Author Archives: Michael Arce

Worth

Marvel has made the headlines lately with their recent announcements that will and already have shaken up their print universe.  Tony Stark/Iron Man is moving to San Francisco and has a brand new suit.  Steve Rogers is replaced by Sam Wilson, who is black, as the next Captain America.  And the one that hits home for me – Mjolnir, the Asgardian hammer forged from the heart of a dying star and enchanted by the words spoken over Odin’s beard, is now held by a female.

Most of you are aware of the Thor-inspired theme of my Instagram photos.  If not, well, I have an Thor-inspired theme for my Instagram photos:

http://instagram.com/mjolnir_mcfly

See.  I told you.  I wasn’t lying (also see my post called #100).

I’ve always applied the idea of driving my Instagram account to roll with the times, both world/nationwide and personal moments.  Prior to the 2014 baseball season, I set up a spring training series where Thor (played by yours truly, again if you were unaware) works on his timing at the plate and his curveball on the mound.  With the return of my brother from boot camp in April, he accepted the role of Captain America, and us brothers were reassembled via a six-photo series glorious with hammer and shield action – which are my favorite of the bunch to date. And that’s always been my style and preferred method to my madness.  Somewhere there’s always a story to be told, and I want to be the one to tell it to you with multiple layers.

So, the last five photos that I posted on my ‘Gram are direct nods to Marvel’s move to pull the hammer away from the guy that’s been Marvel’s Thor for the last fifty-two years and pass it onto someone else.  There is a new Thor in town, and you can imagine the shock.  After all, many people tend to not accept change very well.

One can assume that it would not be easy to let go of that power after possessing it for that long, right?  We can all relate to – at the very least imagine – the anguish of losing what made you feel extraordinary, and having to witness it move on and accept another (strike a chord? See: break ups).

I have not read the Marvel books, so I am not aware of why or how he lost worthy for Mjolnir in the first place.  But for my photographic and ‘Gram purposes, those details were not required.  What I sought to visually hammer home (pun intended), was the unadulterated distress of loss, and the only thing left that mattered was how to find a way to get it all back.

What resulted was a five-photo series that I am actually very proud of.  It achieved everything I wanted – acting, dramatic lighting, plot progression from one photo to the next, and visual cameos of space and wormhole travel and Asgard itself (at least, the notion of it and how it would look).  More than anything else, people got the idea and I was floored by the overwhelmingly positive responses. It ends with a bit of an apology to Marvel, as I am not ready to give up the hammer.  In the end you have to believe in what you are worth.  And when you do that, ideals become very difficult to let go.  Or maybe that’s too deep of an ending, and I simply could not find a female replacement.  Hmm. Who knows.

What also spawned from the success of this story arc are… more story arcs!  I’ll still have one-shots of beautiful sunsets and sunrises and landmarks (who on the ‘Gram doesn’t love those?) but the future direction of my account will now continue toward a collection of storytelling series.  You know, panels of a comic book, if you will.

See what I did there?

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Idea

I recently joked on a Facebook post:

“My start-up company will help your start-up company make a dent in a market with so many start-up companies that attempt to start up something that has never been started in a world where something eventually gets started up somewhere. After our success we can go get tattoos of ourselves actually getting a tattoo (#tattooception), while having a conversation about how the hell we got started up in the first place.

Anyone want to help me start this up?”

Now most jokes – my jokes at least – come from a small grain of truth, and with this specific case, it comes from personal experience. My film production team and I recently worked with a start-up company based out of the Palo Alto/Silicon Valley area that required two videos for his company’s promotional and branding purposes. We shot. I edited. Lack of sleep. Project conquered. Client is happy. Done deal. Well wishes shared. Hope to do business again. Onto the next one. Repeat. Right? Right. And it got me thinking – there are so many ideas thrown out there. Not just here, but everywhere. From every city to every classroom to every lab, basement, garage, think tank, and front door staircase. And when you work on enough projects, you can come to one conclusion:

There is no such thing as a bad idea.

Except maybe for genocide, and Matisyahu shaving his beard (why Matisyahu? Why?!)

And here’s the obvious understanding of ideas: good ideas succeed, and bad ideas fail. But we’ve also seen good ideas fail, and surprisingly bad ideas succeed. Doesn’t make too much sense, but we’ve all been witnesses of this. So how’s it possible? Let’s take a moment to play with a few examples here.

There’s a batter at the plate. Puts up monster numbers and has the kind of power that can undo the stitches off a baseball if he gets all of it. There’s two outs, runners on first and third with two strikes on him. And, he can hit absolutely anything… except for an inside fastball.

I’m going to let you get interactive with me and allow you to say out loud what you think is a “good idea” for the pitcher to throw next. And just in case you missed it, here’s a clue: it rhymes with pinside bastfall.

Now let’s take a look at a “bad idea,” at least in a sense where the majority of us would agree on the bad label. First person that comes to mind is a man named Philippe Petit, a high-wire artist from France. Back in the 70’s, Philippe had the bright idea of, quite literally, raising the bar, to heights that no one dared to imagine then nor even now, by walking a tight rope suspended atop the roofs of one tower to the other of the World Trade Center.

Take a minute or two to really let this sink in:
1. On the roof of one tower, to the roof of the other.
2. Tight rope walking, 1,350 (quarter of a mile) feet above ground level in New York City.
3. No safety harness involved.
4. No parachute.
5. Philippe is not from the planet Krypton.

Terrible idea! Why? Take another minute or so to answer this, and if you said anything along the lines of “the chances of Philippe completing this stunt and living the next day to tell about it is slimmer than slim,” then we’re on the same boat here. As it turns out, since then Philippe has had forty years worth of time to tell about it. Not only did he walk the rope a total of eight times, he also danced, laid on the wire, and saluted from a kneeling position. It is famously known as “The Artistic Crime of the Century.” And our pitcher from the previous story did throw that inside fastball, only he ended up leaking it over the plate and, well, hitter man hit one high, and he hit it deep.

Other than the destruction of a certain people and Matisyahu’s lack of facial hair, bad ideas simply do not exist. They are just blocks of wood that really needed a little more careful attention on the chipping, carving, and sanding. What it really comes down to, where it counts the most for any idea to succeed – is execution. And you can execute anywhere between very well (Philippe Petit) or very poorly (unnamed baseball pitcher). The level of execution will always be fueled by the passion behind the idea, and there is an unmistakable correlation between the two.

When the passion is high, the execution is sharp. When the execution is sharp, the product and outcome is enriching. And when the product and outcome is enriching, the easier it becomes to not only accept the original idea, but to welcome bigger, bolder, and more daring ideas beyond that.

It’s not easy trying to find that one thing that sparks that relentless passion that exists in all of us. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said, “Everything has been thought of before, but the difficulty is to think of it again.” For some, it clicks. For others, it could take a weeks, months, years, maybe even half a lifetime of searching. So here’s an idea –

It’s never too late to believe in something crazy.

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Ffeine

In an old short film once I said, “Coffee, just coffee, is bitter. Coffee is just like life. But you down it, you accept it. And you enjoy that you’re still having coffee.”

And today marks six whole weeks without coffee for me. And for those who know me, I am a severe coffee snob and addict, and have been for the last three years. We’re talking four to eight cups a day, and 95% percent of the time my preferred drink is an Americano, which are shots of expresso (standard two, sometimes three) in hot water.

But coffee is more than a beverage of exceptional taste (when done right, of course. See not: Starbucks). Coffee ignites ideas, generates a never ending train of thoughts, creates moments and wonderful conversation, and reminds you of a better time.

Coffee awakens.

“Forty-two days without incident” will race down to zero, as I will enjoy a cup of coffee today. But before I allow myself to have this long-awaited moment, I want to celebrate the top five coffees and their coffee shops/roasters that I have had the pleasure of drinking.

But before I get started, I am not here with a judge list on taste, or use words like “hints of” and “aroma” or anything like that. I just know what a good cup of coffee tastes like, because I simply know what I like and what it feels like when I find it.

So, without further ado –

5. Acre Coffee (Four Barrel Coffee), San Francisco, Civic Center
http://www.acrecoffee.com

Yes, its name sounds like my last name. But that is not why this coffee makes my list. A handful of times, I’d take a 30-minute walk from work to this coffee shop through the sketchy streets of the Tenderloin. It was well worth it, even with all the used syringes and needles on the ground I trekked on.

I said sketchy, didn’t I?

4. La Boulange (Equator Coffee), San Francisco, Financial District
http://instagram.com/laboulange

This is where it all started for me, the addiction and the snobbiness for coffee, and I blame and thank (50/50) my former boss for introducing me to La Boulange and Equator. In every sense this became my everyday morning Americanos. Without it would have been difficult to function at work. It was also the coffee that broke many of my writer’s blocks and spawned the idea of getting professional haircuts again.

Because, I really like my hair now.

And the folks at the California St. location in the Financial District could not be any better. It became the place where everyone knew my name.

3. Hub Coffee Roasters (Hub Coffee), Reno, Nevada
http://instagram.com/hubcoffeeroasters

Here on a business trip, I would have never guessed that Reno-ians were master coffee makers. I vividly remember the “holy shit” that slipped out my tongue upon first sip, and the hundred of sips after were better and better throughout that entire week. It truly made those 12-14 hour work days feel a lot less daunting than they really were.

2. Fog Lifter (Blue Bottle Coffee), San Francisco, Ocean View
http://instagram.com/fogliftercafe

This is my neighborhood, down-the-street, weekend-mornings-in-my-pajamas or slacks-and-tie after work coffee shop. Blue Bottle Coffee sandwiches the nation, having bases in Oakland and Brooklyn though not much of its grace in between.

That just means, more for me.

If there is such a drink that can instantly jolt in you with a concrete feeling that the day ahead of you is going to be one of the most amazing days of your life, then Blue Bottle owns that formula.

1. Dunkin’ Donuts (Dunkin’), Fort Lauderdale, Florida +
Chicago, Illinois
http://instagram.com/dunkindonuts

Sadly, there are no current Dunkin’ Donuts locations in the Bay Area… yet. Dunkin’s plans for going going, back back, to Cali Cali (see what I did there?), however, are in the works.

I took a red eye flight for a business trip to South Beach in Florida and needed a pick-me-up upon landing. The reason Starbucks has lacked hold on the east coast market was because of Dunkin’s coffee, so I needed to try it.

This was a game changer in every sense. It gave me the pick-me-up of all pick-me-ups. I stayed awake for 36 hours and that allowed me to not only get in that 12-14 hour work day, but also witnessed my San Francisco Giants go into Cincinnati and win the first of three in a row to eventually take the series.

Because clearly, they can’t win without MY support, says every true baseball fan.

And something in that coffee of theirs – maybe it is their beans, the kind of sugars and creams they use, the specific metals of the machinery that it churns on, I really don’t know. But something in its taste took me all the way back to a time when I was a kid, when I carried zero worries and nothing else mattered other than dipping pan de sal breads in a cup of coffee with my grandpa.

And when it comes to coffee, it won’t ever get any better than that.

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Cake

According to Steve Treder via HardballTimes.com, there have been a total of fifty-seven position players that throw left, and bat right handed.  Probably the most decorated, as Treder notes in his article, is Ricky Henderson, who played primarily for the Oakland Athletics.  A more recent player is journeyman Cody Ross.

Fifty-seven.  The game of baseball has been played for a century and a quarter and only fifty-seven left-handed throwing, right-handed batting position players have donned a Major League uniform.  That’s how abnormal that throwing/batting combination is.

And, as the story goes, I too, throw left and bat right.  While I have relished in a moment and world of my own for several minutes standing on the mound of AT&T Park, I have never made it nor will I ever make it to the majors.

Contrary to popular belief, mid to high 60 MPH fastballs with a ceiling pitch count of 15 isn’t enough to make it to the show, even if said self-proclaimed prospect promised to come out to Queen’s “Under Pressure” as a closer, which would generate positive crowd reaction and high fan sing-along participation (sometimes you have to sell a gimmick, man).

Case and point, I’m not “normal.”  My traits on a baseball field are just a few of many that I have come to realize how abnormal I am.  My life isn’t normal, and I really I don’t think it ever has been.  I don’t really do normal things.  Normal things do not happen to me.  Normal does not follow or believe in me, and quite frankly, the feeling is mutual.

And, I’m not complaining.  At least, I haven’t been, and for quite some time now.  I guess I’ve been through enough challenges, situations, and ordeals to finally get that there is a difference between what is simple, and what is normal.

It’s 12:34 AM in the morning and I want cake.  And the only reason I want cake is because I know I have cake in my fridge, and I am excited because I never have cake in my fridge.  It’s leftover cake from an earlier dinner party.  Chocolate – not to sweet – with some chocolate mousse on the top.  Not frosting, but mousse, and that makes it ten times better, all right?  The only problem is, I was given all of the leftover cake.  Like, I had enough cake to feed a kindergarten class; no one else wanted to bring cake home, which makes me wonder if I was the only fan of the chocolate mousse.  That doesn’t matter, but you get the picture: there’s a lot of cake, and only one of me.  That is a problem.  It’s now 12:36 AM in the morning, my heart’s fluttering and I’m dancing a fruitful dance in my kitchen over the fact that yours truly is going to have some cake.

It’s 12:49 AM and I’m still dancing in my kitchen and shit.  But the problem still lingers.  I don’t want to eat all of this cake at one time.  So what should I do?  What did I do?

Got a plate, got a knife, cut me a piece, got me a fork, enjoyed me some cake (not all of it), danced some more, then went back to bed.  Simple, right?

Exactly.  And that’s where the line is drawn, the difference between normal and simple.  My life has always been one big abnormal-sized cake.  Too much for me to handle most of the time, but at the end of the day I always sought for it because of how delicious it is and how much it made me go bat shit in my kitchen.  And all I’ve ever really wanted was that knife to make things simpler to digest.  And it’s always nice to share cake, too.

Why’d it take me so long to realize that?  Maybe I always have, but I definitely knew that I was out of focus for quite some time.  That and I’ve been working on my dance moves.  And I’m sure that earlier you attempted to picture me in my kitchen dancing over some cake, right?  If you said no then you are a bold faced liar.  Either way I’m going to paint it nice and neat for you –

Imagine Beyoncé taking a Zumba class, okay?  The sun is setting gently through the window.  Fluffy clouds pass on through while she body rolls through the intricate rhythms of the music.  Very clean, no wasted movements, all sharp as a claw and all body parts are popped and locked in.  It’s fantastic art, if anything.

Now, imagine the complete opposite of that.  Just the most ruckus and hurtful humanly movements you’ve ever laid your eyes on that it actually starts to physically hurt your retinas.  Wait, wait!  I’m not done yet.  Then, the environment around her just go absolutely awry.  A willy mammoth decides to defrost itself out of extinction and absolutely tears through the studio entrance, rendering poor Beyoncé in fear.  All this while Beyoncé tries to gain her balance during an 8.6 earthquake that struck while our aforementioned willy mammoth decided to show up.  But!  But… she’s still in rhythm.

That’s my dance.  I know, it’s not normal, and I’ll give you fifty-seven reasons why if you ask me.

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