Open the iPod Bay Doors, Hal

As a gift to myself on my birthday, I bought an iPod Nano (red, for those of you who are both Apple-savvy and socially conscious). Because size matters, I bought the 8 Gigabyte Nano...and yes, that's an oxymoron. I'm not sure how you can call anything a "Nano" if it can potentially store FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF MUSIC.

In keeping with the Electronic Tradition of ThingsFailingToWorkRightOutOfTheBox, it took a while to get the thing installed. I didn't have to spend a whole lot of time troubleshooting; I downloaded the latest version of iTunes and everything worked.

And work it does. I am in love with this thing. Not only does it store and play back my music, and allow me to set my own playlists, it also sorts everything by artist, album, song title, genre, and composer. If I have more than one album by an artist I select on the Nano, I find that I can select all the songs by that artist, or the individual albums. Likewise, if I choose a compilation album, I'll see a menu of the artists whose music comprises the compilation. And it's all automated. All I have to do is load the thing, stick in the ear buds, and jam.

When I see those iPod commercials which feature people (or their shadows) dancing like spasmoidal hyper-lunatics whenever they hang the player's ear buds in their aural canals, I can so totally relate...no, that's not a descriptive enough term...I grok in fullness. Even now, as I write this, I can hardly refrain from tapping my toe to "Afraid To Dance" by Don Ross. Not only does the song kick ass, but so does the Nano.

Listening to music this way is ass-kicking squared.

When a device is this simple, I think it should kick this much ass. It should be this convenient. I shouldn't have to format the device, or program it a certain way to get it to work.

Ass-kicking aside, this much convenience makes me slightly uncomfortable, as though I need to know what I did to deserve it. Surely, I must have done something more substantial than capitalize the second letter of certain proper nouns. It doesn't help that, for such a very long time, I have openly smirked at people who professed their passion for iDevices.

It's the lower-case "i"; it seems to indicate possession, but with the normally capitalized first-person pronoun reduced to lower case, while the device's name is capitalized, is there some message of subjugation there? By owning one of these, is one submitting to the Will of Apple? And just what possesses who, if the "i" is attached to, and smaller than, the device's title?

I still smirk at the Apple iNotion (or perhaps it's an iCorporate iPhilosophy) that electronics are somehow vastly more powerful if they are plug-and-play-accessible to everyone. I've used Apple computers often over the years, and invariably ran up against the anti-immigration fence between what I needed the machine to do and what it would do*.

I show up at the computer store like Rodney Dangerfield, "Two of those, four of these, six boxes of the naked lady tees, and oh, my! That has to be the worst looking thing I've ever seen! Do you get a free bowl of soup with that computer? Oh, sorry! I looks good on you though!" Later on, if I see you around the electronics superstore, I'm likely to snort derisively and shout, "Hey, Whitey, where's your computer?"

I mean, am I the only one who hasn't missed the fact that the Mac computer spokesman is Justin Long, who has made a career out of playing Megadorks. Don't get me wrong: there is no one better at playing dorks than Justin is. Maybe that's the iMessage: "You own a computer, so you're already a dork. You should be the absolute best dork you can possibly be, and we can help you with that."

Let's face it, this little ass-kicking Nano is all the help anyone needs to be a complete dork. Or at least dance like one.

If you happen to be cruising around San Diego, I'll be the one rockin' out like Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

*Key distinction: I said what it would do, not what it could do.

Backing Into Artistickiness

Last Monday, the Monday of Independence Day Week, a new guy showed up at my Improv class. (I say "my Improv class" like it's mine, which it isn't, so I'll amend that to say "our Improv class", which it is.) The teacher introduced him as a Director, and she actually did pronounce the capital "D", because he is a Director in the sense that he directs movies. At the moment, he is directing a short film.

Our teacher explained that he was there to meet the class because she thought he might find someone he'd like to cast in his film, and we all welcomed him, not because he is The Director Who Might Cast One Of Us In His Movie, but because that's how we are. Improv is fun and reasonable human beings like to share their fun, at least most of the time.

Later, when he was leaving, the teacher pointed to me and said, "Kurt is the guy I told you about who might be good for your lead."

Gulp.

Me?

He told us a little about the project, and invited me to what he referred to as an open casting call for the project on Thursday night.

So. I went.

Reading the pages, I immediately understood the character I was auditioning to play. Divorced dad, slightly angry, doesn't get along with his ex-wife. Got it.

Once I'd read the two scenes they wanted me to read, and done a couple more exercises the Director wanted me to do on camera, they asked how long I could stay. "We just want to have you read with a few of the boys auditioning for the role of the son, and if you can stay a little longer after that, with some of the women auditioning to play the ex-wife."

I was there for two hours.

When they let me go, I felt I'd done okay...there was more I could have done to polish the performance...but I knew it was a good sign that they's asked me to stay and read with a variety of other actors. It meant they wanted to see how well the other actors played off me.

Yesterday, he called and offered me the part.

One scene will feature me fly-fishing. I have never done any fly-fishing, so before we shoot that scene, the Director will arrange for me to get some tutoring on the subject. So, I did some research on fly-fishing, and it turns out that Brad Pitt had to do the same thing to prepare for his role in A River Runs Through It.

So, I will have that in common with Brad Pitt, at least.

Life is funny that way.

What We're Doing With Our Independence

Last night, my daughter and I walked down to the waterfront to watch the fireworks over San Diego Bay. It was a terrific night, warm enough to wear shorts and a t-shirt, but cool enough that a brisk walk didn't raise a sweat. Perfect San Diego weather.

The spot I chose was on the boardwalk between a California-style pizza place and the store that sells fishing tackle, overlooking the marina which is home to dozens of million-dollar yachts and even more fishing boats, many of them of the kind that go for days at a time. If there had been a breeze, the booming of the fireworks would have been mixed with the pinging of the rigging on a hundred sailboats. I love both sounds, and when they're mixed? I'm euphoric.

It wasn't terribly crowded where we stood, but there were plenty of families there: parents with strollers keeping one eye on their playful youngsters and the other on the fireworks, while the kids hollered and gamboled in blissful ignorance of the five fireworks displays visible from where we stood.

It might have been the Perfect Independence Day Experience if any of those kids had spoken English.

No,

I am not a racist.

I am, however, a thoughtful moderate, and finding myself at a celebration of my country's birth surrounded by people who came here from somewhere else set me to thinking about a single question: What happened to The Melting Pot?

I was raised to believe that America had risen so quickly to become the great nation it is because we are a nation of immigrants. We've drawn our strength from a pool of positive qualities brought here by an enormously diverse group of people who came here (and still come here) seeking something better than what they had wherever they were. I have met many immigrants and befriended a few; they all share a passionate desire to work -- and work hard -- for the benefits they draw from their new home. For that reason alone, we Americans should welcome them with open arms.

My daughter's high school graduation ceremony was conducted in both Spanish and English. Spanish first, followed by an English translation. I won't say I wasn't miffed, but it stands to reason; Hispanic students comprise the largest ethnic group in San Diego City Schools. Bilingual ceremonies at public schools are an indicator of the change this country has undergone since the 1990s, when we began to espouse multiculturalism and encourage immigrants to retain their cultural heritage rather than assimilate.

I grew up in a predominantly Irish neighborhood, and I knew of several households where Gaelic was regularly spoken. Despite that, no one ever suggested that public school ceremonies be conducted in both Gaelic and English; those parents who spoke only Gaelic forbade their children from speaking anything but English at home in order to create an environment where they themselves could learn the language. Those parents had come here seeking a life better than what they had in Ireland, and they understood that it came at the cost of joining American society. They all felt it was a price worth paying.

Multiculturalism teaches that we can still have that unified society, but presumes that relinquishing even a small part of one's cultural heritage is somehow disrespectful, or at a minimum, embraces a misunderstanding of the importance of that heritage. The problem with that line of thinking is that a common language fosters a greater understanding between cultures, and the lack of a common language only serves to impede the very thing we as Americans ought to be seeking: acceptance of our fellow citizens.

This country has always struggled with immigration, and at one time or another, every single ethnic group in America has had to deal with the fallout of racism and discrimination. Every successfully integrated group has achieved their place in our society through understanding -- by understanding those who arrived before and by fostering understanding of who they are and why they came. The thing we all have in common is that we or our ancestors all came here seeking a better life.

The ongoing debate over immigration in this country is understandable, but the drive to close our borders and make immigration more difficult baffles me. To be sure, there are those who come here to leach off our society, but my experience is that these are very few and far between. The vast majority of immigrants come here understanding that they will have to earn their place here, and they go to enormous lengths to do so. I work with a South African immigrant who owns his own business and employs several people, including me on a part time basis. A friend of mine is a first-generation American whose father died a millionaire, but began as a tuna fisherman in the days when the industry relied on men who could stand on a rolling deck for days to haul fish aboard using cane poles. These men, and many like them, have earned their place here, and they embody the spirit of Democracy.

Our foreign policy for many years has centered on a desire to spread Democracy to other nations, and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan is a good example of that sort of cultural myopia. The governments in Iraq and Afghanistan are failing because Democracy cannot be given as a gift; it must be earned with sweat and tears and blood. Like any commitment, Democracy requires sacrifice every day.

As we walked home from the fireworks last night, I was a little sad for us as a country for our tendency to exclude those who come here with so much to offer, and for those who receive so little welcome.

I don't think anyone has said it better than Bill Murray in Stripes: "We're all very different people. We're not Watusi, we're not Spartans, we're Americans. With a capital "A", huh? And you know what that means? Do you? That means that our forefathers were kicked out of every decent country in the world. We are the wretched refuse. We're the underdog. We're mutts."

Welcome to America.