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chocolate lava cake and cappucino

I’m currently working on a new web site for Cafe On The Green, a fine restaurant at Richter Park in Danbury.  Richter has been rated among the top 50 public golf courses in America.  Built around some reservoirs, it is extraordinarily scenic and rather hazardous for hacks like me.  This is where I play (*cough* shank) most of my golf, so I have a Pavlovian happiness whenever I head over there… even if I’m not pulling out my golf clubs.

It had been several years since I ate at Cafe On The Green, but I remembered it having good food, and probably the most scenic setting in Danbury.  I knew that the new web site needs to capture these two important elements, so photography was going to be an important part of the project.  You can’t capture taste or smell, but with vivid photographs, you can provide some powerful suggestions.

So last week I spent a few hours at the restaurant, shooting a bunch of photos.  Photographing food presents its own challenges.  Often you have only a couple of minutes to capture the food before it looses its fresh appeal.  By dinner time, the restaurant is lit very dimly, so I had to setup my key and fill lights.  I shot mostly with an open aperture, using my 50mm 1.4 lens, grabbing very narrow depth-of-field shots.  This was my first shoot for fresh, hot food, and it was lots of fun!  I learned some new lessons, but for the most part, I’m pleased with the results.

The best part is that after the shoot, I got to eat the food!

Chris going for the shot.

Memorial Day has become one of my favorite holidays.  Our country has several holidays intended to memorialize certain important events in our nation’s history, but Memorial Day is a day set aside to remember and honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of our country.  After all, it is only because there have been those who have fought and died that we can enjoy our sunny barbecues and backyard volleyball with little more than our morning commutes to weigh on our mind.  We enjoy truly extraordinary comforts in America.  A crisis for us is a broken air conditioners or poor service at a restaurant.  Most of the “inconveniences” that afflict our lives certainly pale when compared to the plights of the thousands who have huddled in muddy foxholes and bled their futures away.

I fear that many who “celebrate” Memorial Day fail to pause even momentarily to remember what this day is all about. It’s a day off work. An opportunity to fire up the grill. Maybe go shopping. In a way, these are all wonderful legacies of those who have fought to make these luxuries possible, and for as long as I can remember, these are things that I’ve also done on Memorial Day.  In fact, for each of the past, oh, eight years or so, my church gets together for a big party. We enjoy fantastic food, lots of games, and remarkably, perennial sunshine.  Thankfully, though, we also incorporate a memorial service into the afternoon.  There’s special music, prayer, and a presentation on some of our nation’s heros.

The grilling, the smoothie bar, the socializing, the softball games, the camp fires… these are all a key part of what makes this day special to me.  But let’s not forget the blood-stained fields and shattered dreams that went into making all of this possible.

“Web Typography” used to be an oxymoron. The palette of type faces was limited to a “safe” list of about three or four lowest common denominator fonts.  If you ever wanted something more imaginative, you had to save the text as a graphic.  This made edits more than tedious, and it ham-strung any hopes of your content being found by search engines.  So we stuck with our boring Arial and wrote typography off.

Well, things seem to finally be changing. CSS has already brought a decent amount of control for things like line spacing and precise text sizing. And now a new service is being tested to reliably bring thousands of new fonts to web sites, whether the end user has the fonts installed or not. River Design was selected to beta test this new program, and what better guinea pig to test it on than myself?

The Mirage, Las Vegas

There are still a few days left in this rainy month, yet it seems like events at its beginning occurred ages ago.  This is the common result of a schedule so incredibly jammed packed that the passage of time takes on strange dimensions.  Let’s see… the beginning of the month found me in California, skiing for a couple of days and chillaxing on the beach.  The next weekend I was in New Hampshire, busy with all the best man stuff for my friend’s wedding.  The following Monday I flew to Las Vegas for the NAB show.  The only money I lost in Vegas was to some overpriced meals at the hotel; it’s great not being a gambler!  Then just this past weekend, I jetted out to Colorado on a last-minute whim to try out my new freestyle skis.  Apparently, I couldn’t have timed it any better, as 24 inches of fresh snow hit the mountains the day before I got there.  My first attempt was to ski A-Basin, but the pass leading to the mountain was closed, so I ended up at Loveland.  Powder was around my knees all day, and a couple times I burst waste-deep through drifts and ridges.  Definitely a treat and a great way to end the season.  Many thanks to Sarah Ong and her family for their hospitality on this quick, very last minute trip!

Somehow in the middle of all that, I managed to work the equivalent of nearly 5 weeks of full-time work.  I think I did most of my sleeping on airplanes.

Pictures say it better than words, so I uploaded a bunch in the gallery below…

But sometimes, it’s the path itself.  Half Dome in Yosemite and Stairway to Heaven in Hawaii are probably at the top for coolest and scariest experiences. The payoff is always the setting and the scenery.  But as you can see in the video below, I need to return to Spain to check out this part of Andalucia.  Agoraphobes beware!

My friend, Ben Hall, loving life at Bretton Woods

Hello, poor, neglected blog! Here’s a nifty little video I created from my mini ski trip up to New Hampshire and Vermont last week.  The timing for this trip couldn’t have been better.  Snow fell across much of the region for the 3 or 4 days prior to my trip, granting the rare New England treat of fresh powder.  Killington, as usual, claimed the most with 59 inches of fresh white fluffies!  As you can see in the video, I took advantage of the new snow by heading into the woods… a most enchanting experience when the world is made of white.  All told, I enjoyed three days of glorious skiing with some terrific friends.  Monday was Killington, VT.  Tuesday was Bretton Woods, NH.  Wednesday was Waterville Valley, NH.

Back here in CT, I found that by Friday it was already T-shirt weather! My crocuses are peeking out from the cadaverous ground of early spring. It’s amazing how quickly the context changes from spectacular winter wonderland to thoughts of golf… But I’ve got at least a couple of more skiing days left this year.  Mammoth Mountain, California still has two days with my name on it later this month. And I’m in talks with Catamount Ski Area in Massachusetts for a big web site project; and I see at least a few comp runs after a visit there perhaps next week.

Rose leads the way with my dad & Karie following

One of my favorite holidays is Thanksgiving. Not just because I get to participate in the national pastime of overeating, but because it is perhaps the noblest of our nation’s holidays. Americans have always had much to be thankful for, and it’s wonderful that we dedicate at least one day per year to stop and ponder the many things for which we owe a debt of gratitude. Sadly, there are many who squirm away from even a hint of Providence, flippantly changing the moniker to an inelegant “Turkey Day.” For me, however, Thanksgiving is a day that reminds me that every day, really, should be Thanksgiving.

The year is not yet over, but it’s already proven to be a banner year for me. In spite of what may be the worst economic conditions of my lifetime, my business has more than doubled. And that happened in between 68 days of vacation, most of which involved trips to Russia, Greece, France, and Austria!

Somehow, though, none of this feels particularly astonishing to me. I’m amazed but not entirely surprised. My life has been rather blessed in its entirety, so a banner year even during a global slump gives me cause for marveling, but not astonishment. What I do find to be truly astonishing is the realization that God has continued to bless me in nearly every endeavor in my life. Indeed He’s blessed me far beyond anything I deserve. I am reminded of the warning in Luke 12:48. “unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.” I pray that I use the time, the health, the abilities, the affluence, and the opportunities that God has given me to live a life that pleases Him.

Corrie, living out a childhood dream. She owes me a maple tart!

Corrie, my best friend and die-hard Yankees fan, more or less guilted me into going with her today to the Yankees ticker tape parade in New York. I’m a Boston fan myself, so naturally the situation presented a serious moral conundrum. Do I be the good friend and help make it possible for her to enjoy celebrating with her stupid Bronx Boys, but in the process commit a serious betrayal of my own team. Or do I play the part of any sensible Red Sox fan and sanction any recognition of such an abominable event, but in the process dash a childhood dream of my good friend. I mean, Romeo wouldn’t have accompanied Juliet to a Capulet house party, right? Well, I guess he did sneak into a ball, but when he got caught things started getting ugly. OK, so it’s a flawed analogy, but I suppose the bigger question is, why would I, a loyal Red Sox fan, be friends with a Yankees fan like Corrie? Someone firmly entrenched in the enemy camp. Someone who even

publicly professes admiration for the pudgy-cheeked, insolent Derek Jeter! Indeed, this is an excellent question, and particularly trenchant considering today’s traumas.

Well, after much soul-searching I arrived at the anguished decision to indeed accompany Corrie into the lion’s maw, but only while wearing my Red Sox cap, maintaining at least a semblance of loyalty to my team.

So at 8:14 this morning, I filed grimly onto the train at Southeast Station, already surrounded by dangerous numbers of pin-striped zealots. Many of them looked like they were still in their single digits, so I figured I could take a good number down with me if it came to a rumble. Inexorably, the train made its way into the heart of the city until we terminated in the bowels of Grand Central Station. As we navigated the subways through Shelob’s lair, I wondered if Corrie were playing the part of Samwise or Gollum…

We emerged on Broadway near the brass bull, and I was immediately swept up by a sea of revelers. I was definitely somewhere very close to Mount Doom, and hopelessly overwhelmed by tens of thousands of Steinbrenner’s orcs. What happened next wasn’t very pretty.

For over two hours I endured the alternating tortures of a Yankees gloat fest and incessant heckling. Never in my life have I had so many people swearing at me, taking my photo, filming me for youtube mock-clips, or throwing random objects at me (rolls of toilet paper, plastic bottles, etc). I knew I had it coming, but if I was gonna be at the enemy’s parade, I had to at least be true to my team, right?

In the end, I managed to make it out of Mordor alive. I even fared better than reports I later heard of another equally-foolhardy yet less fortunate Boston fan who got punched in the face. The worst thing that happened to me was a solid hit on the side of my head by a full roll of toilet paper. Definitely preferable to somebody’s knuckles! It was, however, quite the adventure.

So why again did I subject myself to this sort of torture? And what about that 800-pound gorilla question I referenced earlier: why exactly would I be good friends with a Yankees fan? I guess all I can say is, she makes a mean chocolate mousse cake! And opera cake. And maple berry tart… Corrie is a pastry chef, and I guess the way to a Boston fan’s compromise is through pastries.

Otherwise, friendships between feuding families just don’t work well. It didn’t for Romeo and Juliet anyway.

Quintessential Squam

One of my favorite spots on planet earth is Squam Lake, New Hampshire.  Our family had a beautiful spot in Squaw Cove, way out in the quietest end of this already marvelously untouched lake.  Many of my childhood summer days were spent up at the lake.  Far from the drum beat of the rat race life, there were only three types of days at Squam: lake days (if it was hot and muggy), mountain days (if it was cooler and clear), and cabin days (if it was raining).  We cooked on a large, wood-fired, cast iron stove, played games around the huge dining table, read books in the alcoves by the fireplace, made “forts” in the loft, slept safely from the “wood bumpies” in our individual cabins, always swam before breakfast, sat wrapped in our towels in the warmth of the morning sun while Grandma brought wild blueberry pancakes down the path for breakfast on the dock, paddled the canoe out to Yard Islands, sailed out to the main lake, jumped off the diving rock in Rattlesnake Cove, played with cousins and friends in the woods, bicycled on the dirt roads, played on the deck til our hair turned blonde and our backs turned brown, earned our right to shed our life vests by swimming unaided across the cove, engaged in forever fascinating conversations with well-traveled, well-read family, listened to the hauntingly beautiful cries of the loon, and found ourselves all-too-quickly passing from childhood through adolescence and into adulthood.

You could hardly ask for a better setting to romp as a child, yet I found my appreciation for this magical place only matured as I saw it slip away. Many things changed for me as I left home for college.  Most of these were normal for a teen entering higher education.  Life in a dorm, far from home.  Increased responsibilities, freedoms, and opportunities.  I capitalized on as much as I could, spending my summers and spring breaks traveling, abandoning sleep during the rigors of the school year.  But while I was away filling my head and trotting around the globe, my roots in New Hampshire quietly slipped away.  During my senior year, my parents sold their house and moved to Connecticut.  The Brooks family lost their property on Squam when our property tax bill quintupled after a reassessment.  Nobody wanted to pay the equivalent of a brand-new luxury car each year for something that was only being used a few weeks each summer.  I was learning that the right to own private property is really a subtle myth.  You never actually “own” property.  You must continue to rent it from the government.

Fortunately, my grandfather’s sister was able to keep their spot around the point.  She married Oliver Butterworth who was best friends with my grandfather.  The Butterworth camp is a very similar setup with a main cabin that serves as the kitchen/living area and then several other cabins for sleeping.  Money raised in selling the Brooks camp to a land trust was used to create a fund that pays the property taxes on the Butterworth side.  So while we lost all the cabins that my dad, uncles, and grandparents built, I usually make it over to the Butterworth camp for a few days each summer.  As a guy who runs my own business, my life has become increasingly connected.  Computers, e-mail, laptop, iPhone… I’m never far from reach.  Squam, however, is just far enough off the beaten path.  No cell signals.  No e-mail, voice mail, or text messages.  It’s my one place to be completely unplugged.

Last week, my dad and I drove up to spend a few days with one of my uncles and a couple of my cousins.  Since returning from Europe, I’ve been engaged in a losing battle to catch up on work and life.  A busy trip to Oklahoma that resulted in a significant amount of new work has only added to the worries.  A big part of me knew that I had no business stopping now to take a few days off, but another part of me knew I really needed it.  I’ve enjoyed a lot of travel so far this year (6 trips in the last 7 months, 3 of those overseas), but none of my trips have been very relaxing.  The times in between have only been that much busier as I’ve had to make up for the time I’ve been away.  I needed a day or two to exhale.

And Squam is just the place for that.