisted more with the financing of production, the style of Bond evolved along with shifting times; Saville row suiting giving way to Brioni, Tom Ford, and Massimo Alba in turn. Fashion choices aside, part of the fun in any new picture is recognizing the moments of similarity and difference between the current episode and all those previous. The volcano lair in You Only Live Twice has a striking resemblance to the submerged satellite base in Goldeneye. The railroad car fistfight in From Russia with Love is reprised with panache in Spectre. The Tangiers rooftop chase in The Living Daylights is updated with a flurry of terra cotta in Quantum of Solace. In the end, every movie must stand alone on its own merits, but the legacy of residual character built up over decades provides an enormous lift to even the lowliest of offerings.

The progress toward a public debut of No Time to Die has had almost as many twists and turns, reversals, and changes of fortune, as the plot of any good mystery. However, what is most beguiling about this particular film is the conclusion of Daniel Craig's stewardship of Bond. After fifteen years, the latest embodiment of the gentleman spy is poised to take his final turn as a defender of the free world. The times have changed, and inevitably, a new actor will be found to better represent the current moment. It's this reinvention of character that allows the films to remain relevant, while continuing to operate just beyond the measure of believability.

Walking into a dark theater to share in a collective dream used to be an innocent indulgence, and now seems like a dangerous luxury. Amidst the global calamity of COVID, it's difficult to quantify the cultural value of James Bond, but after enduring a crisis that could have been cooked up in a fictional laboratory and stopped only by a display of movie magic, it's fair to say the world is waiting for a reliable hero.

You Should Try This...

One of the secrets to traveling well is packing light, but any trip worth taking involves a few necessities.

Over the years, I’ve built a number of “at the ready” bags for various adventures. I’ve got a beaten up North Face sack stuffed with a snow suit, goggles and technical layers. There's a rough canvas duffle packed with my tattered hunting clothes and duck boots. I’ve indulged in the Bug-Out bag fantasy, mostly as an exercise in case of emergency. But by far, my most used bag is the Dopp Kitchen.

What began as a smaller version of my mobile bar bag has evolved over the years into a fool proof way to make sure any AirB&B I wander into is equipped with all the essentials for a smooth meal prep. As soon as I committed to a dedicated Dopp Kitchen, the lower layer of any weekend bag became the easiest bit of packing.

I like a Dopp that is around the size of a soft shoebox. A while back Filson made my favorite, but any zip pouch will do, about a foot long by 6 inch wide and deep. Enough space for the kit, but not so much space that you feel like you can’t bring along your running sneakers if all you are packing is a carry on. After much field research, I can assure you that all the items listed here provide the most impact per square inch of use value.

Knife sharpener - I’ve been burned one too many times by a single dull knife stocked in a recently renovated rental. I am always on the hunt for a smaller version of this device, but nothing I’ve come across works nearly as well as my stand by. Some day I will learn to use a whet stone properly, but until that time: chopping onions, peeling fruit, carving meat or slicing bread— all of these tasks are immeasurably easier with a sharp knife. Don’t leave home without a sharpener or you will find yourself sad at 11pm on a Saturday while trying to conjure up a late night pasta.

Small metal spatula - I like a good amount of pliability and a few slats. Handy both for flipping burgers, scraping hash, and breaking up browning sausage. It's not as if you can't get by without one, but when walking into any foreign kitchen, you are far more likely to find a wooden spoon in residence than a proper spatula.

Microplaner - Am I the only one who wishes they could buy stock in Microplane? For grating cheese, zesting lemon, pureeing garlic or ginger, and dusting off nutmeg. A secret weapon to be sure, but until you find yourself without one, you will never understand how much this little device can change the way you cook. Get the smallest one you can in your favorite level of fineness.

Meat thermometer - Nothing fancy here, but every oven you come across has a different thermostatic response time. If you really want to nail your cook, don't leave home without it. No battery necessary, and often times the little sleeve protecting the sharp end has a reference for safe cooking temps.

Insulated tongs - It took me awhile to find a pair of these that were both small and sturdy, but now that I have them, I use them for everything from sautéing onions to flipping steaks. You never know what kind of pans you’re going to end up cooking on, so it’s always good to try and avoid scratching someone else’s cookware.

Wire Scrub Brush - On the other hand, there’s usually a sponge in the sink, but how often is the Brillo pad strong enough to tackle a roasted tomato’s blackened remainder? How long do you really want to leave the sink soaking with your toughest dishes? You can’t use these willy nilly on non-stick surfaces, but they are great on stainless steel, cast iron, stoneware, aluminum and glass.

Whisk - Sure, not strictly necessary, but I’ve definitely left a few of these in dishwashers over the years because of how often eggs are getting scrambled. Also useful for melting sticks of butter, stirring hot chocolate or fondue, and countless other delicious sauces.

Tea Strainer - I gave up coffee years ago and haven’t looked back. You can use this little guy to steep countless aromatics into various potions, but mostly I bring it along because the rest of the world drinks mud.

Citrus reamer - I take lemon with my tea. Granita is one of my favorite houseguest party tricks. Countless cuisines the world round call for a proper hit of acid.

Elbow Press - What part of life isn’t improved by citrus? Occasionally I will leave this at home in favor of the reamer alone, but if you’ve ever moved through a bushel of fresh limes for a party punch, you know how valuable this little guy can be.

Small sieve - For straining your mulled cider, clarifying any number of potions, or simply set over the vessel you are filling with fresh fruit juice.

Small funnel - Not just for topping up the flask, also handy for draining syrups or marrying rogue bottles. I snapped the handle off of mine to make it easier to pocket.

Aerolatte - Who doesn’t enjoy frothed milk? It’s so fancy. A latte made by campfire is a pleasure beyond measure. Though you can’t fit an Aeropress into the Dopp, my wife usually packs hers and I’ve been known to wake her up with café au lait bedside on vacation.

Corkscrew - I've opened plenty of bottles with a ball point pen or in a pinch, a decent sized twig and rock combo. Really though, there are few designs more efficient and timeless than a proper church key. Make sure you find one without the tiny blade that TSA thinks you will use to take over the airplane. You never know when the occasion will call for celebration.

Wine Aerator - Just like people, most wines do better with a bit more fresh air. Not only does this device double as a perfect pour and cork, but it's dishwasher safe.

Graduated 2oz measure - OXO really do make the most useful cocktail measure around. At home, I have a collection of vintage barware, usually in rotation at dinner parties and such, but for everyday drinking, this is my go to measure. You can’t break it. It’s extremely difficult to wear out unless you insist on putting it in the dishwasher. And aside from cocktails, you’ll find yourself surprised by how many recipes call for a scant few ounces of various liquids.

Y-Peeler - Peelers come in many shapes and sizes, but again, OXO seems to have found the ideal form of utility in their design of this little beauty. Potatoes, apples, carrots and countless of their friends will all be easier to deal with assisted by this little guy.

Single chopstick - I’ve never been been all that adept with a pair, but if you feel the need, bring two! I use a chopstick for all manner of cocktail stirring in any form of pint glass available. Folks can usually overlook you grabbing ice bare handed from a foreign freezer, but nobody really wants your fingers moving the cubes around their glass, and the humble chopstick is a far greater stirring device than any knife or spoon available.

Metal straw - Whether for tasting batch cocktails or sipping iced tea. Easy to clean, light weight to carry, and one less piece of plastic in the world.

If the Dopp you’ve chosen to hold your kit has spare room, I’d also recommend a small vial of prime salt, flavored or otherwise. And depending on the type of trip, I pack a grinder for fresh pepper or mixed herbs.

While this kit leans heavily towards tools for crafting drinks, everything in here does double duty across the kitchen, and stand alone items like a garlic press or cherry pitter are foregone as dead weight too little utilized. Whether car camping, crashing with a friend, or sneaking away for a weekend rental, after you’ve packed it once, you’ll find yourself reaching for the Dopp Kitchen.

In Praise of Hidden Musicals

As the annual string of entertainment awards shows continues in procession toward the Oscars, it's worth taking a moment to reflect on all the melodies hanging in memory this past year. In line with the 2016 blockbuster success of La La Land and the 2017 live action reboot of Disney's animated classic Beauty and the Beast, 2018 brought to the box office a continued resurgence of the movie musical. Among the varied offerings were the indie origin story Blaze, the recording artist vehicle A Star is Born, and the jukebox sequel Mama Mia! Here We Go Again. Though Hollywood has long mined the successes of Broadway, attempting for better or worse to preserve in film a transfiguration of the stage, there is magical originality to be found in music driven stories conceived solely for the screen.  

Many people can't stand musicals because they doubt that anyone's life could be filled with events significantly dramatic to require communication in choreographed, syncopated or orchestrated music. If we can agree that an Opera is a drama composed entirely of song, then perhaps a Musical could be described as a narrative in which the actions of the plot are punctuated by bursts of song and dance. A Hidden Musical can then be described as a story in which every moment of performance is motivated by a demand of the plot, where singing is the most logical extension of the narrative and where not to allow a character the chance to make music would seem entirely strange. 

There are plenty of films in which one or more songs play a pivotal role in the plot, but which treat the music more as a break from the action, a sort of play within a play winking at the larger real world inspiration for the story. Examples such as Inside Llweyn Davis and Crazy Heart, Almost Famous and Blues Brothers are just a few that come immediately to mind. There are also terrific examples of music driven dramas, films steeped in song but not singing to guide the narrative, such as Amadeus, Whiplash, Drumline and Shine. Though near neighbors, I would argue that Hidden Musicals are a distinctly separate genre from both these and artist biopics such as Bohemian Rhapsody, Ray, Walk the Line, The Doors, Get on Up, Evita, Straight Outta Compton or Miles Ahead, movies about musicians targeted at music lovers. Similarly, I would rather not lump together singer crossover vehicles such as A Star is Born, The Bodyguard or 8 Mile, great films that often times leverage the celebrity of a charismatic voice to sell a soundtrack to a fan base. 

On a recent Friday night, after a long week of terrible politically divisive news coverage, I cooked a warming pasta for my wife and settled into our couch with the ecstatically beautiful movie, Hearts Beat Loud, a studied perfection of the Hidden Musical form. The film combines the heart wrenching performances of Nick Offerman and Kiersy Clemmens as father and daughter, with a veteran supporting cast of characters including Ted Danson, Toni Colette and Blythe Danner. It's the story of young woman caught between her desire to live a life of sustained reasonability and her father's dream of starting an indie band with his remarkable songstress of a daughter. The first extended montage of music writing between the two of them brought me to tears of joy, an experience repeated for various reasons several more times throughout the remainder of the story. This is perhaps the promise of the hidden musical, an overwhelming emotional catharsis captured in the visualization of an artist's journey. 

Hidden Musicals are films surprisingly laced with songs performed as defining plot points consistent with the imaginary world of the story. The audience's collective suspension of disbelief is not shattered by the complete rendition of one or more pieces of music. The Hidden Musical is often filled with a cast of surprising talents whose emergent success on screen allows the audience to feel the rush of performance. Recent movies like Geremy Jasper's Patty Cake$ or Craig Brewster's Hustle and Flow, Jason Moore's Pitch Perfect and John Carney's kindred spirit trilogy of Once, Begin Again and Sing Street all fit the bill. These films share a common narrative strategy: the characters are in total possession of the means of production by which their music is made. Their instruments and voices are the MacGuffin moving the story forward.  As an audience member, when I'm watching a movie with Eminem or Lady Gaga cast as the lead, I always expect at some point they will do what they do best. While viewing Hearts Beat Loud, I allowed myself to be swept away by the surprise of discovery, rooting for the father daughter duo to climb the ranks of fame and fortune fueled by the power of song. Musicals may not be for everyone, but hidden behind a lyric or tune is often a tale well told. 

Originally published on ABC News.com

Reflections on Shipboard Life

American daily life is disconnected from the natural world. The average shopper rarely feels the environmental impact of choosing a paper or plastic bag at the grocery store – in part because waste disposal is hidden from view.

At sea the distance between cause and effect shrinks. A warm high-pressure air mass merging with a cooler low-pressure system tends to produce cumulus clouds on the horizon and rain shortly upon the quarterdeck. Increased nutrients in the surface layer of the water column usually means more food for phytoplankton, which in turn provides more prey for zooplankton and more oxygenated water benefitting fish and other creatures. Nowadays people are often oblivious to the science that is key to understanding our world, but knowledge and effective application of these natural relationships is vital to ensuring prudent use and care of the resources we depend on.

On the SSV Corwith Cramer, our crew is united around our concern with plastic pollution in the marine environment. Though the oceans are vast, they remain neither inexhaustible nor indestructible. We are attempting to quantify the extent of a problem that may be greater than our ability to correct it. We are collecting physical data to fill in the blank spaces of a largely unseen picture. A thousand miles from the nearest landmass, we witness one of the most destructive by-products of modern development: disposability.

Several times each day we haul a one-meter by half-meter net across the surface of the ocean for a set period of time at a set speed. A single tow may capture thousands of bits of plastic in any square kilometer sampled. The total number of plastic pieces captured in these tows is then averaged out and multiplied across the seven-kilometer radius of ocean visible from the bow of our ship. This calculation commonly generates a figure of more than a million pieces of floating plastic debris on the visible horizon.

Beyond the fatal ingestion hazard these plastics pose to megafauna such as fish, birds, and sea turtles, we understand little of the biochemical implications this pollution has on the lower levels of the food web. What we don't know is magnified exponentially by the scale of the problem. Most folks don't like to consider the logistics of preservation, transportation, and recruitment that put food on their tables, light in their homes, and health in their bodies. If an object breaks it is usually cheaper to replace it than fix it. At sea, the disposability and convenience so highly prized on land is not so desirable: Every item brought aboard ship must be counted, stowed, and rationed for use over the course of the voyage. Our biodegradable waste is tossed into the same water we desalinate for drinking. The wind in our sails and the steel hull of our ship are the only things separating us from our trash's disappearance into the Bermuda Triangle.

It is humbling to study the interaction of life forms smaller than the average eyelash while navigating the ocean's expanse by the light of the stars. Restored by constant attentiveness to current circumstances and the need to communicate our insight with others, our crew will shortly return to our various walks of life to share the lessons learned with family, friends, and colleagues. It remains to be seen how we will stay vigilant of the pollutants our consumption generates. Increased awareness of a problem is the first step toward change. Instead of choosing paper or plastic, we'll be bringing our own bags to the store.

Originally published on SEA