Last Friday I came briefly to my senses. I turned off my computer and powered off my iPhone. I went home, and loaded camping gear, wife and son into our car for a spontaneous trip to the desert. Four hours after leaving Los Angeles we arrived at the entrance to the Mojave State Preserve, and driving 30 miles further into its desolate middle-of-nowhere, we found a remote campsite. We set up our tent, ate dinner, and after some stargazing, we went to sleep. Drifting off to sleep I was slightly irritable. The sudden silent disconnect had been disorienting.

Digital communication is swell, but I think posters are the purest and most exciting expression of graphic design. From the poster for the multi-gazillion dollar Disney Air Bud franchise to posters for my friend’s bands, this is the one design form I often do for fun, and sometimes for free if I believe in the cause…

photo source: georgiafreedmanphoto.com

This morning I noticed that my four-year-old son had some cool new red sneakers. They had arrived via UPS from Zappos the previous day while I was at work. I said to him, “sweet shoes, where’d you get ‘em?” He responded in his matter-of-fact four-year-old way, “they came from the computer…” Interesting. Here is a small child growing up completely disconnected from the people who make and sell the stuff he uses. He thinks his Mama taps some computer keys, and his stuff miraculously appears. I’m certainly not old enough to have grown up with a bespectacled Gepetto cobbling our family’s shoes, but when I was my son’s age, the couple who owned Altier’s Shoes in Rochester were our neighbors. We’d run into them buying groceries at the Super Duper. We’d trick or treat at their house. They belonged to our neighborhood pool club (swimming pool, lest you get the wrong idea about the Altiers). Even if our coveted Addidas, Pumas and Converse All-Stars were manufactured in factories far away, every pair came with a connection to Mr. and Mrs. Altier. They wanted us to be happy with our shoes, because they where our neighbors. Our REAL human neighbors who we’d wave to when we saw them. Listen: I love Zappos and Amazon, because they make instantly getting what I want so effortless. But, if our connections to the names and faces of our communities of commerce are gone, I think something has been lost, because you cannot replace human relationships with faux branded ones and social media likes. Nike isn’t going to help you shovel your driveway after a snowstorm. Apple’s not going to pick your kids up from school if you’re running late from work.  I don’t think we understand the consequences of the loss of our local communities of commerce, because it has happened so quickly.

Here are 2 shots of the same wall taken ten years apart to the day. This entire blog could be about Beverly Boulevard between Western and Vermont in Los Angeles. These few urban blocks are incredibly rich with murals and signs. The visual landscape is constantly changing as fresh paint gives way to dirt, decay, and graffiti. When old art is repainted, the affect can be stunning as on this wall at the corner of Beverly and New Hampshire.

It’s an incredible, thrilling, twisty lonely 250 mile motorcycle ride on old Highway 3 from Ferndale on the Humbolt Coast to Yreka in Siskiyou County. Halfway between Weaverville and Yreka is the dying lumber, mining and ranching town of Callahan. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. It’s not a ghost town yet because the little general store is still opened sometimes. Farrington’s Store (since 1860) was open, so I stopped for a soda and chatted with an old-timer who told some good stories. The Callahan Ranch Hotel was opened in 1854. He said it has been abandoned pretty much forever, although every once in a while somebody passing through says they want to buy it and fix it up, but “why the hell would anybody want to come and stay in a hotel in Callahan?” The dimensional lettering on the facade is remarkably well preserved considering the condition of the rest of the building. The dimensional lettering is really unusual: it’s painted with an above-looking-down perspective although the viewer sees the sign from below looking up. It’s a bit disorienting… kind of like the town itself.