I just heard that one of my favorite movies of all time, The Royal Tenenbaums, is ten years old. I’ve always felt that great movies can tell a story through still frames almost as well as through film. I caputured this selection of images years ago, intending to do something with them. No better time than now. Visiting the Tenenbaum House in Harlem is near the top of my list of New York things I need to do.

And, of course, the film contains one of my favorite bits of dialogue ever:

Tennis Announcer 1: That’s 72 unforced errors for Richie Tenebaum. He’s playing the worst tennis of his life.

What’s he feeling right now?

Tennis Announcer 2: I don’t know, Jim. There’s obviously something wrong with him. He’s taken off his shoes and one of his socks and… actually, I think he’s crying.

Ever go through those periods where you listen to the same song over and over again, on repeat, until it gets to the point where you just associate that song with a period of your life?

I’ve probably listened to the Stones’ “Rocks Off” thirty times in the past two days. So many songs off Exile have specific memories associated with them, but five years from now when I hear “Rocks Off,” I’ll think of this summer, and what’s happening right now. (Could be a lot worse, right?)

I can back up through the past year or so and link certain songs to what was going on (not that that’s special, I imagine most people can).

For reference, here’s a list:

The Clash — “Death or Glory”
Elliott Smith — “Alameda”
Pavement — “Spit On Stranger”
Beastie Boys — “No Sleep Till Brooklyn”
The Decemberists — “Don’t Carry It All”

Also, if you haven’t read Keith Richards’ book Life, go grab it. Now. If I had a time machine, there’s no doubt I’d swing through the South of France in 1972.

If you take a water taxi to Harbour Island in the Bahamas, you’ll get off at the government dock in town. (How you get to the water taxi is up to you—I flew from Miami.) Once you’re there, take a left at the end. You’ll wander past some colorful huts selling straw hats and shells, and pass some chickens and roosters wandering on the beach. A few minutes down the road you’ll come upon the Queen Conch, a small waterfront food stand. Here you’ll find the freshest conch salad around.

When you sit down at the bar and order, you write your name on a notepad, choose “regular” or “hot,” and watch the owner Richard and his wife go to work. You can grab a can of soda with your order, but if you want something “stronger,” Richard will advise you to head across the street while you wait. Wander over to the liquor store, pick up a few cold Kaliks, and sit back down. Richard will tell you “good choice” and hand you a bottle opener.

The ceviche-like conch salad consists of a few simple ingredients: freshly chopped, raw conch meat, chopped onions, peppers, and tomatoes. There is a massive chopping board that all the ingredients are prepared upon and slowly mixed by hand. A batch of onions will be chopped and added, and then a few full conchs will be carefully diced and added to the pile. Once it’s formed a big mound, Richard will slowly mix the pile together, like a kid shuffles a deck of cards, by moving them all around in circles.

To this, a mixture of fresh-squeezed sour orange juice (“the key ingredient”), salt, and lime juice are added. You can watch Richard and his wife as they slowly add the ingredients, mixing with care as they go, to get the exact combination of flavors.

There are a number of docks around the bay on Harbour Island where fisherman come in with their fresh catches and cut and de-shell everything. I had guessed that this was where the fresh conch from the Conch Queen came from, but I was wrong. Every two or three days, Richard goes out and dives for conch all around the small islands of the Bahamas. He snags about 500 per trip. On a busy day he’ll go through 150-200 conchs while making his salad.

Back at the shop, there are cages that sit in the water below the back deck and allow the conch to live until needed. When the meat has been collected, the shells are thrown into a big, pink pile to the side of the dock.

Maybe it’s the work that you know goes into it: the diving, the chopping, the careful adding and mixing, adding and mixing of the ingredients—the patience to create the perfect balance of tartness and spiciness to compliment the fresh conch. Maybe it’s the cold beer on a hot day in a beautiful setting. Maybe it’s the pride you see Richard taking in each batch he creates. Whatever it is, if you’re on Harbour Island, skip an hour of the beach, sit at the Queen Conch, and soak it up. If you’re like me, it will be one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

So powerful. So emotional. So important. My wife, along with BBH NY, produced the above spot for Google. I couldn’t be more proud. It’s not every day that you can take comfort in your hard work actually helping someone.

For more info, please take a look at:

http://itgetsbetter.org

Spring has come to Brooklyn, so I decided to go for a walk. A few weeks ago my wife and I had stopped by the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Company, which is just down the street from us. I had actually been a few years ago—before we’d moved to the area—drawn in by the fantastic design of the storefront, and some loose recollection that I had read something about it.

The store is filled with everything you need to become a superhero: capes, grappling hooks, and stun guns. You can buy jars of “X-Ray Vision” and “Speed of Light” and “Antimater” to help you along the way. Just like the outside of the store, everything that is sold within has a simple, strong look. It’s fitting.

The last time I was there, we were chatting with some of the staff  and they mentioned that they are all volunteers. I knew that there was a community aspect to the shop, but didn’t know the details. They explained that in the back, hidden behind a secret door in the shelves, was a writing workshop for local school kids. All staffed by volunteers. All superhero items sold went to cover the costs. Brilliant concept.

For the past few months, my wife has been in the middle of a long, high-pressure project with a lot of late nights, and crazy deadlines. Nothing says “thanks for all your hard work” like a jar of invincibility powder on your desk, so she asked me to pick up a few for the people on her team. As I walked over to the shop, I snapped a photo of the store, and posted it on Instagram.

When I got home later, I noticed that someone commented on the photo: Had I seen the TED talk about the store? Immediately I Googled it and realized that Dave Eggers was behind this whole project. Yeah, that Dave Eggers. (I had even reviewed the McSweeney’s iPhone app a while back.)

Somehow I hadn’t realized the connection, but I immediately sat and watched the talk, enthralled. Take a look at the video below, and if you’re ever in Park Slope, Brooklyn, stop by. You never know when a sharply designed can of X-Ray Vision will come in handy, and now you know it’s going to a great cause.

Oh, and a bit of postscript: When you buy something from the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Company, you are required to stand and recite a superhero pledge in front of the whole store. I was not prepared for this.

I moved to New York a few months ago. Before I got here, I had worked from a home office for almost eight years. Everyone asks if it’s been a big adjustment. Honestly, other than getting used to being surrounded by Yankees fans, it really hasn’t.

On the subway the other day, I did, however, realize that I have fallen into a fairly defined routine.

I take the subway from my apartment in Brooklyn to my office in Manhattan every day. As soon as I’m out the door in the morning, I have my headphones on. I listen to podcasts almost exclusively on the walk to the train. For a while now something from 5×5 Studios has been filling my ears. I don’t usually have any coffee until I get to the office, so slowly waking up with podcasts seems to work. I tell myself that listening to tech podcasts—as opposed to music—gets me in a frame of mind for work, but I have no data to back this up.

As soon as I get on the train, the podcasts stop. I usually spend the train ride reading on a Kindle, though sometimes I’ll catch up on whatever is in my Instapaper queue. I’ve always read a lot, and one of my favorite parts of commuting on the subway is having a set amount of time twice a day to clear my head and mentally check out. The train ride is 40 minutes or so, and it flies by when I’m reading.

Once I get to my stop, the headphones are back on, and it’s a few more minutes of podcasts before I get to the office.

When it’s time to head home, I reverse the process—except this time it’s all music. The thought of listening to podcasts on my walk home seems foreign to me. The music I choose depends on my mood. Lately it’s been a lot of Japandroids, Pavement, and LCD Soundsystem. Getting back to where I left off on the Kindle is a comforting way to wrap up the day.

I’ve never thought of myself as someone who has a specific routine. Yet, suddenly I do, and I really sort of like it.

Years ago, I used to live in downtown Boston just off the Common. It’s right in the middle of town, and I walked through it to get something to eat, go to a movie, or take the subway. I work in the music business, and month after month, year after year, we’re presented with new music. Some of it’s niche, some of it has the hopes of thousands riding on its back.

I remember at one point one of our record labels talking about a new band, LCD Soundsystem.

They’re a cool band from Brooklyn.
It’s a little different, electronic. We’re really excited about it.
It’s the kind of music that people would want to play at parties.

When the advance album showed up, it looked different than a lot of the other music we received. Dark green heavy cardboard, with an embossed mirror ball, and the band’s logo on the front. That’s it. It stood out.

Shortly after that, I had to take the subway somewhere. I always used a subway ride to check out new music. I grabbed the LCD album, transferred it to my iPod, and walked out the door. I hadn’t reached the sidewalk when the little yelp that kicks off “Daft Punk Is Playing At My House” started.  Walking through the park and onto the subway, the song burned into my mind.  I don’t hear it anymore without flashing back to that walk, and while I’m not on the Common as much as I used to be, I almost always have it pop into my mind when I walk through.

Describing new music can be tedious, but it didn’t take long for the explanations to click. There was something instantly catchy and appealing about what I was hearing. A heavy, techno-ish beat, tons of percussion, and someone half-singing, half-talking over the music. A few falsetto squeals thrown in for good measure. I got it. I didn’t know James Murphy from the guys across from me on the subway. I never would have guessed that he’d remind me more of someone I’d play darts with at the pub, than a mustachioed Brooklynite.

Earlier tonight I drove into Boston, parked my car, and walked across the Boston Common to see LCD Soundsystem play at the Orpheum Theater. I had seen them years ago when their first album came out. I remember being struck by what a bandleader Murphy was on stage. Beyond singing, he was moving around, directing the band. He was a conductor. I loved the show, but the performance they put on now—years later—is in a different league.

From the first notes, the show is blast of lights, and grooves. Deep grooves. The stage was filled with vintage electronic equipment that would make Jonny Greenwood jealous. The band is super tight, with Murphy singing over the music, and whaling away on the percussion kit next to him.

I bumped into an old friend of mine from the Boston music scene. At one point he turned to me and said: “You know, we’ve been seeing shows together in Boston for fifteen years.” I know, I can’t believe it. “This is something huh?” Sure is.

It felt like it was 110° in the theater. People were dancing and dripping sweat. I was dancing and dripping sweat—and those are two things I generally try to avoid. There was a moment that I had sweat dripping into my eyes at the same time that the music was giving me the chills. That’s exciting, and that’s something that reminds you that it’s all worth it.

It’s really easy to be jaded about music.  I’ve seen a lot of shows over the years.  Only the best ones leave the crowd with a shared sense of euphoria when they walk out. I felt it when I walked out of the theater.  I felt it when I walked across the Common back to my car. And I felt it when those first notes of “Daft Punk Is Playing At My House” came through the speakers on the ride home.

I spent the past few days wandering around Southern California. I snapped a bunch of photos with Hipstamatic.

You can check out the rest of the set here.

You’ve probably seen the recent Old Spice commercials (“I’m on a horse”). They’ve had the internet talking for a while. Brilliantly written, shot, and executed. Winner of the top prize at Cannes. A client’s dream–an ad that has everyone talking.

So what happens next? Create more spots that will keep people talking? Sure. Build on the momentum you’ve created? Of course. How about talking back?

Huh? I thought advertising was more of a one-way street. Finely craft your message over and over again, put it out there, and hope that is resonates.

Once you’ve done the hard part–building a brand that’s identifiable and connects with people–the tools are there to do more. Who’s going to use them?

Earlier today Old Spice took to Twitter and Facebook and started fielding questions that would be answered–very quickly–by Isaiah Mustafa (the guy on the horse). The results that started pouring in were addicting.

Biz Stone, one of the founders of Twitter, mentioned that they were “cracking up watching the hilarious responses” come in, and shortly after, Old Spice guy had this response for Biz:

Just the responses and the use of the social media platforms is impressive on its own, but when you start thinking of what has to go into this, you realize it’s unlike anything you’ve really seen before. It’s not a live blog, or a celebrity chat.  It’s not a bunch of @replies. These are videos that are written, edited, shot, and uploaded. There are writers crafting the copy that Old Spice guy is speaking in almost real time. In a world where most commercials you see are edited, and revised, and approved by clients, and revised again over and over, these were completed in a matter of hours. And it all fits with the tone of the original ad. To say that this was a genius piece of casting would be an absurd understatement.

I mentioned on Twitter earlier that these video responses feel like a dramatic shift in “advertising.” Putting the word in quotes was intentional because I’m not really sure what this is. These responses aren’t ads. I suppose there’s a proper term like “brand extension” or the like for something like this, but this feels new.

Everyone’s trying to use all the same tools: YouTube, Facebook, Twitter. They’ve been right there for the taking, and the results I’ve seen so far have been hit or miss. Strategies are being built, plans are being revised, and tweets are being ghostwritten. Somewhere, someone had the confidence in a group of very talented people to bypass all of this and just react.

The Internet was buzzing about someone that was selling soap today, and that’s impressive.

LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers are playing the Boston Celtics in the second round of the NBA Playoffs as I write this.  LeBron accepted his second straight MVP award before the game.  Every since I spent an amazing few days in Akron last summer, I can’t watch LeBron James play basketball without having my mind wander back to some of the spots we visited, and the stories we were told.  I’m from Boston and a Celtics fan through and through, but LeBron’s story is impressive, and sticks with you. I’ve relinked what I wrote last August below.

The Hills Of Akron — August 2009