The Spaces Between Your Fingers Project

When Visiting Disney

2012-02-06T07:00:00.010-05:00

Age: 9
Postmark: New Jersey

This week...we're wide open to ANY memory you want to revisit and share...so long as it's full of detail and ends with the line: "PS: I don't really think you should do that."

Washroom Wisdom (UPDATED)

2012-01-30T11:32:00.003-05:00

(Handprint on back)
Age: 17
Postmark: PA

This week...I know it's hard enough to fit good advice onto a postcard...do you think you can do it in 17 syllables? The best, most-creative, most informative Haiku (5-7-5) will "win." The advice can be about anything, though, as always, specific insights are better than general platitudes!

UPDATE
Thanks to everyone who participated this week!

Honorable Mention

If you have to bike

To distant job interviews,

Bring an extra shirt.

Andy W.

Lock picking's easy.

Use very little pressure

on the tension wrench.

A.J. May

We all pay in time.

How will you clear your conscience?

When your lies unwind.

Krys

2^nd Runner-Up

Dialing 911

works the same as if you dial

91111

Michael M.

1^st Runner-Up

Have your adventures,

But don't ever forget to

Find your way back home.

Rosie Z.

1^st Place

You can never win,

The game of monopoly,

Without taking risks.

Tanzir B.

How To Get Out of a Parking Ticket

2012-01-23T07:00:00.001-05:00

"Since I started to go to Drexel in the Spring of 2011, the PPA only cares about writing tickets. The best and only way to get out of a parking (ticket) is to go up to the person giving the ticket, ask what is the reason for you getting the ticket. For example let's say the reason is because your time expired 7 mins ago, check to see what time it is on your phone. Most parking enforcement people set their watches 4-6 minutes fast, I can't answer why they do. That makes your 7 mins into 1 min, which they can't give you a ticket for that. Just say you don't have a credit card, you were in a store getting change. The parking agent will tell you that you will be able to get out of the ticket if you go the main office. That's not true. Ask to speak with his boss...speaking with him will get the parking ticket voided on the spot. This happened to me twice and both times the ticket was voided."

Age: 21
Postmark: PA

This week...let's talk about a LOOPHOLE that you've discovered or invented...a way you've subverted "the rules." As always, you don't have to make any great point, just describe it as vividly as you can. Creativity welcomed.

Advice from a Rain Dancer

2012-01-16T07:00:00.007-05:00

Age: 21

Postmark: Wyoming

The memory exercises are back! To join the conversation, simply add your post in the comments. This week: write about a memory that in some way involves rain. As always, it doesn't have to make any great point, just render it as vividly as you can, using all your senses!

2012 - The Year of the Stranger

2012-01-03T08:59:00.000-05:00

So, I was up in New York City the other day. I went up with the lady to check out a show called Accomplice. I call it a "show", but really it was more like a scavenger hunt crossed with a walking tour crossed with interactive theater…scratch that, more like if your life was the Michael Douglas movie, The Game. How it works is you pre-pay online, and are sent a cryptic email containing a street corner to meet on at a specific time, a map, and a registration number. That's all the information you're given, except to bring a copy of your registration and be there promptly. Had I not read so many of the independent reviews, I would've sworn it was a scam.

We woke up early, hurried over to the Bolt Bus (hooray Bolt Bus!), and, next thing we knew, we were standing beside Madison Square Garden. For a little context, if you've never been up in New York city the week before or after Christmas, it's completely overrun by tourists. I call them Foregrounders, or F.G.s, because they just walk around all day, standing in front of things, taking pictures. We drifted from one corner to the next, catching successive waves, trying not to swim against the current, and about 30 minutes later we washed up in the desolate-by-comparison West Village.

"There it is," I said, and pointed across at an ordinary-looking corner, beside a park.

"You think those people are waiting for the show, too?"

It's subtle, but I think there's a difference between people who are waiting for something specific, like a bus, or a friend, and people who are just waiting. This group was the latter, the confused sort. We managed some awkward introductions (our group had four people from London, and and a couple from Jersey)…and waited.

Precisely at 3 PM, a woman holding a clipboard emerged very suddenly from the greater sea of strangers. I won't spoil the show (which I would definitely recommend seeing) but, more or less, for the next three hours we were given clues and sent around the West Village, trying to solve a mystery. Every place we went, we waited for the next character to turn up and continue the story, only they were dressed like ordinary people - a street sweeper, a bartender, etc - so we could never be quite sure who was in on it and who was just a regular stranger. That was the coolest part, by far. Suddenly, I was aware of them, people, strangers, all around me. I hadn't had that feeling since the original Spaces journey. I realize that sounds like a bad feeling, but actually it's good. For at least one more afternoon, I was sensitized again to the astonishing, real-life, ever-meshing network of humans.

So, here's a little mini-resolution for you: next time you go out into a public space - a farmer's market, a city street, a park, wherever - just take a second - just one - to look around and realize how many people you don't know. The point is not to be afraid or overwhelmed…but the opposite, to recognize how rare it is to actually know someone; how exciting it is that the person you're supposed to meet (a new friend, perhaps) is out there, like Where's Waldo, only he's not wearing his candy cane sweater, he's undercover, so you'll just have to keep your eyes out and be ready.

*

Semi-related story…

A few weeks back, in response to the "Who was your first crush?" memory exercise, I wrote the post below, which you may not have seen since it was mixed up with all the other comments. A few days after posting it, I happened to bump into her (for the first time in a decade) in an art store in Philly.

Back in my day (and it wasn't that long ago), when you liked a girl, you had to call her and ask her out. Call her HOUSE, I mean, which meant you had to play who-will-answer-the-phone roulette.

The first girl I remember calling was named Kristen. I was in 5th grade. I don't remember why exactly I liked her, though I wish I did. Did she smell nice? Did she help me open my mini-cardboard carton of chocolate milk at lunch (those things were a bitch)? Did she draw me a crayon picture (she did grow up to be an amazing artist)? I have no idea. All I remember is that I liked her - I was aware of liking her, and the social obligations that implied. I had to call her and ask her out.

Calling a girl's house was the equivalent of getting your head stuck in the schoolbus window (the kind with the stubborn plastic springs you had to push in simultaneously from both sides) and then driving that school bus over a series of huge speed bumps.

The first part of the process involved retrieving the "school phone book" which was a thin wire-bound volume that listed all your classmate's names, their parent's names, and their addresses. It made for good reading, all year round, because you could find out whose parents were divorced and who's weren't.

So I flipped to the N's. Nash. Nemic. Nev-----. Back then you didn't have to dial the area code, so it was just seven digits. I actually remember her number to this day, though I won't publish it here. 896...  

The reason I remember it is probably because the second part of the process, after locating the school phone book, was to dial the first six digits and hang up. You did this about 90,000 times, which was good practice for hanging up when you actually DID call and someone answered.   

The odds for who would answer were roughly:  
2-1 - Her mother
4-1 - A sibling 
8-1 - A grandparent
10-1 - Her father 
750,000-1 - The girl herself  

So I dialed. Phones back then were push button and attached to the wall.   

"Hello?"

(Hang up.)  

"Hello?"  (Hang up.)

"HELLO? WHO THE HELL IS THIS?"  

"Um, hello, this is Matt, can I please speak to Kristen, sir, please?"

"Yeah. Hold up."  I'd gotten her older brother. I don't know when people stopped saying "Hold up" but it reminds me of a different , better era.   

"Hello?"  

"Hi, Kristen."  

"Hello?"  

"Hi, Kristen, this is Matt."  

"Who?"  "Matt Smith, from school."  

"Oh hey Matt."

"Hey."  "What's up?"  

"Um, do you know what the Language Arts homework was? I forgot my assignment book."

"Hold up, let me check."

(Hours upon hours of waiting.)  

"We have to read the first chapter of Where the Red Fern Grows."  

"Is that it."  

"Yeah. That's all I wrote."  

"Okay."  

"Okay."  

"Okay."  

(I bang the phone into my head.)  

"Is everything okay?"  

"Yeah sorry, I just dropped the phone."  

(Across the room, my mother looks up from doing the dishes and frowns, as if to say, "Just do it you little pansy.")  

"Hey Kristen, do you want to meet me up at Elwell (the local park)?"  

"Sure. When?"  

"Ten minutes?"  

"Okay."  

"Okay."  

"Okay."  

(Mother frowns as if to say "Hang up the phone you idiot.")  

That day at the park was my first kiss. It's kind of silly to wish this process upon a generation who will never have to endure it - who can just call a 10-year-old girl's cell phone directly, or text her. But I find myself wishing that rite of passage never went away, that it was a permanent feature of childhood, like those school bus windows.

The weekly wisdom and memory exercises will be back soon, by popular demand. Happy New Year!

Rules of Attraction

2011-12-12T07:00:00.004-05:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

Age: 44
Postmark: Florida

"This is NOT the Hand of the Artist."

2011-12-05T20:11:00.000-05:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

We'll be taking a few weeks off from the memory exercises, but please take a few minutes to explore the archives if you've missed any of the amazing, creative submissions over the past few months!

In the meantime...can anyone unravel this mystery? I love the concept but I don't get it. All tangents and theories welcome.

Advice from a Millionaire

2011-11-28T13:15:00.000-05:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

Age: 25
Postmark: Louisiana

This week's memory exercise: write about a time when LUCK was a factor in your life. Could be good luck, bad luck, hard luck, no luck, Lucky Charms...be creative! As always, don't worry about making any great point, just try to present one vivid scene.

2011-11-22T11:20:00.000-05:00

"Don't pretend to know what you don't. You learn more."

Age: 39

Postmark: Washington (state)

This week's exercise: write about a time when you were PRETENDING. As always, don't worry about making any great point, just try to render a specific scene/memory as vividly as you can. Take "pretending" any way you want...

Advice from a Rebel

2011-11-14T13:04:00.002-05:00

AGE: 18
POSTMARK: PENNSYLVANIA

This week's exercise:

We all have them...those daydream versions of ourselves who don't care what anyone else says or thinks, who don't care about repercussions or reputations, who never play it safe, who "speak up," who act fearlessly (even recklessly), who are, for lack of a better word, "rebels." Where is this rebel version of yourself right now, and what are they doing? (As always, just aim for one vivid, well-developed scene, and have fun with it!)

"Art is a Good Thing to Do When..."

2011-11-07T11:22:00.000-05:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

Age: 11
Postmark: Wyoming

*

This week's memory exercise: write about a time when you were mad. The whole spectrum of "mad" is open to you, from "slightly perturbed" to "eye-bulging-out-of-your-head-like-a-cartoon-character apoplectic." As always, don't worry about making any great point, just try to render a scene vividly.

"Fortune Favors the Brave."

2011-10-31T07:00:00.002-04:00

AGE: 25
POSTMARK: PENNSYLVANIA

(click on image to enlarge)

This week's memory exercise: write about a time when you were afraid. The memory could be from yesterday, last year, or long ago. As always, you don't have to make any great point, just render the memory as vividly as you can.

Advice from a Parent

2011-10-24T12:20:00.001-04:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

Age: 59
Postmark: Oregon

This week's memory exercise: Is this good advice? The answer could be from yesterday, last year, or long ago. (As always, you don't have to make any great point, just render the scene as vividly as you can!)

Advice from a Gentleman

2011-10-17T11:00:00.000-04:00

Age: 20
Postmark: Wyoming

This week's memory discussion: write about a time when you got dressed up.

Advice from a 4th Grader

2011-10-10T12:44:00.000-04:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

Age: 10
Postmark: New Jersey

This week's memory exercise: who was your first "crush?" As always, you don't have to make any great point, just try to render the memory as vividly as you can. (Names may be changed to protect the guilty and to incriminate the innocent!)

"A Picture Puzzle from a Man with Alzheimer's to Help Exercise Your Brain!"

2011-10-03T07:00:00.004-04:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

See if you can solve the riddle before checking the answer below.

Age: 71
Postmark: PA

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Answer: It's bad luck to kiss with your eyes open!=

Release Date Nov. 1!

2011-09-30T10:24:00.003-04:00

Photo by: Arvil Prewitt
Design by: Pixel+Pen
Special thanks to Mary Folino

Learn More

Come out to the release party on Fri, Nov. 4, Melanies Place, Old City, Phila, 9:00pm

Advice from a Beatles Fan

2011-09-26T07:00:00.004-04:00

A handful of wisdom to start your week, every Monday.

AGE: 54
POSTMARK: FLORIDA

"The Irish Method."

2011-09-21T10:18:00.000-04:00

Today is World Alzheimer’s Day. I got up early was thinking what I might write to honor my grandfather, and decided the best way would be to simply start with a memory. The memory was this: I was probably six, having dinner with my grandparents in their old house on Quaker Lane. Toward the end of the meal my grandfather turned to my brother Mark, who was four, sitting on a stack of phone books, and said: “Our ancestors endured eight hundred years of oppression…and he can’t finish his chicken.”

1

Let me begin with a confession:

For the first 27 years of my life (pre-Spaces project) I went through life as a Food Wimp. Not just a Food Wimp, but a Closet Food Wimp. I projected a "try anything" attitude, but really I wouldn’t touch a hamburger if there were a dab of mustard on it; I spit shrimp cocktail discreetly into napkins; I forensically inspected my salads for traces of red onion…

Like many of his generation, my grandfather was the opposite. He’d eat his shirt if you stewed it for a few hours, buttons and all. His method of eating (and of living in general, I think) was governed by what I like to call “The Irish Method.” The only way of properly explaining it, I think, is to first recite a yarn I heard one night when I was bartending in Ireland.

2

Once, on a cold and rainy day, an old priest staggered into a pub. Everyone could see right away that the priest was drenched. His white hair was matted to his forehead and his glasses were fogged and speckled with rain. He was covered from collar to cuff in mud, as if he’d just climbed from a ditch. And, this was the strangest part—he wasn’t wearing any shoes! The old, dripping priest moped across the pub, head down, in a deep and melancholy trance, oblivious to everyone pointing and whispering.

“Whoa there Father!” the barman said. “Yer soaked!”

“Am I?”

The priest looked down and noticed that he was indeed soaked.

“And yer glasses are fogged!”

“Are they?”

“And you’ve lost yer ring?”

“Have I now?”

“And by God, yer not wearing any shoes man!”

“Am I not?” He looked down—and noticed this too was true.

“What’s happened?” the barman asked.

“F----’ Celtic,” he muttered (meaning the soccer club).

And everyone in the pub shook their heads. “F-----’ Celtic!”

3

It’s your standard Irish joke. Priest walks into a pub. Priest arrives at the gates of Heaven. Shepherd walks into a pub. Shepherd arrives at the gates of Heaven. Priest and a Shepherd go in together on a football bet. Come to think of it, that’s about all the premises there are. But there are a billion variations within.

Every variation reveals a slightly different truth, or micro truth—in this case how God seems to have made it impossible (or at least very difficult) for our brains to process more than one terrible thing at a time. Who would know this better than the Irish, who’ve spent nearly the whole of their existence getting rained on with a boot pressed to their throats?

In my family, with regards to food, it went like this: if your steak was burned so badly that it looked like a recently-hewed chunk of anthracite coal (as most assuredly it was, if my grandmother was cooking) then you ate your potatoes, which were so lumpy it was 50/50 that you would a) finish them or b) have to use your butter knife to perform your first ever emergency tracheotomy on yourself. But you know what? In that moment, you’d forget about how awful the meat was! When you couldn’t stomach the potatoes anymore—then you switched back and chiseled at the meat. Back and forth you went until it was all gone, and then you said, “Well, that wasn’t so bad. What’s for dessert?” The key, again, was that you could count on your mind to only be able to process one horrible thing at a time. And it could always be worse.

When I used to run to my grandfather with petty schoolyard scrapes and bruises he always said the same thing: “Well come here and let me punch you in the arm so you forget how much your leg hurts.” This perverse form of Irish optimism has been passed down through the generations. I didn’t quite see the wisdom in it at the time. But I do now.

4

I still have Food Wimp tendencies, but I’m getting better. I’m working at it. I remember being out on the road, at a truck stop in Oregon, and so hungry that—using the Irish Method—I plowed through my $6 Meatloaf Special (really a baked dishwashing sponge and a side of drippy gutter tennis balls). That’s when I thought up the name. I imagined my grandfather sitting across from me in the booth. “What do you think of that?” I said, nodding down at my empty plate.

“The name needs work.”

“What, the Irish Method?”

“Yeah. I have to be honest…it kind of sounds like the worst form of birth control ever.”

I laughed, imagining this exchange, as the waitress laid my check face down on the table.

**Today's exercise: write about one of your "kitchen table memories." Doesn't have to be long, or make any great point, just bring us there as vividly as you can.

500,000 Steps in the Right Direction

2011-09-14T09:53:00.000-04:00

The ethnically and vertically diverse Spaces Street Team was out at the 2011 Walk to End Alzheimer’s at Citizen’s Bank Park this past weekend…did you see us? Did you get an “official” postcard? Did you know over 10,000 people showed up...meaning over 50,000 kilometers were walked?

Thanks to everyone who came out to support the cause!

Scoutin' (Album Cover Locations)

2011-09-08T16:40:00.002-04:00

I remember walking along the railroad tracks.

I was small—small enough to squeeze through the hole in the barbed-wire fence—small enough that to advance from one tie to the next required not just a stride, but a deep bend of the knees…and a leap.

I was the oldest, which meant I was the scout.

I remember the tracks smelled like hot tar; the wooden planks were rotting. I leapt along from one tie to the next, stopping to balance myself on each one, intensely focused. I might as well have been up in the sky, leaping along steel construction beams.

When I finally reached the platform, I looked up and realized I had no idea where I was. This was before cell phones. I had nothing in my pockets but a red Swiss Army Knife and maybe a few dimes my Dad had given more for bringing up the trash cans. Not sure what else to do—but feeling strangely gratified—I turned around and leapt back down the tracks, back through the hole in the fence, and home, where my brothers awaited my report.

How often do you explore the space around you? If you’re like me and most Americans I know…not very often. Above all we value EFFICIENCY. Time is a commodity like gold and silver and coffee beans. We “spend” it. We hoard it. We divide it. “Work time.” “Lunch time.” “Leisure time.” How did things get this way?

Well, that’s a complicated question, but one name that gets thrown around a lot is Frederick Winslow Taylor. Back around the turn of the 20th century, this dude went into steel factories with a stop watch and started peeking over people's shoulders. He made little frenzied notes like: “If worker A turns to the LEFT instead of the RIGHT, he will save .75 seconds!” He made calculations for all the workers. He took his findings to the bosses, who of course loved it, because they could make more wheels per day, which made them more money. The workers, whose fathers and grandfathers had been wheelmakers—craftsmen—became more and more like drones. But at least they were efficient. (I never took any business classes but I’m pretty sure I just saved you $100,000 on an MBA. You're welcome.)

The argument that some have made (and it makes sense to me) is this same process that once played out with blue collar workers in factories is now playing out with white collar workers in office parks. What happens when you get a new job? They send you away for “training.” If Situation A arises, do this; if Situation B arises, do that. Who makes these decisions? An increasingly small pool of "experts." Everyone else in the middle is just following orders, hurrying along, trying to be as efficient as possible. Thus you get a workforce of increasingly powerless, increasingly passive, increasingly efficient drones (even you, “middle manager!”).

Does this sound like your work day?

Part of my reason for starting the Project, and executing it the way I did, was a rejection of this ethic. I reject the cult of efficiency. I liked getting lost, navigating from one town to the next without a GPS; I liked being hyperlinked from one clueless corner-dweller to the next (“Oh yeah, just up the road, you can’t miss it!”). I liked it because it reminded me of being a scout. Am I saying we should all slack off? No! The opposite! I think we should pay attention. I think we’d be better off, collectively, if we valued curiosity and attention to detail instead of just “doing things to get them done.”

Of course, I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, tell that to my boss! Tell that to my teacher! And you’re right. It’s hard to “explore” when there are deadlines to be met, mortgages to be paid, student loans to be paid back, grades to be earned.

But what if we explored in the in-between times? The last few weeks I’ve been scouting locations for my album cover. If anyone asked: “Where did Matt go?” The response would be: “For a run.” But really I’m exploring. I’ve been searching for the perfect place that fits the “overlapping generations” vibe of the record.

Some of my favorites so far:

Eastern State Penitentiary in Fairmount. Maybe too touristy. But it's definitely epic, in the Old World sense of the word.

The Divine Lorraine, an elegant, crumbling hotel on the corner of Broad and Fairmount.

And the old abandoned Reading Railroad in North Philly.

I had to do some climbing to get up there (it's elevated) and take this picture, but wow, what a view! (For the record, I’m tall enough now that I can step over the railroad ties two at a time. But that doesn’t make it any less fun.)

The Postcards E.P.

2011-09-01T14:46:00.000-04:00

4/26/2011, 8:38am
From: Matt
To: Steve
Subject: An Idea for How to Start the Record
Because so much of my work is about connections between different generations - and some of the songs have a vaguely retro feel - it could be cool to begin in a different era, aurally....we could begin with some simple 1950's-ish "domestic sounds" - a cabinet opening, tea cups clanking together, being placed on the counter, water pouring into a tea kettle, a flame being lit, a woman humming...meanwhile, we could have a radio playing in the background, that we gradually get closer to, and I begin (crooning): "We were sooooo young." The whole intro sequence wouldn't have to take more than 10-12 seconds...then the intro section (w/ a cool effect)...then the walk-up would still be the transition point, with clear modern percussion, and we're into it.

4/26/2011, 8:40am
From: Steve
To: Matt
Subject: Re: An Idea for How to Start the Record
I like it. Should be pretty easy to run a few cables from the studio and get that going...

When I first pitched the idea of "songs as postcards" to the producer, Steve Schaller, I was (a) surprised that he accepted and then (b) realized I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

We didn’t even know each other that well, so I was nervous that first day, walking up to his home studio, guitar case in hand.

“Hey man.”

“Hey.”

The first thing he had me do was lay out my vision for the record. We were sitting on stools in the studio. “You know that feeling when you’re digging through an old trunk in your grandfather’s attic, and you dig way down the bottom, and pull out an old, creased, sepia-toned photograph with frayed edges…you run your finger over it, feel the texture…that feeling you get in your chest?”

“Yeah.”

“Something like that.”

I expected him to laugh, but he just said: “Yeah. We can do that.”

5/8/2001, 11:34pm
From: Steve
To: Matt
Subject: Tiny Miracles
Hey, I added a bunch of stuff to Tiny Miracles today. I'm pretty excited about it but let me know if it's too much. I've attached it here as well as a version with just your guitar and vocals so you can experiment with your own ideas.

5/9/2011, 2:45pm
From: Matt
To: Steve
Subjet: Re: Tiny Miracles
I love it. I think you nailed it. I'll follow up with some notes later, but as far as the arrangement goes (the hardest & most important part) I think we're locked in...

This has been an entirely new—and invigorating—creative process for me. For the past few years music has been a very solitary experience. I've spent countless hours performing for empty rooms--or, when traveling, out on the hood of my car, in National Parks and desolate Walmart parking lots. There was always that specter of an imagined audience, of course; sometimes I imagined myself in a dark auditorium, silhouetted in a single white spotlight, just me and my Taylor; other times (this is embarrassing but true) I imagined playing on TV shows like the Today Show or Letterman. I guess it’s not so different from the clichéd little kid singing into a comb in front of the mirror…the difference being that I wasn’t imagining myself as famous in those moments, just that there was an audience out there beyond the edge of my vision. Somewhere. Even if I couldn't see their faces I could feel their presence—vaguely—and that was good enough.

The E.P. is now about 85% finished (it’s only 5 songs), I can say it’s been one of the best creative experiences I’ve ever had. Until now I’ve always made a distinction between “making” and “sharing.” You go away and write a song…then share it. You write a story…then share it. It’s been refreshing to find that “making” can in fact be a social experience, and, if you’re working with talented people, it can push you to levels you didn’t think you were capable of.

I can't wait for you people to hear this record.

Project Update: Spring 2011

2011-05-23T18:59:00.012-04:00

from the 2011 "Day on the Hill"

So much going on behind this quiet little digital window.

Most excitingly, I’ve made a huge amount of progress with the Spaces book. I began drafting the narrative section in September, finished a version in February, and am steaming along with revisions. The plan is to have it back to my agent by the end of the summer- tick tock!

Speaking of the summer…two friends of mine are getting hitched in Sweden (she’s Swedish), so that's where I'll be for the second half of June, if you're wondering where I am and why I've been quiet. After the wedding it's on to Copenhagen, Berlin, Prague, and Budapest. Anything could happen, really, but I'm hoping to sleep as little as possible, walk at least 10-20 miles every day, talk to exotic strangers, dash into pubs to avoid the rain...I don't currently have a single train or hostel booked; I think it'll be more fun that way.

In other fun news: I’m making a record! I’m working with a talented producer named Steve Schaller. The record – called Postcards—will be released in late Fall 2011. Our concept is to make it sound all crackly and vintage in places, like your grandfather's Cole Porter records, but then bright and modern and digital in others. A musical meeting of generations. All the songs were either written during or inspired by my time on the road. The music connects directly with the book and, I have to say, I’m pretty excited about it. I can’t think of any other projects that mesh forms like this. Much more to come on this later.

The photo above is from the 2011 Alzheimer's Association Advocacy Forum in Washington D.C.. Last week I joined hundreds of other Alzheimer’s advocates on Capitol Hill. We met with members of congress and their staffs, shared our stories, and urged them to co-sponsor new legislation that will help families struggling with Alzheimer’s and also channel more money into research. This was my second year attending, and I’d encourage other advocates to get involved in 2012. You do get to keep the purple sash. If you're out there and you're reading this and you're thinking "I think I might want to get more involved" just drop me a line. It's easy and we could use your help.

And finally…did you notice we’re nearing the 2,000 mark for postcards received? Incredible! Thanks so much to all of you out there that have supported the project!

My Two 6-Second Encounters with Lynda Barry (UPDATED)

2011-03-25T13:28:00.011-04:00

(Note (8/30/2011): When I publish new posts, I find myself unable to resist tinkering with the old ones. Do you do this, too? Just changing words here or there, reshaping the sentences? This is why a lot of writers hate blogging, I think. Because nothing ever has to be "finished." I've always wanted to create a writer character who breaks into libraries late at night, rips pages from his books, slashes out sentences, never able to let the story stand still. This is sort of what it feels like for me as a blogger, this constant revision, without all the ~~hassle~~ excitement of breaking and entering. And the worst part is I'm pretty sure I don't make anything better. But anyway, I've decided that if I'm going to come snooping around with my little flashlight after the fact, I'll at least leave some record of what I've changed, with slashes or different colored text. I'm not sure why, other than it might be interesting to observe over time. Hopefully it's not distracting. Now onto the story. Sorry.)

Fun little story. On my original Spaces tour I met a woman named Lynda Barry. You may’ve heard of her. She’s a famous writer & artist. I met her in Eugene, Oregon, where by fate or coincidence we both happened to be on the same day.

~~The specifics are relevant;~~ I met her for (I would estimate) six seconds. So really, I “met” her. I encountered her. I was crossing the street. A Honda pulled up. She was in the passenger seat. I recognized her (I’d just seen a poster advertising her event) and, in a frantic whir, passed a postcard into her car.

~~End of scene.~~

~~I drove south to California, and across the rest of the country.~~

~~Now flash forward 18 months.~~ Eighteen months later, I’m working a book event for (you guessed it) Lynda Barry. Obviously she doesn’t remember me, but that doesn’t matter. I'm not going to waste time bringing it up. All I really want is for her to contribute a postcard.

Problem: all my extra postcards are in my car...which is in the shop.

Solution: I hastily Scotch tape two quarters to a bookmark~~. I~~ and draw a quote bubble from George Washington’s mouth explaining the project. “And here’s money for postage,” he says.

Normally I have plenty of time to chat with the authors after the event, but her signing line is HUGE, meaning I have about six additional seconds to give her this weird taped bookmark before I have to leave and hustle back to the bookshop. Forget it, I think. Go for it. Forget it. Go for it.

~~I decide to go for it.~~

“Hey,” I say, “this is random, but I’m doing this project in memory of…”

“Wait,” she says, “I know you!”

“Yeah, we met in Oregon almost two years ago. Sort of.”

“Right, the big postcard. I had it in my purse for months. It got all bent up. I kept trying to think what to write but then I guess I just lost it. Sorry!”

“Well I have this bookmark here, it explains it all over again.”

“I won’t let you down this time!”

"Thanks!"

And that’s it. She went back to autographing books.

I had a bounce in my step all the next day.

Such a simple, wonderful thing: to be remembered.

UPDATE:

AND LOOK WHAT CAME IN THE MAIL A FEW DAYS LATER!

The 2011 Figures Are In...

2011-03-16T09:38:00.001-04:00

...and they are NOT encouraging. A reminder of the daunting challenge we face. Please share this video.

Talkadelphia!

2011-03-03T09:57:00.004-05:00

Hey everyone! Here is an interview I did with Talkadelphia, pimping the project. I can't bear to listen to myself, so I didn't make it past the second minute, but it was a lot of fun. I think I managed to mix in at least one or two stories that I haven't told over and over!

UPDATE: The interview was picked as one of Talkadelphia's Top 5 podcasts ever. Hooray!

The Hall Seemed A Lot Quieter as they Walked Out of the Room

2011-01-25T22:47:00.000-05:00

With her permission, I'm passing along this note from Jakki Cafarelli, a young woman I met last summer outside the Kansas City Art Institute. The postcards from the experience she describes below were displayed at a gallery in K.C., and will be amongst the many stories shared in the final version of the Spaces Project.

As an intern with Arts in Prison, Inc., I worked with youth in the Johnson and Wyandotte County detention Centers in Kansas City, Kansas and Missouri, teaching young adolescents new forms of expression. Hoping to provide encouragement and to inspire confidence, I encouraged young teenage boys and girls to experiment with different mediums, focusing on developing self-esteem and creative problem solving. Upon meeting you outside of the Kansas City Art Institute, I was immediately excited and inspired by the Spaces Between Your Fingers project. I was thrilled to introduce the project to my students the following week. I thought I would read the story to them, as I explained the project guidelines.

Well, being juvenile delinquents, it's not easy to get 12 teenage boys focused on a project and listen to a story, so I waited until they were finished outlining their hands and coloring gold trimmed watches and diamonds surrounded by slogans and mottos on the postcards. We all sat in a circle as I read the story. The security guards in the room sat in the circle as well (the first time they were positively engaged in a session). Subsequent to the story, the kids opened up. They began telling stories of their grandfathers and loved ones. For the last thirty minutes of a two hour session went by, for once, too quickly. Usually, these adolescents hold a tough guard up, but that day it was let down. Young men, some who are fathers, murders, and mistake-makers along with myself and two security guards all shared a bond discussing the evolution of life and letting people go.

The halls seemed a lot quieter as they walked out of the room, hands behind their backs. I felt that day had impacted every single person in the room. which is an intensely powerful feeling- to get through to that many kids who usually still don't give a rat’s ass about art or me after I sit with them for two hours. They'd rather spend the time drawing their next tattoo they're going to get once they leave Juvy.

Reflections as a New Year Begins

2011-01-05T14:17:00.005-05:00

Is 2010 over already?

Man, that went fast. My 9^th grade math teacher told me that “from now on, every year for the rest of your life will go faster.” So far, he’s been right.

In terms of the Project, I couldn’t have asked for a better 2010. In July I partnered with the great folks at the Alzheimer’s Association and embarked on my first ever national tour. It’s a special experience to literally carry you story from city to city (along with a cardboard box full of art supplies). Thanks so much to all of you out there (both caregivers and afflicted) who sat around those tables, bravely shared your stories, and got your hands dirty for the cause. I have so many postcards in my Spaces treasure chest now I have to use my knee to close it. And though, in terms of putting it together, I may be living up to my childhood nickname of “Poky” (you can imagine my family waiting impatiently in the car as I saunter out the front door—always the last one out—shoes untied, dragging my coat behind), I promise I am in the process of doing something special with the cards.

2010 was a year of breakthroughs. After years of persistence, we finally got the National Alzheimer’s Project Act signed into law—a huge and important milestone. I feel proud to have gone down to Capitol Hill last March and been a part of it. There was also some breakthrough research about the importance of non-pharmacological care for Alzheimer’s/Dementia patients, especially as related to the arts. In a way, these studies are confirming what we knew all along: that while a person afflicted with Alzheimer’s may seem withdrawn or “vanished”, they still respond to human touch, to loving attention, and to art. Even as spatial logic and reasoning blurs, emotion persists. Huge thanks to all the caregivers out there. Your strength inspires me.

For me personally, 2010 was a year of great highs and lows. On the high side (besides all the great things happening with the project) my younger brother Mark wed his longtime girlfriend, Sarah, in August. Almost all of our 700 billion cousins, aunts, and uncles were there to dance like idiots. Somewhere, my mother is still laughing about the preposterous song and dance my brother Will and I punctuated our best man speech with. In my 28 years, it was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

There was also sadness, however, as my grandmother wasn’t there to see it. She died on June 9. Though she had lived a long and full life, it was still hard to let her go (and indeed to imagine a family party without her holding court in her oversized sunglasses).

I was both honored and terrified when I was asked to deliver the eulogy.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Because you won’t cry.”

“And because you were her godchild.”

“But mostly because you won’t cry.”

Before the service I met with my mom and her sisters; everyone contributed memories, and anecdotes; and then it was time to go away and write. I stared at the blinking cursor for hours. How do you even begin to sum up such a life, of which you’ve only seen such a small fraction?

I think the key when you’re stuck on something (writing, grief, heartbreak ect) is to keep moving. Keep busy. Push outward. I wasn’t doing myself any good spinning circles in my chair, staring at the ceiling.

And so I decided to…clean out my sock drawer. Yeah. If yours is anything like mine, it looks like the 4^th grade Lost & Found: stuffed with all kinds of birthday cards, receipts, buttons and loose change (I think there was an umbrella in there) not to mention socks.

I arranged all the socks in linear fashion on the floor—business socks here, athletic socks there—and found that I had a staggering nine orphans. NINE! (This may be some kind of record. Apparently my socks are like charged particles: opposites attract.)

The whole process took me about 15 minutes. Afterward, I looked down at the orderly drawer with a sense of accomplishment. And as I stood there, it struck me how I’d start my grandmother’s eulogy. (No, it had nothing to do with socks.) I hurried over to the laptop. The first passage catalyzed the second, and so on. I was proud of what I came up with.

You have to create your own momentum, I think. Even if it’s with one small stupid act. So perhaps that’s good to keep in mind as we cross into a new year.

Here’s to a wonderful, surprising, productive 2011.

Very best,
Your friend,

Matt

The Shriver Report

2010-10-27T17:34:00.000-04:00

In case you missed it, I wanted to post this important Maria Shriver interview from ABC News. Her report highlights the disproportionate burden upon women in the fight against Alzheimer's.

SBYF in Allentown, PA

2010-09-28T00:28:00.001-04:00

That's me earlier this month with Major Nathan Kline, one of the most amazing people I've ever met. I was up at a dementia care facility called Arden Courts, in Allentown, PA to run a SBYF workshop. Of course I noticed Major Kline immediately in his uniform, with the shiny medal (which I later learned was the French Legion of Honor - the French equivalent of the Medal of Honor - given to him in Paris by Nicolas Sarkozy).

Major Kline isn't a resident at Arden Courts. He comes in frequently to chat with the veterans. After the program I got talking to Maj. Kline....and 30 minutes later we were still talking. Well, mostly I was listening.

He told me his story: how at 18 he'd decided to enlist, but couldn't get his parents to sign off on it, so he convinced an uncle to sign for him. He had a dream to be a fighter pilot, but he failed his eye test ("20/40 vision - just about shattered my heart," he said). He spent two years as what he disdainfully called a "blanket counter" - meanwhile, "pilots were being shot down faster than they could replace them." Maj. Kline again went in for an eye test, but this time he sneaked in the night before and memorized the eye chart, which he still effortlessly recited to me, over 65 years later.

On D-Day, he flew his B-26 toward Normandy and dropped eight 500 lb. bombs on a German railyard. On the way out (and please take a minute to process this) a piece of flak shot through the plane's nose, between his legs, and out the top of the plane. His reaction?

"I was mad the thing shredded my darned map."

Special thanks to Karen Francis for organizing, to congressman Doug Reichley for attending, and all the wonderful participants at Arden Courts - what a great day!

"I fell in love with him the first time I saw him in the hospital..."

2010-08-27T10:36:00.000-04:00

Via my good friend Keith Gumery, check out this wonderful, touching piece from the StoryCorps that aired on NPR. A conversation between Bob Patterson, an aerospace engineer recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and his wife, Karen.

2010 Tour in Review

2010-08-08T11:05:00.000-04:00

By the time you're reading this, I hope to be sitting at the end of a dock in Connecticut with a fishing pole in my hands. More likely, I'll be at Bed, Bath & Beyond buying a new beard trimmer. In any case, here are some of the final numbers from the hugely-successful 2010 tour:

# of days: 30
# of miles: 7,964
# of workshops: 13
# of states: 24
# of pictures: 1300+
# of push ups: 1500 (50 per day)

# of pee breaks: incalcuable
# of times through Mumford & Sons CD: incalcuable
# of parking/speeding tickets: 0
# of times ordered out of car by border patrol: 1
# of times sleeping in car: 0
# of pounds gained/lost: -2

On top of all this, views for the website are up over 8,000 percent!!!! Getting the word out? Mission accomplished.

What's next? Well, I have a lot of writing to do.

That's the view from my writing desk in my new apartment. I'll probably still be sitting there long after those leaves have dropped.

To see pictures from the 2010 Tour, click here.

Some favorite videos:

-Live at the news desk in Kansas City
-Over the Rainbow in Albuquerque
-Dropping in on Oprah
-Postcard Portrait of Bruce from Ohio (more of these portraits to come, hopefully)

I'd like to thank everyone who opened their hearts and homes to us, especially Mel and Adam in Ohio, Catlin in Cincy, Joey and Lacy in Kansas City, Sueanne and Suzy in Colorado, Sang and Hien in San Diego, Nichole Smith in L.A., Suzette in Arizona, the Stein Family in Atlanta, and Beth S. in Virginia. Thanks also to all the program directors & chapters of the Alzheimer's Association who hosted us, to Drew for riding along and helping w/ the workshops, to all the participants who shared their stories, and to all the kind strangers we met and chatted with along the way.

Who knows how long this story will be in the end, or what's the come, but I feel like we're only in the first or second chapter.

More to come!

Wherein the 2010 Tour Winds to a Close

2010-08-05T23:56:00.000-04:00

Welcome to all our new friends in Charlottesville!

Notes from the Penultimate Morning

2010-08-05T10:42:00.000-04:00

First of all, let me say how excited I am that my little brother, the same little brother who used to lick his fingers and eat sand like it was fun dip, IS GETTING MARRIED IN 8 DAYS!

Way to go, Sparkles.

Now then, time is short, but let me see if I can share a few quick stories (many more pictures here).

What you're seeing here is the famous Beale St. in Memphis. Nothing too crazy happened while we were here; I mention it mainly to clarify one of the greatest musical mysteries of all time. You know that song "Walkin' in Memphis" by Mark Cohn? That line..."Walkin' in Memphis with my feet ten feet of a ??????" Yeah, it's BEALE. Beale St. You're welcome.

Now then, here we are just as the train is arriving in Asheville, North Carolina. Since this project began I've visited hundreds of cities from coast to coast, and Asheville is definitely in the top 10. It's in western corner of the state, up in the Smoky Mts (if you ever go, be sure to hike up the waterfall trail at nearby Gorges State Park, it's amazing...would have pictures but we did the hike in the rain).

Asheville's done something cool: they've turned most of their abandoned industrail buildings/warehouses into working art studios.

And so what could've been a gloomy postindustrial wasteland is now this vibrant, exciting community.

Moving northwest....this is the International Storytelling Center in Jonesborough, TN. 38 years ago a man named Jimmy Neil Smith heard a hilarious, well-told story on his car radio and decided he was going to throw a "storytelling festival" in his hometown.

"You're going to throw a WHAT??" the townsfolk said.

A storytelling festival. Like the old days, around a campfire. When storytellers were kings.

Ignoring the naysayers, he bought a dingy old supermarket and transformed it into a magnificent storytelling hall.

And a few decades later he now attracts nearly 15,000 people to his hometown for the festival.

I got talking to Mr. Smith (above, center) and realized we had more in common than just our surname. All this time I've been running around the country, passing out postcards to strangers, what I've really been saying is: "I bet you have a story to tell. Tell me a little about where you've been, what you've learned...and mail it back to me."

The handprints are just the linking device for all our stories.

It's been a few days, but I'm still alive

2010-08-01T12:11:00.002-04:00

Bit of a Gump-ish beard, wouldn't you say?

Last week - back up the east coast - still going strong!

Over the Rainbow

2010-07-28T11:57:00.001-04:00

From Albuquerque, one of my favorite moments.

We were just sitting around, waiting for the last of the participants to trickle in, so I asked the program director Mark if I might strum his guitar a bit. Out of nowhere one of the participants, a young lady named Sarah, raised her hand as if to indicate she was to begin singing. You can see my surprise register at first; after that, I just tried to keep up. This is why I love this trip, and this project.

Some other shots from our time in New Mexico:

program director, Mark Narvaez (above)

George Miles (above) provided some musical inspiration w/ his dulcimer.

More images via the Facebook group.

Continued great work by my friend, sidekick, and photographer, Andrew Christiano.

The Grand Canyon

2010-07-27T12:53:00.000-04:00

The most powerful impact of the Grand Canyon, for me, was the silence. It was like winding down an underwater staircase - the silence kept intensifying. All the simple sounds were amplified....the crunch of the rocks beneath my shoes, the skittering lizards. It occured to me that one way to stimulate the senses is to take them away.

And of course the view was breath-taking. The rim is surrounded by piney brush, so when you do come up to the edge, it happens all at once.

More images via the Facebook Group.

SoCAL! (Updated)

2010-07-21T23:09:00.004-04:00

Almost three weeks deep and I have to say - I feel great. I'm not wearing down at all. Last year at this point I was a little frayed at the edges (and in the jeans) but this year's tour has a nice smooth pace to it.

I'm really excited about how the project is growing. We've had a few blips in the media, but really the word is spreading because of YOU - sharing the website with your friends and families. SBYF was just refered to as a "movement" for the first time the other day...and I like it. Let's keep it going.
In Phoenix today for another workshop, then continuing the journey back east. Here are some of the choice shots from the past few days. The complete roll willl be posted on facebook when I get some more time.

Back to my old nemesis - LA! Drew and I visited the Santa Monica pier, which is always an interesting experience.

Wisdom comes in many forms, and from all ages. Our workshop in L.A. had a slightly younger crowd.

Our friends in San Diego weren't afraid to get their hands dirty for the cause.

And finally, one of my favorite people we've met so far, at Hodad's Hamburgers in Ocean Beach, San Diego. This man is an inspiration.

Advice from a Mustache Grower

Photo Journal: Missouri-California

2010-07-18T01:58:00.000-04:00

3,600 miles and incalcuable U-turns later, we've reached the Pacific. Here are some of my favorite shots from the past few days. If you haven't joined our group on Facebook yet (why haven't you joined our Facebook group yet?)...please join the Facebook group (and then you would've already seen these).

This (above) is my favorite shot of the trip so far, at a rest stop somewhere in Utah.

Back in Missouri, the hay bales were scattered like wine corks.

We had no plan whatsoever driving into Kansas City.

About ten miles outside the city, I saw a sign for Art Museum and veered off the highway. Up ahead was another sign, "Art Institute," which seemed even better, and so we parked, sunscreened, and began wandering.

There's purpose to the wandering...but it's still wandering. I took an acting class once, and the teacher said that there were 10,000 different kinds of walks. I'm pretty sure there's a "giving out Spaces Between Your Fingers Cards" Walk. It's sort of like an eager, curious dog that's at the end of his leash, but keeps on tugging, sticking his nose into this place and that.

The Art Institute was desolate, but there was one student laying out on the grass, staring up at the sky. I didn't want to interupt whatever pleasant thoughts she seemed to be having, but on the way back we crossed paths again. She thought the project was pretty cool, and invited us to her classroom, where I slipped into Teacher Mode and explained the project at the front of the room. (Sidenote: I got an email from that same student, Jackie, a few days later. She teaches art classes at the local Juvenile Detention Center, and said she planned to share the project and story there. Beautiful how these vectors shoot out in all different directions.)

Someone in the class suggested we head down to the public library, so we did.

The librarians there were super-enthusiastic, and are going to do the project with their teens and elementary students.

The next afternoon, we headed over to the local Alzheimer's Association chapter in Prairie View, Kansas, and ran our workshop.

Kansas was a long haul, and at one point a tornado warning was broadcast on the radio ("hail as big as baseballs") but that was an hour behind us, and so beside a few flash downpours and lightning bolts, it was straight on to Colorado.

We spent a good part of the next day in Vail.

That night, we stopped for dinner in Grand Junction, Co. then followed the Colorado River west into Utah.

It was 112 degrees in Vegas today, so we didn't stay all that long. We split for the coast and made it just after sundown.

Hope you're enjoying following along - wish I had more time to write! Most of the work is happening between the pictures - meeting new people and passing out the cards, one by one by one.

Online Teacher Packet (UPDATED)

2010-07-16T10:05:00.015-04:00

Fellow teachers,

Librarians,

Activity Directors,

Friends,

Below you'll find some suggestions for how to share the SBYF Project in a group setting. I've developed this format over the past year or so, but like everything in teaching and in life, there isn't one absolute way to do it. Feel free to tailor the program to best fit your age group and time constraints.

--What You’ll Need to Get Started--

*Card stock paper
The official cards are 6”x11.5” but the exact size isn’t crucial. You can use regular white paper, or construction paper, but card stock paper is preferred, as it will last longer.
*Basic Art Supplies (Colored Pencils, Markers, Glue, Scissors)
*A copy of the “Spaces Between Your Fingers” parable (optional)

That's it!

--Introducing the Project--
By far the easiest way to introduce the project is to show the SBYF video.

--The Workshop --

Before jumping into the card-making, take a few minutes to let each participant reflect on some of his or her own experiences. One fun way of doing this is to break into pairs and have them interview one another, like newspaper reporters. Some sample questions you might use are:

1) Think back...what was your very first job? Do you remember what you were paid? Was it a good experience or a bad experience--why?

2) When you think of someone who is wise...whose face do you imagine? Why?

3) Imagine you're flipping through the photo album of your life, page by page, year by year. Suddenly you stop--there, you think, that was one of the happiest times in my life. Tell us about this photo. Where are you? Who are you with? Why were you so happy?

4) If you could jump in a time machine and go back in time...when would you go and what advice would you give yourself?

The important thing is that everyone draw wisdom from his/her own unique experiences and passions, rather than approaching it abstractly or relying on cliches.

--The Cards--

At last - the fun part! With my classes, I like to distribute the cards at the end of the class and have them bring them in the next day (this works better with older students). However, you may choose to make the cards right in class - and that works too!

Here are the three simple steps:

1. Trace your hand. (It’s fun. Imagine you are pressing your hand into wet cement.)

2. Inside or around the handprint, write a postcard to a stranger. It should be addressed to someone in the future who finds his/herself in a specific “life situation” that you’ve already been through. Try to zero in on a specific moment in time. Imagine you could deliver a secret message to yourself at the bus stop before your first day of school, fixing your hair at the mirror before your first date, wringing your hands in a doctor’s waiting room, negotiating to buy a house or a car, dancing at your wedding reception…the situations are endless. What do you wish you knew? If you want to tell a little story, or give a little context, definitely go for it. It doesn’t have to be formal; it’s a postcard, after all.

3. Decorate!!!!

(For anyone feeling stuck, a good, simple formula is to begin your postcard by writing about a specific memory, as vividly as you can, then explain what you learned from that experience.)

--When You're Done--

After you've collected the cards, it's most efficient to mail them in a single envelope to:

SBYF Project
265 Ellis Rd.
Havertown, PA 19083

Just because the mailman carries them away, however, doesn't mean the project is over. By submitting a card you are joining a grassroots movement that is growing larger every day. You can keep in touch via the blog and facebook page!

Fox 4 Kansas City Morning Show LIVE!

2010-07-14T10:58:00.004-04:00

Special thanks to Michelle and everyone at the Heart of America chapter of the Alzheimer's Association - looking forward to our workshop!

If player is not working, click through to watch the clip here.

Days 6-7 - Illinois/Iowa - Photo Journal

2010-07-13T10:48:00.001-04:00

The SBYF Project is all about collecting and celebrating the wisdom of everyday people, but it's also cool when someone distinguished decides to participate. We were in Iowa City yesterday, so I decided to drop in on the famous Iowa Writer's workshop. They have a little house on the edge of campus. It was quiet inside, except for a student worker typing with headphones on. I told him a little about the project and he said, "I think I have someone you'll want to talk to." He led me around the corner and knocked on an office door. "Hey, Jim...there's a guy here I think you should meet."

I got inside the office, and there was James McPherson - the first African American to win the Pulitzer Prize for fiction!

I got to talk with him for a few minutes and he thought the project was "pretty cool." He took a card and said he would mail back a piece of writing advice. Thanks to him and to everyone I met in Iowa City.

From there we started southwest toward Kansas City. Rural Iowa felt like a sprawling corn maze - in many places the crops were taller than the car, and we never knew what was going to appear around the next bend.

One of the towns we emerged in was Fairfield, Iowa. Talking to the bartender where we ate lunch, we learned that, shockingly, Fairfied was the epicenter of the transcedental meditation movement. "You can imagine the clash when the hippies poured into a place like this," he said. But somehow the two worldviews had meshed, and so we found middle-aged women with nose rings sharing the same sidewalk as red-faced farmers in jeans and red flannel.

Outside the organic coffee place, we found Ryan, and offered him a challenge.

(Hint: Ryan said the mistake most people make in trying to solve a Rubik's Cube is trying to finish one side at a time. He does it by layers, working from bottom to top. Once he gets the first two, he knows the top layer only has 57 possible combinations...which he's memorized.)

Day 5 - Chicago Video/Photo Journal

2010-07-11T10:07:00.002-04:00

We had a busy, invigorating day running around Chicago yesterday. Here are some of the pictures and videos.

Wake up call!!!

We drove out of there as fast as we could...which was about 2 mph with all the roads closed. But we escaped, and a few hours later Drew swung his hips with a nice young lady at Navy Pier.

At the beach I attempted my first ever cartwheel. I felt bad saying it at the time, but clearly I was more talented than my teacher.

And did you really think I'd drive all the way to Chicago without dropping in on Oprah. As fully expected, she rolled out the red carpet for my arrival.

Roadside Poem - "The Other Seasons"

2010-07-10T22:13:00.001-04:00

From a dream fragment last night.

That pencil tip of light
at the end of the dark corridor
is my first grade classroom:
I’m walking now past the painting
of elephants upon elephants
and the tiny water fountain
that would be useful to normal human beings
if we drank though our kneecaps.

I remember looking out the window of this classroom
and seeing a formation of birds
soaring effortlessly above the autumn trees--
though when I look now
those same birds are flying in reverse,
wings struggling back, in unison,
as if, if they only tried hard enough,
they might row back to summer
without enduring
the other seasons.

M.S.
7/10/10
Rockford, IL.

Spaces in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review

2010-07-10T22:01:00.001-04:00

Yet another amazing coincidence. Direct quote before meeting Mr. Shaw in his gallery (across the street from our parking garage): "Dude, it's too hot out here...let's just hit this one last place."

Enjoy!

SPACES IN THE PITTSBURGH TRIBUNE-REVIEW

Days 3-4 Photojournal - Cincy/Chicago

2010-07-10T10:31:00.001-04:00

Sometimes your best laid plans go awry, and then a few more things go wrong, and you find yourself destitute in Chinatown after midnight, searching for somewhere to sleep. In such circumstances, you can't be too picky about accomodation.

We set out two days before from our friend's idyllic place outside Cincinnati.

With no workshops that day, we got back to basics: hit the streets and start walking.

We walked 3 miles from our car before we found this cool district called North Side.

It was a gritty area with lots of funky, eclectic shops.

After the long trek, Drew made another Parking Garage PB & J.

It was a beautiful Friday morning in Chi-town.

We ran our third workshop in partnership with the Chicago chapter of the Alzheimer's Association and the Cognitive Neurology and Alzheimer's Disease Center at Northwestern University. What a great group we had!

That night, our plans fell through at the very last minute, so we found ourselves scrambling (in Chinatown...somehow?). But it'd been such a good day it didn't really matter.

Special thanks to Melanie, Darby, Mary and all our participants - hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!

Postcard Portrait: Bruce from Dayton, OH

2010-07-09T09:35:00.001-04:00

Day 2 - Ohio Photo Journal

2010-07-09T09:18:00.000-04:00

By morning, the fireflies had vanished.

SBYF workshops typically last about 90 minutes. I begin by introducing myself and the project, then I read my "Spaces Between Your Fingers" story. The story bridges into a discussion of wisdom: what it is, where it comes from, how it's passed between generations.

The discussion is the most important part. Really, it's just people in a room talking. We walk in as strangers, but by the end we could be a family, sitting aroung the dinner table. No one's interested in an abstract, philosophical discussion of wisdom, either. No! We start with our varied experiences and backgrounds. You can imagine the incredible stories that come out.

This is my favorite part: when I can just listen.

As the discussion wraps up (it never really ends) we transition to the making of the SBYF cards. The idea is to take what we've just been talking about - all those incredible experiences - and mine out some advice they'd like to leave for the next generation.

The workshop included both Alzheimer's afflicted individuals, and caregivers.

Later in the afternoon, we ran a second workshop at a nearby independent living residence. These participants didn't have Alzheimer's...but they had plenty of stories to share.

You'll see these cards in the book someday.

Thanks so much to Eric VanVlymen and all the incredible people at the Miami Valley Chapter of the Alzheimer's Association for being such wonderful hosts, and to Eva at One Lincoln Park.

Photos by Andrew Christiano

Sailing Once More Into a World of Strangers

2010-07-07T11:22:00.228-04:00

We set out from Philly just after dawn.

You may notice that my Volvo is looking a little more like Michael Jackson 1992, as opposed to 1972. That's because it's not my Volvo. After losing 17 pounds in 30 days on the last trip, I decided that air conditioning was a must for 2010.

The Alzheimer's Association had made a few calls and ABC News was there to send us off!

Claire Day, program director extraordinaire.

We made it about 75 feet before Drew popped the purple balloons in a fit of Hulk-like rage. 5 hours later, we'd arrived in Pittsburgh.

Sorry if you'll now be walking around the rest of the day with a crick in your neck; still trying to figure out the new technology!

But as I said, the mission remains the same. Drew and I are driving from coast to coast, seeking the wisest, most creative people in every community. You never know what people might say when you walk into, say, a random comic book shop.

Advice from a (self proclaimed) Nerd

The whole project nearly got derailed a few hours later in Columbus, OH; there were so many pretty girls that we almost gave up and decided to stay!

By 930 pm we'd nearly reached our crashing point for the night in tiny Ostrander, OH. We'd driven 530 miles the first day, but both agreed that it felt like 50 at most. That might change as we're hauling another 500 across Kansas, but there's something about this journey that distorts your sense of time. Normally when you're driving you have Point A and Point B, and so you spend the entire time waiting to arrive. You're counting miles and calculating the time left - 3 more hours, 2 more hours, 100 more miles. On this trip, you're not thinking about that, because beyond Point B awaitsPoint C, D, E, F ect, and you can't keep that much stacked up in your mind, so instead you just look out the window.

The last two miles of Day 1, we turned down this dusty road - so narrow it felt like we were squeezing between rows of corn. Thousands of fireflies flickered on both sides, far as the eye could see. They didn't hover, like they do back home, but seemed to be drifting up from tiny fissures in the soil. Like when you poke a fire and the embers dance up into the air - or like when you're a kid, and you turn your head too fast, and for a second those tiny motes of light dance before your eyes. When I was younger, I used to think it was like seeing the seams between this world and whatever was on the other side, looking back.

Tomorrow: the first workshops.

Announcing the 2010 S.B.Y.F. National Tour!

2010-06-29T11:17:00.003-04:00

The 2010 S.B.Y.F. National Tour is set and may be visiting a city near you!

Tues July 6 - Phila. send off party
Weds July 7- Dayton, OH
Thurs-July 8- Indianapolis
Fri July 9-Chicago
Weds July 14-Prairie Village, Kansas
Fri July 16-Denver
Mon July 19-Los Angeles
Weds July 21-San Diego
Fri July 23-Phoenix
Mon July 26-Albuquerque
Fri July 30-Nashville
Mon Aug. 2-Atlanta
Thurs Aug 5-Charlottesville, VA

I'm excited to announce that this year I've partnered with the Alzheimer's Association, so in addition to handing out thousands more postcards, I'll also be running my S.B.Y.F. workshops with Alzheimer's-afflicted individuals & families from coast to coast.

Much, much more information to follow (keep an eye out for subsequent updates), but wanted to get the dates up.

Please get in touch if you're out there and we're headed your way!

Memories in the Making

2010-05-25T12:35:00.002-04:00

Somewhere in the maze of North Philadelphia—in a tiny neighborhood you’ve zoomed past on I-95 a hundred times without ever thinking about—I’m pulling open a heavy door to a community center.

First impression: the smell of burnt coffee. Community centers are dependable in this way, like waiting rooms and used car dealerships. Though not immediately visible, I’m positive this coffee is being served in Styrofoam cups.

The entranceway is warmly lit, with colorful paintings on the walls. Up ahead—at what I presume is the front desk—an elderly Latino man in a half-zipped green tracksuit is staring down intently. At what I can’t tell. He might be reading a book, or building a puzzle.

Nope.

He’s making a sandwich.

And this is when I first sense there’s something wonderfully unusual—possibly even magical—about this place. The man’s sandwich has three layers: crackers, potato chips, and crackers.

Without ever acknowledging me, he slides the cracker-wich into a plastic baggie, zips the baggie in his track suit, and sneaks off to a room with salsa music and pool tables.

No point in being sneaky, I think.

If your sandwich has half as many crumbs as I expect, you won’t be hard to find.

*

I went to The Mann Older Adult Center in March to run a workshop with an Alzheimer’s Association program called Memories in the Making.

The workshop took place in a cement-floored room, about the size of a basement. My introducer was a pretty, dark-haired woman named Dora. Roughly a dozen participants, mostly Latino women between sixty and eighty, nodded politely as they were told to examine the spaces between their fingers. I could tell by their expressions they found this a bizarre thing to be doing before lunch on a Friday.

It’s awkward to be introduced in a foreign language. There’s nothing you can do but stand there with your back straight and your lips pressed together. As the introduction runs into its fourth minute, you feel the room beginning to transform around you, and suddenly you’re in one of those surreal paintings where everything in the room is perfectly normal—except for ONE THING. The clock is upside down. The door has no knob. What is it here?

Oh yeah.

It’s you.

*

Memories in the Making is an immensely successful program. It’s run in communities all over America, and because those communities are diverse, the program appears in different forms. But the always the mission is similar: the inability to communicate with other people is one of the most painful parts of Alzheimer’s Disease. M.I.M. allows people to express themselves and communicate via art.

It’s amazing to watch what happens when you give someone a paintbrush, or uncork a gluestick. Whether they consider themselves an “artist” or not, they get right to work. This sort of “making” is written into our DNA.

In a community like the one I visited in North Philadelphia—virtually an island of Spanish-speaking people—a program like M.I.M. is especially important. You can imagine how isolating it would be to live in a foreign country as a senior. On top of that now you have Alzheimer’s Disease, that vicious constellation of plaques and tangles spreading through your brain, impairing functions, including basic communication. M.I.M. is an outlet, a place you might feel human again for a while no matter what’s happening outside that room.

I was honored lead the workshop. It went well, I think. Not all of the participants had Alzheimer’s, but many did, or related dementias. Inside one of the painted handprints, one of the women wrote this poem, which she remembered her mother whispering to her over fifty years before:

(translated from Spanish)

"I asked God to give me a flower,

And He gave me a garden.

I asked God to give me a tree,

And He gave me a forest.

I asked God to give me a daughter,

And He gave me you."

Others were so enthusiastic they wanted to give their advice, orally. I’ve posted one of those videos below. Even if you don’t speak Spanish, you might still listen, just to feel the sincerity and urgency in the voice.

Special thanks to Raul Mux, who runs the M.I.M. program, and to Dora, Alicia, and Sarai, my wonderful co-hosts.

Advice from Arthur Frommer (Travel)

2010-05-18T13:36:00.001-04:00

I had the privilege of meeting Arthur Frommer last week - he of the FROMMER Travel Guides - the guy who pretty much revolutionized travel as we know it. Not so long ago, only the super rich "saw the world"; then along came Mr. Frommer with his Europe for $5 a day books and today (thanks in part other factors, of course) we're traveling farther and more often than ever. He said that with inflation, his $5 a day books are more like $75 a day books.

Anyway, his advice was this: when searching for flights (to anywhere, anytime) use the websites momondo.com and dohop.com. They are smaller, international companies, and the only way they can compete is by listing ALL possible flights, not just the airlines they have special deals with (like Expedia, Orbitz, ect). He said he routinely saves hundreds of dollars this way. Trust the man - he would know.

Alzheimer's Advocacy Forum 2010

2010-03-11T16:50:00.006-05:00

On Sunday I traveled down to Washington D.C. for the Alzheimer's Association 2010 Advocacy Forum. For those of you confused by Long Capitalized Names For Things, what that means is that I convened with hundreds of other Alzheimer's advocates for three days. We spent the first two getting to know one another, sharing our stories, listening to speakers, and generally figuring out how to be better advocates, then the final day storming Capitol Hill to demand action. The final day sort of looked like this.

Search for "really, really nice people dressed in purple, filing slowly off a bus" and you will find that exact video. (We were fierce in our own way.)

P.A. Delegation

Here are my five awards for the Forum:

Favorite New Person

A lot of competition for this one, but the award goes to Betty (sitting above, third from right). She made me feel like a celebrity every time I walked into the room. She'd take my arm, as if it were a banister, and say, "Matthew!" then turn to the nearest person and say, "Look, it's Matthew!"

Coolest Thing I'd Never Seen Before

The inside of a congressman's office. Of the three offices I visited (Arlen Spector, Bob Casey, Joe Sestak) Spector's was the biggest, as you might imagine. You walked in and there was a reception area, then you walked through another door and there was a room full of cubicles, then there were some other offices, then you walked through another door into a conference room with a big long table. It just kept going and going.

We had three "asks" the primary being getting them to co-sign the Alzheimer's Breakthrough Act, which would create $2 Billion in funding for Alzheimer's research. Casey's office was on board, and so we thanked them for that, and asked that they consider signing the other two related bills. At the time of this writing, Sestak and Spector have not yet signed on.

Scariest Stat

Nearly 400,000 people in Pennsylvania suffer from Alzheimer's and related dementias. If you factor in caregivers, that's nearly a million people who are struggling with this disease as you read this. That's...almost the same amount of people that live in Philadelphia. Imagine it that way.

Quote of the Forum

As told by a young woman I had dinner with on Sunday night, remembering her mother. This girl couldn't have been more than 35, and yet her mother was already dead from Alzheimer's. Until this trip I didn't realize the frightening number of early-onset cases. Every year it's getting worse. This girl, a hairdresser from Indiana with pink hair and a nose ring, told a story about her mother, who even in the final stages of the disease never lost her sense of humor. They were having dinner at a steakhouse one night and, on their way out, her mother stopped at another person's table. A black man, about 450lbs. Her mother was leaning right over the guy's plate - so you can imagine how uncomfortable he was. He could tell she was not well and so he tried to be polite. Finally he said, "Ma'am, is there something I can help you with?" Her mother said, "No, no, it's just...you look just like Elvis!"

So many sad stories and yet, within, moments of grace and humor.

Coolest Moment (Overall)

School Visits

2010-03-04T15:06:00.011-05:00

by Ryan, age 9

To Ryan and all the 4th-graders at Horace Mann Elementary... you're very welcome!

I was having rough day, but when I came home and found your thank-you cards in the mail, they cheered me up. I have to say...of all the ways the "Spaces" project has changed my life (and there are many) one of the best is the that I now enjoy opening the mailbox again. It's a small but wonderful thing. I remember being younger - much younger - teetering on the edge of a lawn chair so I could reach into my parent's mailbox. Even on the chair I couldn't see inside - I had to reach in blindly - and that only made the whole process more mysterious. Back then there was no difference between the birthday magician who made coins vanish and the mailman who made letters appear; if anything, the mailman was even more impressive because he performed every afternoon. It'll never be quiet the same, but I've got a little bit of that wonder and joy back - if only for a split-second before the lid opens - and for that I thank you.

I started off by reading a little fable I'd written, and then we did a writing exercise. They were excited to discover that when you write a story, ANYTHING can happen. Like having a cow fly up to the moon for a tea party. Or meeting a person who is five million years old, but has never clipped his toe nails (!).

[click below to read more]

We also discussed my project and all the wonderful, surprising wisdom they might find in others, and themselves. My favorite part was when in response to a prompt ("Think of something you're really good at...and give a piece of advice about it), they wanted to know what advice their teacher, Ms. DiMarco, would give. I've been friends with Ms. DiMarco since college, and so I mischievously suggested that she was secretly really good at DANCING, and that led to all 20 of us dancing wildly around the room. Had I been near a computer I would've provided this actual footage from college:

Ha! But really, thank you to Ms. D. and her class. I learned as much from you as you did from me, I'm sure.

More Travel!

A few weeks later I was invited to visit with the 6th graders at Ridley Middle School.

w/ Mrs. Aglidian & her class

The "traveling workshops" have been a fun extension of the project for me. I teach at the university level (don't be impressed...I'm at the bottom of the ladder...below the bottom of the ladder...I'm the guy in the back alley leaping with all his might to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape) and I first started doing "wisdom-themed" exercises a few years ago. I had the students interview each other, and ask three questions: 1) What is the best piece of advice anyone's ever given you? 2) If you could go back to the beginning of freshman year, what advice would you give yourself, and 3) Think of something you're really passionate about - give advice about it. It was just this stupid get-to-know-one-another activity, but I was always amazed by the diversity of the responses, depending where people came from and how they grew up. That's part of what inspired the project - I thought, what if I could turn this entire country into a giant classroom - imagine the responses I would get - ranchers from Wyoming, artists from Seattle, businessmen from New York - and so I just set out to see who I would find. But anyway, since I've been back and doing the workshops, it's been fascinating to see the responses from different age groups. You might not think a 6th grader could have more wisdom than a 90-year-old war veteran, but then clearly you've never met any 6th graders.

They know everything!

Advice from a Philosopher

2010-02-19T07:48:00.005-05:00

"The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be."

Initials: S.
Age: ????
Postmark: Greece

Image by Danny W.
(click to enlarge)

Advice from a Depressed Woodcutter

2010-02-12T10:03:00.002-05:00

"Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe..."

Initials: A.L.
Age: 201

Image by Danny W.

Advice from a Writer

2010-01-29T13:54:00.010-05:00

"I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different."

Initials: K.V.
Age: 87

image by Danny W.

Advice from a Dead Writer

2010-01-22T07:00:00.004-05:00

"The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself."

Initials: O.W.
Age: 156

(image by Danny W)

Advice from a Dreamer

2010-01-18T00:00:00.006-05:00

I Have a Dream Part 2 sound bite I Have a Dream sound bites

(3:50...)

Initials: M.L.K.
Age: 39

Artists for Alzheimer's

2010-01-03T14:00:00.029-05:00

On November 13, 2009 I led the first “Spaces Between Your Fingers Workshop” at an Alzheimer’s care residence in Manhattan. It was the first of several I'm doing in partnership with Artists for Alzheimer's (ARTZ), a New York-based non-profit.

PART I

I have a secret
That will break your heart

When you close your eyes
This page is blank.

There is no poem here.
There never was.

What you’re seeing are shadows
Cast by your eyes.

2

I wrote that about two years ago, early in the morning, on my way to teach in North Philadelphia. It was still dark out. The El dipped underground, into the deeper darkness, and I saw my reflection.

I used to do that a lot: scribble little poems or descriptions or metaphors on the way here or there.

like a woman
under an umbrella
in a meteor shower

I don’t remember when I stopped, or why.

I guess it was just easier to zone out.

3

Funny how these little fragments vanish from us…funnier still how they find us again. Last Fall I was on the Jersey Turnpike, twenty miles outside Gotham, on my way to lead the first workshop, when I found that poem in my notebook.

I sunk down in my seat.

4

“Hi, my name is Matthew Smith…”

Six weeks earlier…and I’m in New York. It’s Summer. Sitting across from me at the café are Lauren Volkmer and Dr. John Zeisel, New York Coordinator and co-Founder, respectively, of the non-profit Artists for Alzheimer’s (ARTZ).

In their own words: “ARTZ brings artists of all kinds to the world of Alzheimer’s to create the strong emotional connections that only art provides. Discovering the ways the arts reduce psycho-behavioral symptoms, we can enrich the lives of people living with Alzheimer’s in new, yet fundamental ways.”

A few years back ARTZ began running special tours at MOMA (the Museum of Modern Art). They put on painting workshops and poetry readings and comedy shows. They connected with The Louve, in Paris, the Tribeca Film Institute, and other partners around the world.

5

As those who know me might attest, I’m not a “planner.” I’m a “be reasonably prepared and see what happens” kind of guy.

Life is too long to worry about all the details.

But, perhaps because I had so much respect for ARTZ, or perhaps because I was nervous—I hadn’t read to anyone with Alzheimer’s since my grandfather died—I thought I should at least have an outline. So I made one.

I. Read story
II. Discuss Wisdom
III. Make cards

6

Okay, it was messier than that. Way messier. I’d exchanged a few weeks’ worth of emails with the facility’s program director, and we’d agreed on the basic three-part format.

But still…I was nervous. Uncharacteristically so. I sat up nights, fretting. Would they be able to follow the story? Would they remember it? AND WHAT ABOUT THE DISCUSSION? How would I even raise such an abstract concept as “wisdom”? What is wisdom, anyway? How do you talk about it? Would they fall asleep or zone out?

And above all, the question I kept coming back to, again and again: if they weren’t even going to remember me being there…what was the point of doing it at all?

PART II

My grandfather, circa age 27

My grandfather didn’t exude wisdom, but doled it out, like the dollar bills in his handshake. One time, when I was younger, I strained across the table for the salt and he said: “Your tongue is longer than your arm.” (Try working that out when you’re seven.)

Another time my grandmother was complaining about being lost and he said: “You know the difference between a person who is lost and person who's not, Peg?”

“What’s that?”

He waited a beat.

“Patience.”

2

I thought about that comment as I puzzled over the New York City subway map.

A little red dot.

“You are here."

3

And I remembered the time they found him in the back row of a dark church...rocking nervously, arms tight to his body, fingers interlocked, eyes shut tight. “We couldn’t find him for hours,” Mom said.

Just be patient, I thought. It'll be okay.

4

We gathered around a long, rectangular table in the dining room. There were eight of us, including the program director and myself.

She called for attention. “This is Matthew, he's been traveling around the country. He has a project he’s hoping you can help him with.”

“Has anyone heard of the secret of the spaces between your fingers?” I asked.

No.

“Well, like any secret, it isn’t any good unless you pass it on to someone else.”

A few laughs.

I told them I’d written a little story, dedicated to my grandfather, and would like to read it, if they didn’t mind.

Silence.

And then:

“I think that would be lovely.”

A woman, about the age of my grandmother, placed her hand lightly atop mine, looked me in the eye, and smiled.

PART III

Here’s how life can surprise you:

I began to read my story, slowly and clearly—Have you ever really looked…—and about halfway down the second page…I stopped looking at the text! What was I doing? Why was I throwing my hands around like that? What was happening?

Without planning to, I began performing the story. Not a Shakespearian performance, but in my own quiet way. I ad libbed; skipped ahead. They interrupted; asked questions. “My father was just like that,” someone said. And we laughed. I picked up the story again.

When the whole thing was finished—seven minutes, though it felt like 30 seconds—there was applause...and, my favorite part, as the applause died down, a few quick glances at the spaces between their fingers.

2

What I’d sensed, as I began reading, was that they were reacting to me, not the text. Most times when you read, the audience is following the story, the narrative thread.

In this case, I was the thread.

(A crucial lesson for anyone working with people with Alzheimer's/dementia.)

3

After the story, I wasn’t nervous anymore. I felt connected to the group. The question I began the discussion with was: “Who is the wisest person you’ve ever known—someone you’d go to for advice in any circumstance?”

Ruth said: “My husband. He was very smart, and very caring. I consider him wise.” They’d been married for over sixty years.

Something Ruth said reminded Mary of her parents: “They were idealists, but they lived to those ideals the very best they could.” She thought a moment. “It’s only as I’ve gotten older that I realized what an impact they had, and that I’ve had, too—all those years really meant something, you know?"

We weren’t afraid of the silence, never in a rush for answers, but when we sensed a lull, we redirected the conversation.

Bill spoke in long, winding sentences; sometimes he lost where he was headed to, and where he’d come from. But we didn’t rush him. The point he came to, and seemed happy with, was: “Each generation leaves its history for the next.” He listened closely as April spoke.

It’s hard to explain what such a conversation feels like. There’s this fear at first (I don’t know how else to describe it)—fear that the conversation will be disconnected, disjointed. Like two hands reaching out, but passing through one another.

It was the same way when I used to talk with my grandfather, near the end. But then…a connection. A shared emotion. A laugh. It begins slowly. “My daughter was like that.” And then the memories start flowing—from all sides—one catalyzes the next—and the fear goes away, and twenty minutes later you remember where you are.

4

There is a difference between wisdom and intelligence. That’s something that came up. When you go to someone for advice—when you seek wisdom—what you’re really seeking is another perspective, someone who looks at the world in a different way, someone to help you see beyond what’s in front of you. That wisdom may come from a five year old, who looks at the world in his own way, or from a 95 year old, who’s seen all the angles, and knows what you need to hear.

5

There is a difference between art and craft, too. I remember Lauren (from ARTZ) saying that when we first met to discuss the partnership. I took that to mean that craft is making something, anything, and putting it into the world. But when you make a piece of art there is a part of you bound up with it.

6

So our discussion of wisdom bridged into the card-making. “If you had just one piece of advice to pass on to a child or grandchild—or to a younger version of yourself--what would it be?”

Every card was different, and yet there were fascinating parallels. The idea of honesty came up multiple times. The importance of trust. I didn't see why at first.

Then later I thought: imagine having the world disappear every time you close your eyes, and needing those around you to help make sense of it.

“I used to have such nice hands,” Mary said, comparing her hand to the hand drawn on the card. “I used to have such nice hands…”

PART IV

When you finish reading this, what will you do? You’ll update your facebook status, or pull the boiling kettle from the stovetop, or peek out your airplane window.

a tiny red light
winks in the distance.

"You are here."

3

Leading these workshops (I've since done another) has been one of the best experiences of my life. I think back on that original question - if they're not even going to remember me being here, what's the point of doing it at all? - and it seems silly. Like asking if you know a song is going to be over, what is the point of listening to it at all?

The point is that it feels damn good to sit across from someone and talk with them, to laugh with them, and know they appreciate you being there.

To be in that moment.

People with Alzheimer's have trouble connecting these moments, organizing them, filing them. But that doesn't diminish the importance of the moments themselves.

To learn more about the ARTZ program, visit their website here.

If you are interested in hosting a workshop at your facility or school, please contact me at spacesbetweenyourfingers@gmail.com

She's Still Runnin'

2009-12-20T14:43:00.005-05:00

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night...nor potholes, nor roadwork, nor lack of oil...nor Appalachians, nor Rockies...nor plagues of bugs in Montana...nor 130 degree temps in Arizona...nor apparently...

Blizzards.

Digital Handprints!

2009-12-12T15:23:00.015-05:00

When I have friends over, and they dig into the big treasure chest of S.B.Y.F. cards, often the first comment is not about how they look, but how they smell. It's hard to describe, but when the lid peels back, you're hit with a noxious bouquet of acrylic paints, oils markers, glues, crayons, ect. They are, in the words of Ron Burgundy, "quite pungent."

The second comment is often about how "dirty" they are. Often times there is paint or glue or ink or charcoal smeared on the back side, which I love, because it reminds me that they're created by artists with dirty hands.

And carried by mailmen with shoddy umbrellas.

The cards you'll see below, however, have no smell, or texture. They were conjured out of thin air.

This morning I was invited to speak at a Young Artists Workshop at Moore College of Art and Design in Philadelphia. The focus of the class is digital art -- a new frontier.

The hands were put together in about 15 minutes (!) by class members, grades 7-9. They were traced using Wacom tablets, and edited in Photoshop.

As you can see, you can do some pretty amazing things with digital art. Anyone who'd like to submit a digital hand is encouraged to do so! Just email it to spacesbetweenyourfingers (at) gmail.com.

You can check out more of their work on their class blog here. Thanks also to the instructor, the incredibly talented Danny Waldron!

We Did It!!!

2009-11-18T09:26:00.003-05:00

Hey, great news everyone: The Spaces Between Your Fingers Project raised $867.96 for the local chapter of the Alzheimer's Association! Above are some of the folks from the Junior Committee, whom I had the pleasure of meeting at the Memory Walk and look forward to seeing again soon. Thanks to everyone who contributed!

Advice on Love & Dating

2009-11-08T19:00:00.006-05:00

I was down in Love Park the other day shooting scenes for the official Spaces Between Your Fingers video. I invited my Uncle Jim, who's always up for a creative adventure, and my two little cousins, Ross (13) and Jeffrey (11). As I bumbled & shivered through my lines, Ross roamed the park asking people for advice about love and dating. What advice would you have given? Here are a few of the responses.

Thanks to Leslie from Junkdrawer Media for her awesome direction, and to Jim Talone for his help weaving these videos together.

Advice from Max Cleland

2009-10-13T12:01:00.006-04:00

It was March, 1968. Max Cleland, a brash, 25-year-old Captain in the U.S. Army, was nearly finished his tour in Vietnam. 30 days and nights was all that stood between him and a plane ride home to Georgia. He'd put in his time. He'd be honorably discharged.

But he didn't feel right. He hadn't seen much action and, in his words, he wanted to "see what he was made of." He volunteered for a mission in Khe Sanh. Soon after he regretted it, but was unable to get out of the commitment.

He was dropped from a helicopter, into the jungle. For days he holed up in a giant, moonlike crater. The hole was so fresh he could smell the scorched earth, ash, and chemicals. He couldn't see the enemy, but they were firing. Men were bleeding, screaming, dying.

Cleland survived the Battle of Khe Sanh. Days after he was ordered afterward to set up a radio relay station on a nearby hill. The chopper set down, and as he ducked beneath the rotors he noticed a grenade in the grass. Must've fallen from someone's pack, he thought. He reached down to pick it up.

*

I work part-time as a bookseller. It's no way to get rich, but I really like the shop I work for (Joseph Fox, an independent!), and sometimes I get to meet cool authors passing through Philly. I met Mr. Cleland last week at the Free Library.

When he got back from Vietnam - both his legs and his right arm blown off - Mr. Cleland wasn't sure what to do with his life. He'd spent a year and a half recovering. As he said: "In December 1969, I sat there in my mother and father's living room, me being an only child, and single, and I said to myself...no hope, no girlfriend, no car, no job, no money...now is a great time to run for the State senate."

Against great odds he won, and went on to become Georgia's youngest Secretary of State, head of the Veterans Administration, and, later, a United States Senator.

The word "hero" is diluted and often meaningless these days, but in his case it applies. Not because of what happened to him. But what he did afterward. And what he's doing now.

We all have different experiences - though few are as traumatic as his. I was touched by his story. When the long line died down, I got a chance to tell him about my project. I asked: "If you could pass just one piece of advice on to the younger generation, what would you say?"

"I got two words for ya," he said. "Don't. Quit."

Just two little words. But coming from him they meant a lot.

Listen to the Free Library podcast.

Advice from The Sports Guy Bill Simmons

2009-10-12T11:24:00.006-04:00

Every young boy dreams of someday making Bill Simmons' famous (or is it "infamous"?) mail bag. For those of you who don't know The Sports Guy, #1, what is wrong with you? and #2, if you like sports, cruise over and check out his archive on ESPN.com. See you in about four days.

Anyway, last Friday I finally made the cut, as about 34,409,399 of my friends informed me via email, text message, smoke signal, and morse code. His answer was a bit snippy - and brief - but then that's what I expected.

Q: I spent August driving across America. I brought 3,000 giant, self-addressed postcards with me, and tried to meet 3,000 new people in 30 days. I gave everyone I met a card and asked them to write down their best piece of advice and mail it to me. I was hoping to run into you in L.A. but no luck. What would you have written on your card?
-- Matt, Philly
SG: "Starting a Facebook account would have been so much easier."

As Simmons would say:

(Nodding.)

(Gritting teeth.)

(Nodding.)

Happy Birthday Walter Breuning

2009-09-22T17:37:00.002-04:00

Remember Walter Breuning? The folks at CBS news traveled out to Great Falls, Montana for his 113th birthday party and filed this report. Wish I could've been there. Looks like he's still going strong.

Watch CBS Videos Online

Advice from Comedian/Roastmaster Jeffrey Ross

2009-09-18T10:02:00.006-04:00

Thanks to one of the funniest guys I've ever met, Jeff Ross, for contributing his own little piece to the project.

A Few Lost Videos

2009-09-09T10:42:00.004-04:00

The following are videos from the journey that I either didn’t have time to upload or didn’t know what to do with. They’re from all over the country. Click on anything that strikes your fancy.

Advice from a Bartender (San Fran)

This guy was a little scary at first, but turned out to be hilarious.

Sunday Swing Dancing

Every Sunday swing dancers gather in Golden Gate Park to tap their feet, twirl around, and enjoy life. I dance like an old man, but did pop in for one number.

(Check out my big-time move at the 00:09 mark - oh!!!!!!!)

Mail-in Art Project

I met a cool carpenter/artist named Teggart in Seattle. He told me about a project he participated in at the Ouch My Eye gallery. Aspire to this level of creativity!

(Note: my camera ran out of battery at the end of this vid.)

Advice from the NRA

These guys rocked.

I came across a gun show while passing through Houston. I wish I had video of the second guy (on the left). Our conversation went something like this:

Me: “So wait, when you shoot an intruder, your intent is not to kill him?”

Him: “No.”

Me: “So what do you do? Aim for the leg?”

Him: “No. You shoot the guy in the chest…and hope he doesn’t die.”

All in all, very nice guys, very serious about gun safety.

Advice from an L.A. Tanning Salon

The Final Day

Holy beard!

If you haven’t had a chance to read the story, I posted it here.

Contribute a Card

2009-08-30T21:37:00.013-04:00

This is an ongoing project. If you share my vision of a world without Alzheimer's, and want to contribute, please mail your handprint to:

The Spaces Between Your Fingers Project
265 Ellis Road
Havertown, PA 19083

Instructions:

1. Imagining you are pressing your hand into wet cement, trace your handprint onto some blank white paper (preferably card stock).

2. Inside or around the handprint, write a postcard to a stranger. It should be addressed to someone in the future who finds his/herself in a specific “life situation” that you’ve already been through. Try to zero in on a specific moment in time. Imagine you could deliver a secret message to yourself at the bus stop before your first day of school, fixing your hair at the mirror before your first date, wringing your hands in a doctor’s waiting room, negotiating to buy a house or a car, dancing at your wedding reception…the situations are endless. What do you wish you knew? If you want to tell a little story, or give a little context, definitely go for it. It doesn’t have to be formal; it’s a postcard, after all.

3. Decorate!!!!

That’s it. When you’re finished, just add a stamp and drop it in the mailbox, or, if you are doing the project as a group, you can mail them all together in a single envelope. Don't forget to include your name and initials!

Day 30 - Home.

2009-08-28T01:14:00.013-04:00

Since this whole journey began with a story, I thought it'd be fitting to end with one. I thought up this fable on the road and wrote it the afternoon I got back. Thanks to everyone for your kindness, generosity, and wisdom. I never felt alone out there.

Handful of Rock, Handful of Sea
By Matthew Ross Smith

1

There once was a boy who lived by the sea. He was a happy boy—and why wouldn’t he be? He had nothing to do but play and explore. When he was hungry he ate the coconuts in the trees; when he was thirsty he drank the rain; when he was restless he walked up the shore, turning over shells that were ancient and colorful and so big he could nap inside them. He had everything he could ever want.

Or so he thought.

2

One day he got talking with a seagull. “Tell me something wise,” the seagull said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: tell me something you know. I don’t like to talk to stupid people. I just want to make sure you’re not stupid before I keep talking to you.”

That’s fair, the boy thought. He remembered something his teacher had taught him.

“If you walk up the beach at just the right angle…just inside the water line…the weight of your foot presses the moisture from the sand… and it seems as if the earth is lighting up beneath your feet!”

“That’s not wise,” said the seagull.

“It’s not?”

“Why would I walk when I could just fly?”

3

The boy spent the rest of the day searching for wisdom. He searched between the waves, and in the sky. He searched in the trees, and behind the dunes. He searched the spaces between his fingers and his toes. He dug in the sand, thinking someone might’ve buried it, but found nothing there but more sand.

“Where can I find wisdom?” he asked his teacher.

“What would you do with it, anyway?”

The boy had never thought about what he would do with wisdom; he just knew he wanted it.

4

The teacher was very old—some guessed a thousand years. But the boy knew he was older than that. “If you really want wisdom, I can tell you exactly where to find it. But it’ll cost you.”

The boy lowered his head. He didn’t have any money.

The teacher groaned. “My back is killing me. I’ve been walking for years. Bring me something nice to lean against, and that will be your payment.”

The boy rushed back to his house. He brought him a pillow.

“Too soft.”

He brought him a chair.

“Too flimsy.”

He brought him a wall, but his mother came and took it back, she was so fond of her walls, and the boy had nothing left to give.

“You know what I could use?” the teacher said. “A mountain. There’s nothing like setting your back against a mountain. There’s one just down the end of this road, I think—or was it that road? Anyway, you can’t miss it. Bring me a mountain. When you get home, I’ll tell you where the wisdom is hidden.”

5

The boy was confused as he set off down the road. He’d never been away from the sea, and besides, how would he carry a mountain? His hope was that, like all wise people, when his teacher said one thing he really meant another.

“You look upset,” said a second boy.

“You would be too. This mountain is a thousand feet high, and I’m supposed to carry it home.”

“Where are you from?”

“By the sea.”

“Is it as beautiful as they say?”

“It’s not as beautiful as it is here.”

The first boy kicked the mountain. It cut his foot, but a large chunk broke loose. He tried to carry it, but he only got a few steps before he had to stop and rest his arms. “What’s so funny?” he said.

“Watching you carry it like that!”

The second boy lifted the large rock over his head and broke it in two. “Your legs are stronger than your arms. You have to make two trips. Carry it in one hand, like this, and when that arm gets tired, carry it with the other.”

“How’d you know that?”

The mountain boy shrugged. To him, it just seemed obvious.

6

When the boy smelled the rotting crabs, he knew he was nearly home. He set the first rock atop a dune and was about to turn back when he heard a familiar voice cursing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s this ocean,” said his friend. “It’s a thousand miles deep. Every time I cup it in my hands it slips through my fingers.”

I don’t see why he’d want to move the ocean, the boy thought. But he remembered his friend’s kindness, and was eager to repay it.

“Carry it like this, so when it drips through one hand, you can catch it with the other. I’m tired, so I’m going to rest the night, but I’m headed back your direction, so I’ll carry a handful as well.”

7

Back and forth the two boys went, carrying handfuls of rock and handfuls of sea. There was always a day between them, but that was okay. It gave them something to look forward to while they were traveling.

One day, many years later, the first boy looked down and realized that there was only one piece of the mountain left. It was so small he could no longer break it. A gust of wind blew it from his palm, and he fell to his knees, searching.

“Can you tell me the way back to the sea?” he asked a little boy.

“What’re you blind?”

8

The boy looked up.

And he saw.

Day 29 - Lost & Found in DC

2009-08-27T13:46:00.007-04:00

No, I didn't get advice from this guy. The people at the White House told me to check back...in eight years.

Before I left Charlottesville someone told me: “You have to visit my friend’s studio if you’re in DC.” They were very specific. “It’s on yada yada New York Ave, can’t miss it, tell them I sent you!”

This happened a lot on the journey. At times I felt like a baton, passed from one person to the next in a giant lap around America. And it was a great way to travel.

Only when I parked and walked to the yada yada block of New York, there was no studio. There was a church on the corner, an apartment building in the center, and not much in between. It wasn’t the best neighborhood. I did find one unmarked door – and opened it, of course—but there was the church’s choir practicing inside. They stopped, straight out of a movie, and stared as if to say: “I don’t know what door you’re looking for, white boy, but this ain’t it.”

There were only three times during the entire journey when I thought: “Stuff this, I wanna go home.” The first was when I thought I hadn’t put enough postage on all the cards, and nearly had a nervous breakdown in South Dakota. The second was when my brother gave me faulty directions and I drove circles around Austin at 3am, looking to make a right turn that didn’t exist…and that was after driving 12 hours from west Texas. The third was searching for this non-existent studio in Washington DC. I was so close…I could just go home, right?

I kept walking until I came into a more gentrified-looking district, and found a coffee shop. The video picks up there.

UNBELIEVABLE. (And a pretty good piece of advice, don't you think?)

Special thanks to Rosemary at Touchstone Gallery, and everyone at the Torpedo Factory who talked to me even though I was drenched and half-delirious.

Day 28 - Ghosts in Charlottesville

2009-08-25T23:30:00.013-04:00

The "Community Chalkboard" in Charlottesville, Virginia. Every morning the board is wiped clean, and fresh chalk is left so any citizen can walk up and freely express him/herself.

I arrived in Charlottesville at 6pm on a Friday night - my final weekend of the trip. I was excited it worked out that way. I knew the Downtown Mall would be buzzing.

And yet…it was hard to be back in Charlottesville. I left a lot of memories there, more than I’d realized. I dated a girl who lived there for over two years, and every corner I turned, there was that forgotten version of myself, right where I’d left him. Drinking tea. Making jokes. Holding hands.

I’ve read enough Poe and Dickens to believe that certain cities can be haunted. But what do you do when a city is haunted by…yourself?

We all have these places, don't we? It’s not always a “bad” haunting. Like when you walk back into your childhood home. Or finding the dog-eared, margin-filled novel you loved in high school. The sudden confrontation with your past stirs the chemicals in your brain, sends them shooting down your spine.

The Downtown Mall was bustling. Wave after wave of American-Eagle-wearing high school students threatened to drown out the good vibes. But like all high school students, they were pretty much irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Street musicians were strumming. Artists were painting. I passed out my cards, focusing 100% of my energy on every new person I met, and I felt pretty damn good.

I met a college friend for dinner. We hung out until about 11pm, then headed north to her house in Culpeper- my jumping point to DC the next morning. I thought about excusing myself for a moment. What would I write on that giant chalkboard? What would I confess? But then I thought… “screw it.”

To lay a ghost is so 19th century.

Day 27 - "Dancing with the Chi" in North Carolina

2009-08-24T12:44:00.018-04:00

I stumbled upon these two guys hanging in a park in Carrboro, North Carolina. The dude on the left is Bruce, though he first introduced himself as "The Dancing Man of Carrboro." The video is a bit long, I know, but stick with it if you can. [suggestion: read the profile below before watching the vid.]

Update: Thanks to my Aunt Mimi, former Carrboro resident, for passing along the following profile of Bruce from the Carrboro Commons. Pretty amazing guy.

Random (But Good) Advice from the Road: Motels

2009-08-24T10:25:00.001-04:00

For traveling artists and low-income adulterers.

If you’re poor, and traveling city to city, you want to stay between the two. The morning drive is worth it. Your rate at a city Days Inn will be roughly $90-110, whereas you could get the same room w/ breakfast at an in-between Days Inn for $40-50.

If for some reason you find yourself in a city and you still only have $40 to spend on a motel (and you’d rather gurgle coolant than sleep in your car again) you can instantly gauge a motel’s quality using one factor: flatness.

If a motel is long and flat, it’s a dump. It was built in the 1950s and hasn’t been cleaned since. The soap will crumble in your hands and burn your skin.

If your only choices are long, flat motels, pick the one that has fewer letters burned out in the sign.

If both say only "MOT," pick the one with less glass in the parking lot.

In any event, don’t buy yogurt from the gas station across the street. It doesn’t matter what flavor you choose. It will taste like gas.

Day 26 - Painting Dreams in Savannah

2009-08-24T09:56:00.013-04:00

Well-rested and freshly-laundered after my stay in Florida, I headed up I-95 toward Savannah, Georgia. Having driven as much as 850 miles in one day, 146 seemed like nothing. There are a million ways to alter your perspective. One is to simply get a bigger map.

Savannah was beautiful. The city center was small and gridded so I navigated just about all of it in 5-6 hours. Did you know that most of Forrest Gump was filmed in Savannah? It certainly looked Southern, with its grand houses, its fountains, its verdant parks, its mossy Civil War statues, but I wasn’t overwhelmed by “Southern-ness,” if that makes any sense. The city center was more eclectic than I expected. When I did encounter someone with a slow, thick-as-peach-marmalade Georgia accent, I savored every word.

If you ever go to Savannah, and you’re into people-watching, be sure to buy a plastic cup of wine to go at Gallery Expresso. Walk a few blocks south to Forsythe Park and find a nice shady tree to sit beneath. You’ll find a homeless man there who will weave you a beautiful rose.

By 6pm I was weary from the 95 degree air and looking forward to getting on the road toward Charleston. Two blocks from my car I noticed the central office of the Savannah College of Art and Design (how had I missed that before?), and so, as I’d done so many times on this trip, I bargained with myself. “Just five more cards. Go in and see who’s inside.”

The guy at the front desk said: “It’s summer, no one stays past five, but if you want to wander around, knock yourself out.”

I found one person still working in the far far corner of the building. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You’re from Philly? Me too.”

This was Jesse. Instead of a lonely drive north, I spent the twilight talking about art and books and travel. We made a list of three books the other person had to read, and promised we would. She was from a military family, and had moved something like 17 times, including four different high schools in four years. “What was that like?” I asked her. “It’s funny,” she said. “For a while you think you’re so free, and almost better than others, in a way, because you’ve traveled so much and looked at the world from so many different perspectives. But I’m realizing now that I’m probably just as dependent on the change as they are on the constancy. And that scares me a little bit.”

Video

If you're ever in Sav. pop into Chroma Gallery and also wander (slowly) through the city market. That's where I found this next guy, Brian MacGregor. For nine years he's been transforming people's dreams into art. Look real close when the camera zooms in - you can see the original dream pasted beneath the surface.

Day 25 - FLORIDA

2009-08-20T23:14:00.001-04:00

Day 25 in Florida was a strange day. I woke up at 3:30 AM in the dirtiest, worst motel room I've stayed in yet. There were cigarette burns in the pillow case. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't so I packed my bag and sat in the chair until sunrise.

By 9 AM I was on the campus of Florida State University (Tallahassee). I went over to the English building, to see if I could connect with some of the poets and fiction writers on campus, but no one was around. In fact, the entire campus was deserted except for 3,000 beautiful girls in sundresses. I'm in Heaven, I thought. Why did I not go to Florida State? "What's going on?" I asked someone. "Sorority recruitment day!!!!!!!" The sun got a little hotter and the make-up began to melt and I thought: okay, it's possible I'm in hell.

After lunch I found a place called Railroad Square. What a cool spot! It's basically a verdant little artists colony, an "art park," hidden inside the city, thirty or so studios all in the same block.

That's where I found this guy, Matt. He builds giant xylophones and other percussion instruments completely from scratch. The one he was working on at the moment was bound for the New York Symphony Orchestra.

That night I officially made it coast to coast - all within seven days, in fact. I explored the oldest town in America, St. Augustine, with my buddy Andy, and got a good night's rest before heading north to Savannah.

Interlude - Beauty and Danger in the Desert

2009-08-20T09:42:00.011-04:00

The following are scraps from my journal. I've made no attempt to shape them dramatically, or to make sense of them, though I may someday.

I’m driving in the blur of night when suddenly I smell smoke. There are so many different kinds of smoke, I think. White smoke, black smoke, gray smoke, blue smoke. Cigarette smoke, cigar smoke. Billowing smoke, curling smoke. Thick smoke, wispy smoke. Even when it’s invisible we still call it smoke.

I’m driving in the blur of night when suddenly my engine is on fire. The flames are bright orange. I’m in the Arizona desert at 4:00 am and I have two choices: I can dump what’s left of my bottled water on the flames - try to get it out quickly - or save the water and let it burn. How does one get into such a situation? What does one do?

I imagined the last part. There are no flames. There’s not even smoke. Just the smell of smoke.

I punch myself hard in the ribs. When fading behind the wheel, a solid shot to the midsection—knuckles between ribs—is far more effective than a slap to the face. The slap wears off faster.

I coast to the side of the road. Put my flashers on. Now I feel safe. The smoke isn't coming from the car. For a moment I sit atop the hood, back on the windshield. I’ve covered hundreds of miles since I left San Diego. I’ve climbed 4,000 feet above sea level. Yellow lights flash : stars fall above.

Two days before, in San Fran, my cousin told me a story about breaking down in the desert. “Slept with my dog beside the car,” he said. “Woke up to the most beautiful blue sky. Then I looked a little closer: there were four jackals atop the hill, watching me. The dog stepped toward them. He didn’t understand they were different from him."

Day 24 - Pensacola, FLA

2009-08-18T23:10:00.007-04:00

*Don't have time to write the story now, but got a special tour of the Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Florida, where my grandfather trained as a fighter pilot. More to come.

Day 23 - New Orleans

2009-08-18T22:59:00.008-04:00

Note: when I say "madness" here I don't mean volume of people and noise. I mean the amount of crazy people. More crazy per square foot on Bourbon St. than anywhere in America...and I've seen some weird stuff.

Bonus Video

Check out this kid. He cut the bottom off two soda cans and nailed them to his shoes. Amazing. (For those reading this at work, grab a couple thumb tacks and floppy disks give it a shot.)

Days 21-22 - TEXAS

2009-08-17T08:20:00.010-04:00

Two things I learned while driving across Texas:

-If trying to stay awake behind the wheel, a solid punch to the ribs is more effective than a slap to the face.

-If you're ever in the total darkness of the Texas plains at 2 am, and have been driving for 11+ hours, DO NOT listen to "The End" by The Doors.

Special thanks to the Tweeds for lending their house in Austin. Can't say enough about how cool that city is. Thanks also to Dennis, Pam, Penny, Sox, and Buddy for a great time at Parrot Island in Scott, LA, the most exclusive club in the South. Thanks finally to Alicia for sharing part of the adventure - what was more harrowing, the gun rally in Houston, or the 115 degree car ride? Good times.

Austin, TX

On the Road

Another "behind-the-scenes"-type video; a story I've been meaning to tell.

Days 19/20 - Tucson, AZ / El Paso, TX

2009-08-14T19:59:00.003-04:00

Walk with me in El Paso.

Advice from a Philosopher (Tucson, AZ)

Day 18 - San Diego

2009-08-12T18:53:00.002-04:00

Thanks to Jason and everyone at the Mobile Health Clinic in San Diego for showing me around.

Advice from an Insurance Rep.

Props to this guy for being a good sport. He was very discombobulated when I walked into his office. But it works so much better that way!

Advice from a Musician (Balboa Park)

Dream of being a great musician? Here's a good, simple piece of advice.

Radio Interview - NPR - South Dakota

2009-08-12T11:15:00.006-04:00

Here's an interview I did the other day on the NPR affiliate in South Dakota. The host, Paul Guggenheimer, heard about the project via a guy I met on the street in Rapid City. Thanks to Paul and all the nice folks back in South Dakota.

If the above isn't working, you can link directly.

El Zorro!

2009-08-12T02:10:00.004-04:00

Feliz Cumpleaños, Madre

Day 17 - LA - Advice from an Aspiring Actor

2009-08-11T11:19:00.011-04:00

I hate LA. Always have. The teetering-on-heels, Gucci-sunglass-wearing, iced-mocha-latte-sipping women. The dudes. The tourists. The traffic. The smog. LAX. The Hollywood Walk. A hundred other things. Being there makes me want to rub Purell all over my eyeballs.

So, as you might guess, I wasn't too excited about my stop in Hollywood. Even less so after I inched forward in traffic for 3 hours. But I knew I couldn't miss it for the sake of the project.

I arrived at 4:00 PM and the crowd was already swarming for the premier of Inglorious Bastards. My spirits rose. Maybe I could get Quentin Tarantino on video? Brad Pitt? I just had to wait four hours for their limos to arrive.

If you've never been to Hollywood Blvd. - it's a zoo. Thousands of people pointing and taking pictures. To kill some time, I asked advice of a guy dressed as Superman and he said: "Drink more milk! No, no, no...wait...do that again. Another take. Don't smoke crack!" Funny, I thought.

I asked Edward Scissorhands and he said: "Don't run with scissors!"

I asked a Jedi and he said: "Be one with the force!"

I had six or seven videos, but it didn't feel right. It felt so scripted and phony, so against the spontaneity of the project.

As I was walking back toward the red carpet, I came across a dude with a sign that said "Kick me in the ass for $1." What he said pretty much sums it up.

Good advice. I took it.

HALFWAY! Day 16 - San Francisco

2009-08-10T00:11:00.007-04:00

Wish I had more time to make sense of all this - some kind of midpoint reflection - but it's all happening very quickly. There'll be time for that when I get home. Thanks so much to Sean, Lillian, and Bodie for letting me crash on the couch and hooking me up with a much-needed feast!

Bodie!

Advice from a Giant Purple Onion & a Mad Cyclist

2009-08-09T11:53:00.003-04:00

San Fran

San Fran

Was strolling through Golden Gate Park when I heard this nutjob coming, so I ran out in the street and chased him down. And how true what he said! If you love something...

Note: I wish I'd filmed it better - he had a giant speaker system rigged up to the back of his bike, it was hilarious.

Advice from a Taco Bell Drive Thru Window, a Waitress & a Barista

2009-08-09T11:46:00.004-04:00

Northern California

Advice from a Waitress - North Cal

Advice from a Barista (Oregon)

I disagree with this one...but that's ok.

Advice from Ken Jennings

2009-08-08T00:44:00.001-04:00

First advice from the oldest man, now the smartest; you really never know who you might run into.

Who is Ken Jennings?

Day 13 - Seattle

2009-08-07T00:02:00.010-04:00

Seattle, WA

Slight change of strategy with the videos. Going to turn the camera outward a little more. This should give you a better idea of what it's been like out here.

Advice from a Welder

Huge thanks to Eric, Greg, and everyone I met at Pratt - can't wait to see what you guys come up with.

Advice from a Chess Player

"Pay attention."

Advice from a Hoola-Hooper

Advice from a Mason

This guy was really cool. Is your work your art?

Advice from a Bartender

Advice from a Fish-Thrower

Advice from ??????

Didn't get a chance to talk to this gentleman - can only imagine what his advice would have been.

(I also love the Random White Guy raising the roof at the very end there.)

Days 11/12 - Idaho/Spokane

2009-08-06T01:20:00.000-04:00

For fun, a few of the people/places I've given/left cards, off the top of my head:

Prisons
Churches
Senior Centers
Boys and Girls Clubs
Youth Camps
Schools for the Blind/Deaf
Universities
Community Colleges
Park Benches
Taped to Statues
Toll Booth Collectors
Tattoo Parlors
Hidden in Library Books
Highway Rest Stops
A taxidermist
A lighthouse

Anywhere creative people can be found, I've gone in search of them. I had my favorite encounter yet the other day on a dirt road in Idaho.

I was trying to find a rural "art studio" when this woman galloped up. I leaned out the window and said:

"Excuse me, can you tell me how much farther to the art studio?"

"That closed over a year ago."

"Hmm. Well, would you consider yourself creative."

"Only on a horse."

"Perfect. I'm doing this project where I'm driving across America, collecting advice."

"I don't have any advice."

"What about advice about horse-riding."

"Well, I guess I'd say that every time you ride a horse, you learn something new."

Thanks to Janet at Groove Studio in Bonners Ferry; to Richard at Dickie's Tattoos in Sandpoint; to Sue at the Tinman Gallery in Spokane; to Pete at Art Style in Spokane; to Michael and Erica at Chase Youth Commission; and to all the others who helped (a bunch of my papers blew out the window).

Day 10 (Pt. 2) - Fishing the Blackfoot

2009-08-05T10:47:00.004-04:00

I'm going to start today with a random memory. There's a good chance it will be just that - a random, unrelated story - but it came to me while I was driving yesterday and made me laugh, so I thought I'd share. It's kind of embarrassing. Maybe it will seem relevant by the end, maybe not.

*

In 2005 I was living in a place called Navan, Ireland, 45 minutes north of Dublin. I was working as a bartender in a pub with a disco in the basement, and often didn't straggle home until 8 or 9 in the morning. This particular morning I was headed home early, about 530, just as the sun was rising. It was a fair walk back to the house - about 25 minutes - up a country road, past a cow field, into a development adjacent the river Boyne. I made the walk so frequently I could've guessed the exact number of steps within ten.

This one morning I was cranky and exhausted. I don't remember exactly why, but all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until 3 pm, when I'd wake up and do it all over again. I didn't stop to chat with the yellow-eyed cows, as I normally did. I was six steps from the front door - about the length of a car - when out of nowhere, and with no one around to see it, a bird crapped directly on my head.

Splat! It was a perfect shot: right on the back of the noggin. It dripped down my neck like warm yougurt. I never saw my assailant, but I knew he'd been saving that wet bullet for someone special.

I remember standing in the steamy shower afterward, amazed at what had just happened. I mean, really, a staggering number of things had to happen to put me in that exact place at that exact moment. I had to move to Ireland; I had to go to Galway, and not be able to find a job; I had to take a bus across the country, walk into a bar called Rowley's with my bags on my shoulders; I had to be hired; I had to choose a place to live; I had to leave "after-cleanup-drinks" early, before I'd even finished my beer; ect. Any one of those things is changed in even some small way - say, I'd chosen to live up the road, or I'd stopped to tie my shoe- anything different, and that bird poop splatters on the sidewalk. I'm a ghost. I'm never there.

*

After my conversation with Walter, I drove west with the windows down and the radio off. I made it about an hour before I spotted a senior center in a little town called Lincoln, Montana. I'd estimate the number of illegal U-turns I've made thus far is well over 1,000.

The folks inside invited me in for a chicken sandwich, tater tots (!), and ice cream...and this was exactly why I didn't bring any guide book. The only way to learn about a place is from the people. They told me stories, one in particular that stuck with me. Apparently a man up the road had been having trouble with a bear. The bear had ripped the side off the man's shed and kept coming back every day, inching closer and closer to the house. The children were terrified.

The man tried everything he could think of to chase off the bear. He banged pots and pans; he fired his gun into the air. Finally, as the bear crept ever closer, he took the bear in his sights, finger curled on the trigger. Just then, in another room, his wife turned on the vaccuum. The 600-pound bear dropped down on all fours and sprinted back into the woods and never came back.

And so there is your piece of advice for the day: if you're ever being stalked by a bear, you can chase it off with a Hoover.

*

After lunch, I pulled onto a dirt road to jot down a few notes and get a drink from the cooler. I drove down a few feet and found a river there - a perfect place for me to record a video about the bear story. What happened next is explained in the video (sorry I wrote so much!).

Thanks to the Sidor family for an amazing afternoon!

Day 10 (Part 1) - Mr. Walter Breuning

2009-08-03T23:36:00.013-04:00

When I set out eleven mornings ago, I said my plan was to “head west and see who got in the way.” I never could’ve predicted this.

Yesterday I had the extraordinary honor of speaking with Mr. Walter Breuning. A little about Walter: he lives in the Rainbow Retirement Home in Great Falls, Montana. He worked for the railroad company for over fifty years, he said, the same amount of time my grandfather was a doctor. He dresses in a suit and tie every morning for breakfast. Oh, and one other thing about Walter: he was born on September 21, 1896, making him 112 years old. Next month he’ll be 113. He is literally the oldest man on Earth.

I met Walter at about 9:30 in the morning. He came walking—yes, walking—around the corner and plopped down in his favorite chair. I pulled up a piano bench beside him.

“My grandfather and I were very close,” I told him. “He was a Navy fighter pilot in World War Two. I’m wondering—do you remember your grandfather?”

“Remember him? Sure. My grandfather was in the war too…the Civil War!”

We both laughed, but I knew Walter wasn’t kidding. Later, in my motel room, I calculated that Walter had lived through twenty U.S. Presidents, from Grover Cleveland to Barack Obama.

“I’m twenty seven,” I said, “and just starting to make my way in the world. What do you think the biggest difference is between now and when you were twenty seven?”

“It’s the money,” he said. “Everyone’s got money these days, and no one wants to work.” He scoffed at the idea of a “recession”, saying he’d lived through a real Depression.

He told me about the various twists and turns in his life, and I was astonished by the sharpness of his mind. I could’ve been speaking to someone sixty years younger.

Before I left, I told Walter about my project, and I gave him a card. “If you could give just one piece of advice,” I said, “What would you say?”

“Tell them to keep their minds busy,” he said. “And their bodies. Work as long as you can work. And do something for somebody else every once in a while.”

He added one last thing: “Oh, and keep the weight off.”

Thanks so much to Tina and everyone at The Rainbow for your enthusiasm about the project, and for introducing me to Walter. What an amazing man, an amazing experience. Can't wait to receive your cards. Thank you!

Read Part II

Day 8 - Ten Sleeps, Wyoming

2009-08-02T09:45:00.005-04:00

Thanks to Drew Christiano for the updated web design - looks great - and to the newest Phillie Cliff Lee for that complete game the other night (and Larry T. for texting me updates).

Day 7 - Gillette Wyoming

2009-08-01T10:16:00.004-04:00

OK, I've been assured for the 5th time that the postage should be correct, just need to be patient :)

Things got a little wild there for a few days, so I've fallen behind on my thank-yous. Thanks to Flora at The Minnesota Center for Book Arts - funny you were the first person I ran into - lucky me; thanks also to Karen (don't pronounce it wrong!) and Marcelyn at the Minneapolis Central Library; thanks to Wanda and everyone at the Gaylord Public Library - hope the cards turn out as well as your shoebox frogs!

Thanks to everyone at the AVA Community Arts Center in Gillette Wyoming - I had a great time at your event!

Talent scouts will soon be in a frenzy after seeing the video below. Great job Avery!

And most special thanks to the Guernsey family. Most kindnesses fade quickly; a few are never forgotten. Hope to see you again sometime.

Stressed, Worried, Nervous, Possibly Heartbroken

2009-07-31T09:56:00.004-04:00

Hello from Rapid City, South Dakota. I was hoping to be on my way to Mt. Rushmore by now but I'm waiting around for the local post office to open - my third visit to a post office in three days. Before I left I triple-checked to verify that the size card I'm using had enough postage, but I've still been nervous. The first card turned up back home yesterday, but it had .60 cents postage, as opposed to the .44 I was told I needed. Has anyone else mailed in a card? I'm terrified that they are falling into some Black Hole of the Postal System...which would be totally heartbreaking, when I think of the hundreds (about 600 to this point) of cards I've given out, one by one, talking a little with almost everyone. Heartbroken not because I've wasted my own time and money, but because of the enthusiam people have had to participate - and to think all that could be lost - well, I was pretty down last night. I also hadn't slept for 48 hours (I have a video which will explain this, but it was recorded at night and is coming up dark, but I'm working on lightening it, and will post it) and so my gloominess was compounded by fogginess.

Still, I decided to go into town last night anyway. I double-stamped the cards, just to be sure, and thought: Okay, I'm going to give out just these few cards, then I'll let myself go to sleep.

There was some kind of festival happening in town with live music and hundreds of people. I spotted a girl sitting against a wall by herself and I offered her a card. She loved the idea, asked me all about it - not only that, but chased me down 15 minutes later with one of her friends and asked if she could have more cards! You should've seen how excited they were!

Now I only had two cards left. I gave one to a bearded man in his forties who took it and said: "Great idea - want to talk to a reporter?" So he took me about four feet and introduced me to his friend, a reporter for South Dakota state radio. He also loved the idea, and said they were trying to feature the arts. Hopefully we'll be able to work something out!

And yet...the post office. I'll keep going either way, but this would be a huge blow.

Video Blog - Day 4 - Madison, WI

2009-07-28T23:18:00.003-04:00

Special thanks to Vicki S. for letting me sleep on her futon and exploring with me in Chicago; thanks also to Trent, who I was lucky enough to find in the Madison Public Library, to Christopher at The Project Lodge, and to Melissa at UW-Madison.

Video Blog - Day 2 in Chicago!

2009-07-26T19:39:00.000-04:00

The Things I'm Carrying

2009-07-24T07:37:00.016-04:00

First of all, sincere thanks to Matt Dormond for conjuring the S.B.Y.F. website with almost no notice. In my next life I’ll be more web savvy, I promise. Thanks also to Dave Dormond, Geoff Kloc, Krista Tracanna, Becca Venuto, Matt Murphy and the above for surprising me with supplies. I normally consider myself surprise-proof…I’ll get you guys back, trust me. Thanks to my mom, my brothers and my dad, the wonderful/generous graphics dept. at Jefferson, Phillip Le, Tommy Rice, and Jim Talone. I love you all. (And yes, one of those is my mechanic.)

Just a few hours before I get on the road, and so, with a final nod to Tim O’Brien, here are the things I’m carrying.

A car

Well, technically the car is carrying me, but there’s a good chance that will end up the other way around.

I drive a ’95 volvo sedan. For years it was known as “The Grocery-Getter,” but recently it was renamed “The Pope-Mobile”—not because it resembles the Pope’s car, but because for a few weeks there it was billowing white smoke.

It has roughly 150,000 miles on it (not sure, odometer is broken).

A few months ago I was turning into my apartment and the turn-signal arm snapped off (fixed with 2-ton industrial-strength epoxy!).

The air conditioning has never worked, so on a normal summer day, if it’s 80 degrees outside, the interior gage reads 110-115. That’s because engine heat blasts through the vents, and I sweat like one of those guys shoveling coal into a locomotive's fire box.

Food, Water, Clothes, ect.

Books

My first thought was to dump my bookcase directly into my trunk. In the end, I picked two:

#1 The Three Pillars of Zen (363 pages)

#2 The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (857 pages)

A Notepad

Music

Laptop

Road Map

Cell Phone

9-iron

For both recreation and self-defense.

Thousands of Oversized Stamped Postcards

My greatest fear is that strangers will be nice to me when I meet them, then toss the card as soon as I’m gone. I was told to expect 2-3% of people to actually mail them back; I hope that’s wrong. I hope people will take a moment and reflect, not only on what advice they want to give, but also on how they might creatively render it. I hope these cards become like little works of art. I hope. We’ll see.

My plan—if such a loose arrangement of ideas might be called a plan—is to head west toward Chicago. From there, I'll visit Iowa, then up north and across west, down toward San Fran, loop back through Wyoming to avoid the desert, down toward Austin and New Orleans, back up the east coast. That could all change. The Pope-mobile may well break down before I leave PA. I may get robbed or run out of money.

I’d like to hand out the cards to as wide a range of people as possible, so I may visit libraries, parks, senior centers, schools, camps, prisons, churches, caddyshacks—who knows.

I’m expecting the trip to take roughly 5 weeks. I’ll try to post updates when I can, though I’m not sure how often I’ll be online. I’d love to hear from everyone here or on facebook. It’s the little things that keep you going!

Thanks again. My adventure begins tomorrow at 4 am. One last thing: if you like the story and the project, please pass it on to as many people as you can, however you can.

See you all soon!