Sycamore Street Press

Sycamore Street Press from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

Kirk and Eva, those two names roll off the tongue so naturally in tandem. Together they have started a business, honest in its intentions, sincere in its articulation, and just plain great. They are called Sycamore Street Press, and their work is fantastic. I was able to catch up with them, for the first time in years, during their visit to several craft fairs in San Francisco. I am happy that I did.

Although I could write plenty about what they are doing, I will let the video, or rather Eva, do the talking.

Dan and Me

Dan and Me from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

Dan rolled up to my parents’ house just like he would have ten years ago—turning recklessly into our driveway in his parents' mini-van blaring music. On the surface it would appear that nothing had changed since high school, but life has run its course with both of us. He enlisted in the Navy and went to Europe for 5 years. I became a missionary for my church and went to Japan for two years. He came home, wandered, and enrolled in school. I came home, finished school, married, and then divorced soon after. He sports a healthy beard now, and I still can’t grow facial hair to save my life. So, I guess some things don’t change. Dan is now writing a book—a memoir of his experiences, which have been rich and plentiful. He has written about seven chapters already. I am now trying to get people to patron a haphazard blog featuring the experiences of others. And, if you are reading this, I am experiencing at least some success.

There was a time when Dan and I thought we were invincible. We drove fast. We spoke loud. We ate a strict diet of trans fats and high fructose corn syrup. It was the 90’s—whatever that means. Like most teenaged boys we were reluctantly and awkwardly obsessed with girls, but that was about all that linked us to ‘normal’ guys our age. All of the other things that we did seemed to brand us more or less as misfits, albeit with a healthy social agenda. We played volleyball—not football, basketball, or baseball. We played in a band, and usually didn’t like the music that other kids listened to. We wore different kinds of clothing, and defensively made fun of others who wore the trends of the day. For this reason, I am glad that we had each other. We were brothers then, and despite distance of time and place, we still maintain that status.

A First Trip to Disney

One of my guilty pleasures in life is Disneyland. I had the fortune of visiting several times when I was a kid, often to accompany my grandmother who was a nationally renowned ceramics judge. The artifacts from those trips soon filled my bedroom in many different manifestations, examples including: a map of the park on my bedroom wall that was updated each year with new additions both bad (Mickey's Toontown) and good (Splash Mountain), a Peter Pan hat with my name stitched into it, and a plush animal of the winged furby-like creature from Captain EO. Thinking about it, it seems that Disneyland was the glue that is holding most of my childhood memories together. The trips I took there act as landmarks in my head as I navigate the timeline of my youth.

As childhood habits are hard to drop, it should come as no surprise that I still love Disneyland: a requirement in my spouse was that she would allow me to take her there for a honeymoon (which she did), I listen to recordings of Disneyland songs occasionally when I am working, and I have 2 trips planned there in the next 4 months. But I often wish I could go back to see my reaction after my first trip. I always feel that Disneyland must be too much for any kid to handle -- it is so unlike reality, so amazingly magical. When was it that I was sold on the experience? Did I understand right after my first trip or did it take me a few times through?

My niece Leah recently took her first trip to The Magic Kingdom at Disney World. This story gives me a glimpse of what it must be like to go to a Disney Park for the first time. There is a mix of excitement, fear, and just plain old being a kid.

I Like to Vacation in Crazyland.

I Like to Vacation in Crazyland. from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

A sense of humor is like a fingerprint. Similarities exist, but never two identical fingerprints or senses of humor. What makes us laugh and where does it come from? Is there a watershed moment when we know what makes us laugh? Is a sense of humor manipulated, or genuinely ours; i.e., as they evolve, do they do so honestly? Does that even make sense? Is there an objective standard that assesses humor like TBS tried so farcically to convince us?
Well, truth be told, I have no idea, but it is interesting to think about. A sense of humor often defines an individual more than family relations, or regional identity (although they are often correlated). It is such a critical part of culture, and an essential component of interpersonal relationships—either to their creation and perpetuation, or to their complete destruction—that we can’t write it off as a joke. Was that funny?
Last Friday the 13th, I had to make a trip down south for work. Breaking the monotony of the drive, my buddy Paul kindly expounded upon the genesis of his flavor of humor. Although we did not definitively answer any of the questions I pose, we did exchange some nice stories, eat a value meal at Carl’s Jr., and make it to LA without crashing. Not very funny.

Where does your sense of humor come from?

A Sunday with Grandma.

A Sunday with Grandma. from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

Like finding something after years of misplacement, my grandparents' stories never have to be about heroics or some extraordinary event to be significant. Their mere existence qualifies their tremendous value. They are always entertaining. And, although I have heard a lot of those stories, they still keep me at the edge of my seat wanting more. My grandparents are my heroes.

My conversations with them always wander into engaging tangents painted with the colorful regalia of past memories. This video, which features my maternal grandmother, is no exception to that. Grandma’s stories bounce from family memories, WWII era social commentary, her courtship with my granddad, music, and beyond.

I love my grandma. Perhaps it is because she reminds me so much of my own mother. Perhaps it is because she is generally so motherly. Perhaps, it is because her stories are always told with the same raised eyebrows, cute giggle, and smiling eyes. There is a sense of home in every one of them. Or, perhaps, the thing that impresses me and makes me feel a deep sense of reverence for my grandma is her undying love for my granddad. They have been married for 65 years now. No small feat.

This past Sunday I was able to see her, my mom, and my granddad, on an extended trip I had to take for work. Unfortunately, the visit was at a hospital. Nonetheless, we had a great time. After all, what better venue to see my grandma’s love for my granddad at work? At one point, in my granddad’s room, the classic song, “No Two People (Have Ever Been so in Love),” sung by Danny Kaye and Jane Wyman from Hans Christian Andersen, is playing on the big band radio station that my granddad likes. Grandma stares affectionately at him, as if the song is part of their life soundtrack. I thought this scene a rather touching and appropriate portrait of what they have become together.

What are your favorite grandparent stories?

What We Miss From Our Childhood

What We Miss From Our Childhood from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

We all yearn for something from our past. For me, as well as many other people that I know, that something lurks in the quotidian memories of our childhood, and is usually quantified by an equally common object, place, or person. For my buddy Josh, that common object is one of the greatest postwar suburban children’s phenomena—action figures.

Talking about action figures may seem trite. It may seem that to hold on to something so make-believe trivializes the reality of our childhoods. But, to me, as I think it is to Josh, the make believe world of childhood is what is lasting and important, not the reality. Reality is for our parents, and photo albums. It was, after all, out of the ether of our imaginations that our dreams grew. The same dreams that buoy us today—at least, ideally. At any rate, I still appreciate the child-like imaginations that us aging people can access from time to time. Thanks to Sam (Josh’s son), this video maintains some authenticity in real time, and not just in nostalgic memory, of that imagination.

What do you miss from your childhood?

Halloween Traditions?

Halloween Traditions from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

I grew up in a home without too many family traditions. At Christmas, we would eat a roast. At Thanksgiving, a turkey. On Easter, a leg of lamb. On Halloween, candy. No special games, no traditional song, no candle lighting. We're pretty boring. Occasionally, we engage in gratuitous laughter at the expense of someone else in the family. By that I mean, my brother and I are provoked into laughter by one or the other of our parents doing something that an individual qualified for AARP membership would do. But, that is not a tradition as much as it is a fact of life.

I guess all of our family traditions (as cliche as they are) really revolve around food, processed gelatin, and high fructose corn syrup (are the latter two items considered food?). Indeed, this phenomenon describes much of the cultural landscape of America. So it is no surprise that my Halloween experience this year, despite living 3,000 miles away from my parents, was again centered around another deleterious nutritional practice--making and eating caramel apples. Thank you Santos family.

What are your Halloween stories?

These are late additions, but here are a couple of memories from the annals of our collective experience.

This Halloween memory is based in Beijing, China, in the small community of River Garden Villas, where foreigners from all over the world live. One Halloween night in 11th grade, Samantha Dickens and I decided to pretend that she was a murderer and I was a victim. I would start to walk down the street, and suddenly begin to warily look behind me. Sam would begin following me, hunkering her shoulders down, quickening her pace, and leering at me with a threatening smile. I'd start walking faster, looking at her behind me with a panicked look. She would then start laughing and running after me. I would oblige her and start to scream hysterically, running as fast as I could down the packed streets of kids. Sam then tackled me and started to punch me (fake punching) and then I'd lie there still while she laughed manically and then run away. We did this a few times, with surprisingly little response from onlookers. The third time a woman came up to me and ask me if I was okay, which for some reason really embarrassed me. I hopped up, and was like, "yeah, of course!"

So weird. High school.

One more memory:

For a long time I was obsessed with hoop skirts. This obsession probably stemmed from Belle in, Beauty and the Beast. When I found out that they (hoop skirts) actually did exist in colonial times, I wanted one so bad. So, for Halloween in fourth grade, I wanted to be a hoop skirt girl. My parents and I went to a local thrift store, and pawed through the old skates and smelly suit jackets and found the perfect paisley lace- up- the- front dress for a hoop skirt dress. I went to school the next day, and when I got back, I looked up at the ceiling (where my parents had hung the dress from the lights to make the hoops for the hoop skirt part) and there it was, all ready and made. They had made huge circles out of thick wire and had sewn them to the bottom of the dress. It was perfect.

I loved it. I wore it to school for the Halloween parade, and was so pleased with it. That night I went trick or treating in it, and my overzealous- for- candy- friend, Caroline Weitzman, accidentally stepped on my skirt and dislodged one of the hoops, causing it to drag out from behind me for the rest of the night.

It was a great costume, but also a sad ending.

Compliments Gone Awry

Over the weekend, I attended a community event loosely associated with my job. It was a fundraiser, and I was happy to be there, but nonetheless, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit out of place—like I usually do at work functions. My recourse, my sanctuary, as it has been in the past, was the cash bar way off in the corner. I don’t drink, but I do get thirsty. So, I got a bottle of water and a Sprite.
The bartenders were friendly and asked how my night was going. We talked for a little while. The conversation was natural and I felt comfortable with them. Like I have done many times in the past, I decided that a nice thing to do for these people who had voluntarily made an effort to initiate interaction with me would be to find something to compliment them on —in a kind of quid-pro-quo way. My attention was immediately drawn to the easiest target for my platitudes—the bartender who got my drinks. To me, this guy really looked like the comedian David Cross—his glasses, nose, and his slightly threatening perma-smile. "Who doesn't want to look like a celebrity?" I thought.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like David Cross?” I asked, waiting contentedly for a smile and confirmation.
“What!? Oh come on man, I don’t want to look like him, he’s chubby, old, and bald!” He was not mad, but was clearly irritated, like when you find out the persona non grata in your life has a crush on you.
“Who’s that?” asked the other bartender innocently.
“Oh no one really,” I said. “Have a great night you guys.” And I walked away.

I know that all of you are much more tactful than I, but certainly there are a few instances in your past of insulting innocence. Let's hear your stories.

A new anecdote from Ben Malone in Washington, DC who stepped on his own feet making unqualified assumptions about his Mormon world conflicting with his non-Mormon girlfriend's world reads:

I recently went on an incentive trip to Jamaica that I qualified for at work. [My girlfriend] used to work with me so she knew that I could bring a guest--all expenses paid--to the Ritz in Montego Bay. So, on our third date the trip to Jamaica came up, like I knew it would, and I told her that I would love to take her but with my lifestyle and beliefs its not really something that we do as Mormons--staying at the Ritz for 5 days in the same hotel room in Jamaica that is. So, thinking I was being such a saint for respecting her womanhood, and expecting her to say how great of a guy I was and that I was unlike any other guy she had ever dated and to start gushing with flattery, I was surprised and reprimanded by her response. I bashfully looked down at my plate and threw on my best sh** eating grin and waited for the compliments, but it totally backfired. She went silent for a moment and then said, "what, did you just expect.... that if I went that I would just sleep with you the whole time?" She was totally offended, and I ended up backpedaling the whole night, saying a lot of "buts" and "ums" and "wells" with a lot of uneasy hand motioning. This makes me laugh now. It was so awkward.

Here is an anecdote from a friend in Washington State. She writes:

I have quite a number of people approach me more often than not, almost always strangers, either asking me to do things, saying hello or giving me unique compliments (the kind i don't know how to respond to), and it's not necessarily creepy, but for whatever reason, strangers feel as though it is quite normal to approach me and engage in conversation.

This normally ends up being quite advantageous for me, as this is how i received my Michael Jackson memorial shirt...it's pretty amazing...as well as tickets to some events. Other times these situations have left me with great stories to share for the rest of the evening.

Here are two stories, one that just occurred on Saturday the other, a long time ago, but equally as memorable, if not more...I wrote about it on my blog and just attached it as a link.

On halloween, I had just left the local grocery store with a sandwich in hand. I paused to buy a newspaper from a local vendor, and I then chose my route home. This day, I chose to walk through the neighborhood streets, as it was Halloween, and the main roads were bombarded with kids and their pumpkin buckets full Halloween candy. As I made my way through the neighborhood, eating my sandwich, while reading the front page of the paper, an elderly gentlemen and his wife stopped me. His wife, held a huge grin on her face, and her husband held a clear ziplock candy full of fun-size snicker bars. He reached into his bag, and pulled out a candy bar and handed it to me, as he did so, he remarked, "what a cute costume!" I laughed a little and gave an ecstatic "thank you!" for his kindness, and went along my way. But here's the thing, I wasn't in costume. I was in my normal clothing. In fact, it was one of those days where you put on the perfect outfit. You know what I mean? it's like everything you put on that day just felt so right...but apparently for some people I dress in costume everyday. but in a way, don't we all?

Afterwards, my mind was quickly flooded with the reminders of when I was kid: "don't take candy from strangers." and everything about that situation went against what my mom taught me as a child...I ate the candy bar for dessert last night....sorry mom...

My Aunt Teri in LA writes:

7-year-old Maia was talking about her older sister with genuine love and pride, and said, "Someday when Hana grows up, she is going to marry a horse." She said this with all sincerity and matter-of-factness. This, of course, was the highest compliment in Maia's mind as she loves horses. She beamed with pride, and we, her parents, thought it was hilarious. We laughed about that for a long time.

Scott's Snacking Wisdom

Scott's Snacking Wisdom from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

Scott is one of my best friends. He and his wife Whitney (recently joined by their baby boy Jones) moved to San Francisco several months after I did. Their move was a Godsend. As if on cue from some unseen director to the movie of life-I call him God, or Father-they stepped in, and buoyed me up at one of the lowest points that I have had to go through.

I am the kind of guy who makes no attempt to conceal my dependence on other people. I have learned that I need, perhaps we all need, the validation and support that comes from friendship. In some ways, I think this dependence is what can give us strength in those moments when we need to be "independent."

Well, this is Scott, and Scott is one of my best friends.