An Amusing Defect

Every so often, one buys a product that, upon opening, turns out to be defective, and one returns the item and exchanges it for a new one. Yesterday, such an event happened, but the defect was so entertainingly bizarre that it deserves mention before we repackage it and send it back.

My wife received a Janis Joplin boxed set of 3 CDs. Each CD was housed in a tall, flat case along with the printed inserts that normally accompany single CDs, stacked in a square compartment. As we unpacked the set, something seemed amiss. There was a “Pearl” CD and a “Pearl” insert. There was a “Cosmic Blues” CD and a “Cosmic Blues” insert. There was a “Cheap Thrills” CD and…wait a minute. What’s this? An insert for Cheap Trick’s Greatest Hits.

So…yeah. Someone put the wrong insert in the box. And I can see how it might have happened…the words ”Cheap Thrills” sort of looks like “Cheap Trick” and maybe if one wasn’t very detail oriented or didn’t read English particularly well or had a poor grasp of pop culture…stuff happens. Still, it’s pretty bizarre. But I take some comfort in the knowledge that only a human being, rather than a machine, could have made this error.

Dan Lives

I titled this blog “Dan Lives” to communicate the belief that life is its own reward…and because it’s short. It started as my version of the “Bird Lives” graffiti that appeared in New York after the death of Coltrane, but it has come to serve me well as an affirmation in my journey to recovery from a brain tumor, and as a personalized license plate. But up to now, this space has been devoted to a variety of topics as I have cast about to find my voice. Yesterday afternoon, as I ran through China Camp State Park, I got a little closer.

The route I take most often, from my house to Miwok Meadows and back, is pretty close to 10K, and I had been training for Marin’s fabled Dipsea race next month. The trail varies from canopies of trees and fallen leaves to breathtaking views across the bay, and with a focus on improving my speed (speed being a relative term in my case) I managed to shave a couple of minutes off my usual time. As I ran, I marveled at the ease with which I was now breathing, striding, and climbing hills. I felt very much alive. As I savored the run, my mind drifted to thoughts of those who died before their time, wondering why I was here and they weren’t, and about the forces governing these things. And I reminded myself that I had taken on a purpose, and that purpose was to provide hope, either by example or through words and music, to people who are facing what might seem like a hopeless prognosis.

When I was first diagnosed in 2002, I was given no chance of recovery and six months to live by a doctor in Wyoming. As it turned out, my odds were much better than that, but I went through some invasive treatments and scary periods to get to my present-day blessedly good health, which I owe in great part to an alternative self-healing practice called Chi Gung, and a wonderful teacher. I continue to wonder what would happen to someone who lived in Wyoming instead of the San Francisco area, who couldn’t go to UCSF, and who likely has no way of visualizing a different outcome than what their doctor provides? They most likely die. Not everyone gets a second opinion, and not every doctor balances their prognosis with stories about survivors. (My first doctor definitely did not.) The poor and elderly are most likely to trust their doctor’s prognosis as the only possible outcome, and I believe that when a doctor offers no hope of recovery, people die that don’t need to. Simple as that.

In an effort to raise awareness of the progress being made with brain tumors, I’ve been running on behalf of the National Brain Tumor Foundation and their Racing Ahead program, raising money and being interviewed for a news segment at last year’s Los Angeles Marathon, and participating (“run” might be too generous) in this year’s event in March. In July, I plan to take on the San Francisco Marathon. In the meantime I run, and write Dan Lives, to show that regular people – not just the Lance Armstrongs of the world but lucky weekenders like me – can beat long odds and achieve their own special triumphs…just by enjoying a healthy life. Sharing stories of survival is one of the most powerful things we have to give hope to others facing similar challenges.

Dave Barry on Guitar

(illustration: "Big Ol' Thing"


Today I received an e-mail from Broadjam, a website where independent musicians are given a place to promote themselves. It linked me to the founder’s blog "Session Players" (click on "Founder's Blog") which had to do with a recording session using top-drawer players, including a guitarist named Dave Barry. Broadjam had held a contest, with the winner’s entry getting the musical equivalent of “extreme make-over.” The before-and-after was impressive, especially since the original version of the song sounded so good it was hard to tell where it could be improved. The “after” version, though, sounded more “radio-ready,” which I suppose was precisely the point…to take a good song and make it go “cha-ching.” It would be interesting to see what they could do with my somewhat left-of-center offerings

My next thought was of Dave Barry, the esteemed humor columnist, who also plays guitar in the a Rock Bottom Remainders, a band comprised of best-selling authors. (“We play as well as Metallica writes novels,” boasts their home page.) I seem to recall something about the humor column winding down as Dave pursued other interests, and wondered to myself if he had just decided to practice a lot and get really really good.

Once at the Dave Barry blog, it was apparent that he was up to his usual mischief, and did not appear to have written anything about his experiences as a top-drawer session player. So I have to assume that they are two different Dave Barrys, although I have heard the author/columnist Dave Barry do a pretty good job on “Louie Louie.”

I wonder if the other Dave Barry is funny.

Start Me Up

In the fall of 2001, I was approached to do a logo and one-page flyer for a startup company in Marin County. The work was needed for a trade conference taking place the following week. I got busy and delivered an approved logo and flyer two days later. The next week began with 9/11, and the trade conference was cancelled. But out of that project my first professional relationship with a start-up tech company began.

I had missed the first merry-go-round of dot-commers in the late '90s, but missed getting flung off it as well. Despite the timing...the beginnings of a long period of cautious venture financing...I signed on as their creative director, although that title now seems ponderous for a company who met at the founder's kitchen table. It was a "sweat equity" deal...I was to keep track of my hours, and when the company got funded, my time would be turned into cash and stock.

A year later, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and couldn’t work for a few months. I lost my driving privileges due to seizures, and sold my beloved VW camper. The startup was very supportive, and when I could return to work (which I could largely do from my home) I did. Because their product involved multi-media, and because they didn’t have a lot of people, there was ample opportunity for me to work in a wide variety of disciplines. I did soundtracks. I did voice-overs. I assembled video-like presentations out of my wife’s travel photos. Even my kids got into the act…serving as a playground trash-talking chorus to a primitive basketball game. Then they got funded, and everything changed.

They opened up a SOMA loft-like office. They hired a CEO and a marketing director. They were going big time, and had little use for the kitchen-table team. This was both good news and bad… I was to receive a nice check for my three years of work, but I would not be along for the ride as they shot their way to the top. In the interim, I had recovered to the point where I had been driving for about a year, but without my own car. So I did what any mid-life carless male receiving a big check would do…I went out and bought a 1999 Porsche Boxster.

Last October, I got a call from the founder. It seems the CEO had burned through 90% of the funding, had been sacked and the founder was assembling a small team to try and rescue the company…was I interested? They offered a modest salary plus more stock. I jumped back in.

The pace began to accelerate. There were weekly emergencies…deliverable here, conference there…people left, people were reassigned, harsh words were said, nerve endings were irritated. Ultimately there was a restructuring of sorts, and the merry-go-round kept spinning as I found refuge on solid ground. No work, but no vertigo either. With tax time approaching, I realized I needed to sell the car to pay the taxes on the money that enabled me to buy the car. (An O. Henry tale for the millennium.)

Now, things are picking up, and I’ve plugged into a new group of creative and entrepreneurial people. Perhaps another ride is about to begin.