Even Happier Than That

Earth Systems Hires Marketing Director

2012-02-13T17:00:00.000-08:00

Earth Systems Hires Marketing Director: Earth Systems, Inc. welcomes 20-year veteran professional services marketing and business developer, Jon Jaeger, CPSM as their new Marketing Director.

Last Minute

2011-12-16T14:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Friend

“It takes less time to do a thing right than it does to explain why you did it wrong.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

You mentioned recently, “If it wasn’t for the last minute, nothing would get done.”

That may be correct in today's culture, but I disagree completely. You’re simply doing it wrong.

I despise being late and last minute, too. Rushing things through to the finished product is not what quality is all about. Late and frantic is not in the chosen vocabulary. So it is avoided altogether. No, I'd rather be early, thourough, and bored.

Most people at least attempt to reach deadlines on time, which is good about humans. Most people wait until the last possible minute because that is THE time given. We all have until that last possible minute.

But why? What do you really get out of the last minute?

Think of it this way. In business, UPS and FedEx have made a killing off of last minute and frantic people. And we pay for that too. We have become a culture of pushing the deadline, on-the-go convenience. Do we plan out the weekly dinners or do we pick up fast food on the way home? Do we casually fill the gas tank when it gets down to about a quarter a tank or do we wait until the light comes on and hysterically GPS to look for the next station, no matter the price? Do we shop for gifts at the last minute (it is the Christmas season, you know) succumbing to desperation trends or do we take the time to find something appropriate and personal and tuck it away months in advance?

And here is the thing.... I believe there is a subtle difference between urgent (last minute) and important (planned). Urgent is a cop out. It is simply too easy and justified in the minds of the foolish. Everyone can agree when something is urgent. Urgent trumps important every time. Everyone gets heated over a crisis. Mistakes happen. People miss things. Urgent is easy because everyone agrees about Urgent. Urgent is vital. It is pressing ... Urgent sucks.

No, I’d rather languish in Important. One can study what is right and correct with the appropriate amount of time. Important is weighty. It is central and valuable. Nothing about Important says late and frantic. Important deserves your time and energy. Urgent just drains it.

July 30, 2011 (part 2)

2011-07-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

July 30, 2011

2011-07-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

Daddyism. A Father's Day Tradition Like No Other.

2011-06-13T17:06:00.000-07:00

As another Father’s Day approaches, one muddles over the unfortunate things inflicted on the kids over the years, despite a Dad's best efforts and intentions to do the right thing in the right way. Given the relevant, recent history with a divorce and now a new marriage, I worry if my own issues might have permitted the kids to fall a bit into the cracks.

I should have known things had gone off-kilter when my Father’s Day gift a year or so back was a glass butter dish. A butter dish! Seriously! This kids crack falling thing is not the most celebratory thought right before another Father’s Day. Yet, it is just another part of Daddyism.

Daddyism relies on a heavy concept that, all in all, the kids are relatively resilient. Whatever mistakes and missteps their Dad makes, the mere attempt at doing the right thing as a father seems to prevail. One can only hope.

June 19th, 2011 is my 15th Father’s Day celebration. The number itself means very little except to offer a bench mark in time. It is easy to get caught up in it all, to look back upon experiences and events and feel time as fleeting. Looking forward to events yet to come there are driving lessons and SATs; high school graduations and proms; and, just a handful of remaining family vacations around the corner. All too soon (poof!) they should be off to college where both the fatherly influences and inadequacies shall have a relatively zero mitigated impact (thank goodness). Then, if history predicts anything, it’ll be another ten years before the kids return to perhaps see ‘ol Dad wasn’t/isn’t so bad after all.

The other day, I saw where the Houston Zoo had a rather unique day for Dads planned. Kid’s can name an endangered toad after their Dad and celebrate that splendor. How appropriate and funny and a wonderful illustration of a hidden truth. Somewhere in the layers and layers of parental phobias and decisions and daddy dogma, there is an uplifting calm, not to mention hilarity, in the humanity of Daddyism. I embrace that concept and philosophy, completely.

Daddyism holds perspective power. Most of us don’t truly realize our own kid-dom. We are mostly a product of the chronological listing of stretched stories and half-truths. Our memories change, filter, and reprioritize the important who-ness, what-ness, where-ness, when-ness, why-ness, and how much-ness (as well as, bad ass-ness) of our histories. Much is forgotten in the timelines from diapers to driving. We watch it happen, take a few notes, document it all as best we can, but the minutiae and wonderful details get lost on the shuffle to get to the inevitable what is next in life. Yet, the best part of Daddyism is our front row seat to watch it all unfold so we can, hopefully, talk about it later.

And it does unfold in strange ways. What seems like yesterday, I remember a small, chubby baby barely able comprehend the beauty of a simple fart, yet smiles anyway. Today, we belly laugh as we quickly roll down the windows of the car, knowing full well the profound accomplishment. Now THAT is human progress; an illustration of the overwhelming human experience boiled down into chunks one can more readily digest.

Yes, true Dads laugh. A lot! They harbor no overwhelming sorrow. No obvious fear. They are compassionate, yet strong. There is no status-envy as one would be hard pressed to think of a more cherished position for a man. True Dads love unconditionally. We promote productive, positive possibilities and a propensity for play, purposefully.

Sounds fun, doesn’t it? For those non-Daddyism endorsers, there isn’t a much more compelling argument for or against Daddyism than that. Daddyism doesn’t offer a cure-all to what ails you; quite the opposite, actually. It sells to Dads that front row seat perspective as the days, months, and years parade by offering you rare conclusions or quick fix solutions, but a heck of a lot of enjoyment along the way.

The risk is that, one way or the other, the kids might turn out to be just like you. Not the solace you are looking for, huh?! No harm, no foul. Life is elusive in handing one explanations and directions for happiness, significance, and reason. The Zen in me says, right there, THAT IS Daddyism in and of itself.

Maybe, the only real risk is that one day the kids offer you thanks by naming an endangered toad after you as you bask in the immense capacity of their love. This thought gives me hope. It is better than a butter dish and that there is progress. They are learning, in spite my fatherly falters and many misgivings.

Happy Daddyism and a wonderful Father’s Day to the Dads out there.

Happy International Chardonnay Day

2011-05-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I cook whatever goes with a good glass of Chardonnay.

Not the First Time, But the Last

2011-05-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

The Past is the textbook of tyrants; the Future the Bible of the Free. Those who are solely governed by the Past stand like Lot's wife, crystallized in the act of looking backward, and forever incapable of looking before. - Herman Melville, White Jacket

Memories are odd. Old habits die hard. But, what if IT was the last time? Would you do IT differently?

I had a quick trip up to San Francisco the other day and took the opportunity to search the FM band for music. A random radio station and a familiar song by The Who jogged the memory. I was transported back to the last time I stood in my basement hideaway in Michigan, right before the big move to California and my Junior year in high school. Everything was boxed up save for one record album and the stereo. I’d been unyielding in leaving the two items last and not get packed until the last possible minute. Before unplugging and walking out of my room and the house, I needed to say goodbye. I guess fifteen year old boys can be sentimental that way sometimes. So, the memory revealed “The Song is Over” as a personal, musical soundtrack to the end of a Michigan era. That song and that moment are one in my head forever.

There are moments in time denoted as an ending. Monumental endings are rare, but regularly celebrated or marked. Minor endings get washed away regularly. Maybe they shouldn’t be.

This could be the last EHTH blog post (doubtful, but it could happen). Maybe I should write this post differently, no?!

This could be the last Mac I own (doubtful, but things do change). I’ve also watched friends and colleagues convert to the Mac, yet there was not much talk about ending their PC affiliation.

That might have been the last time I imbibed a Pozo Martini (I’d hate for that to be true, yet I haven’t been out there in over three years). I remember the kids running around, a Spring day, bbq smells, and cold mason jar with bouncing olives. If I never go back, maybe that is a good last memory to file away.

Fashion IS change. It might be the last time you wear those favorite jeans. One day you may look in the mirror and see yourself in clothes from the 90s. Don’t you know the 70s are back? Maybe you should take those wonderful shoes out for one last walk around the block, just to say thanks for kickin’ it with me, before you casually chuck them in the trash.

The last time the diner club got together, it seemed unceremoniously forced and not fresh. That is no way to hang with longtime friends. That simply can’t be the last one. I won’t allow it. We should treat each gathering as if it was a special event as it very well could be monumental.

My wife and I just returned from a Marriage Encounter program, a retreat in the hills near San Juan Bautista. We had an incredible journey together, one which shall be cherished and referenced for years to come. One of the program questions asked, “What would you say to your spouse if you knew this was the last time the two of you could be together?” We wrote to each other, we talked about it afterwards, and we reached new levels of love and understanding. If something were to tragically happen, she knows now. But that is a tough question to talk about much less live with on a daily basis.

Flip it around. Think about it another way. We covet our cell phones like life itself, yet two years later we throw it away because the plan says we can. I change glasses every time I get the yearly vision check without batting an eye. We seek new wineries because vintages and winemakers change (and they no longer make that oaky, buttery chardonnay anymore, and have gone all stainless and minerally… bleah!). Google or Bing, does it matter?

Brand identity has become elusive in a disposable society, not always, but often. And, we rarely denote the switch from one thing to another.

If you knew today was your last chance or your last time with something, would you do it differently? I think the answer is yes.

So, maybe the saying should be changed from “live and let live” to “live and let go” … with everything.

Ode to the Professional Services Marketer

2011-04-25T05:16:00.000-07:00

Inside this whirlwind box,
Come chosen words from text.
Thwarting the pressure of time from clocks,
Vigilant, venturesome, (sigh) vexed.

To quote an old professor,
“It’s ‘sheet’, but kind of nice.”
Encouragement from the chief oppressor,
“Well, just come down in price.”

The thing about that is this,
It is not just about a sell.
Mere honest words can bridge an abyss,
To ameliorate clientele.

Marketing is the conduit,
To tell the truth. To provide.
Linking ours, to theirs, to a formidable fit,
To Make! To create with pride!

It is you, our fearless Rainmaker,
Entrusted with our time.
Those things you say, those things you hear,
Marketer words can only rhyme.

Our process graphs the real you,
Highlighting the needs of them.
Side by side. An adventure for two.
A Project! Our World! A Gem!

So, hold up your torch. It is our fire.
Be great. Be honest. Forthright.
Guide them to you via what they desire,
With our message derived by that light.

The Heart During Spring

2011-03-18T17:28:00.000-07:00

In spring, the heart seems limitless,
Knowing no boundaries of soul.
It’s busy with thought and activity,
And hungers to leap all anew.

Yet, springtime tenders insecurity.
Cruel cold fronts blowing hearts back to winter.
The wild spring heart tethered to dreams,
Often flooded, thwacked back in retreat.

Now is the time to get things in order.
Design schemes. Create goals and ideals.
Mend that that has been torn.
Test the resiliency of being.

The heart in spring has a challenge,
To follow the beat and the Spirit,
To see and to test. Study and appraise.
To prepare for life and love in the summer.

Make!

2011-02-22T12:28:00.000-08:00

The pseudo, New Year’s resolution was to (re) Make. To Make!

Making is what artists and craftspeople and musicians and chefs and winemakers do. They Make!

It is not the canvas or the instrument or baton or cut of meat or varietal of grapes. It is not whether it hangs on a wall or you consume it. No. Art is not those things.

What matters most is the artistic process. It is the act of making, overcoming inner doubt or an unusual harvest. It is cooking with limited spices, yet creating immense flavor. It is music created by scientists and lead by an artist who knows how to make the most out of what they offer. It is painting from the heart to purge out an image ingrained in the brain. It is the blend, the touch, the subtlety.

Art appreciation is undoubtedly an important end product. Acceptance, kudos, and applause is always the sugar on top. But artistic creation, overcoming risk, and making something happen is in the soul of the artist.

Make!

In Seeking the Open Road

2011-02-04T12:50:00.000-08:00

My son is nearly five months away from getting his learners permit to drive. Oh, the Horror!

Nearly every day (when the kids are with me) between the little morning and evening commute between home and work/school the talk centers on driving. It is a good thing as it keeps the minor, bad driving habits in check. A father must set a good example. And as a result, there have been some lessons learned.

It’s become apparent tailgating isn’t so much the need for speed but a desire to get out and away from traffic. The open road is the true desire. The ironic part is once the open road is discovered a comfortable (and legal) speed feels better. I actually slow down once I can get out from a cluster of cars. Cruise control rules (and would be nice to have in my little roller skate of a car).

Hmmm!

It appears the same thing applies with work where time is money. Go, go, go is the normal mode. Quick decisions, cold edits, and often knee-jerk responses tend to rule. It is what the typical manager demands. Yet, when time allows for a more thoughtful approach, one that is planned out, the quality is better. The open road, so to speak, allows for a better, warmer experience to take over.

Home life isn’t much different. Run, run, run translates into high gear constantly. Yet, when time is shared over a meal together with good conversation or an outing where the family can relax and enjoy each other’s company, the better feelings prevail.

A competitive person, I am not. I “Mr. T” the fool who feels compelled to jockey, maneuver, and nearly clip the front bumper to get in front of me, despite my tailgating tendencies.

Most people need competition to help dictate the speed. I don’t. I choose cruise control for a better experience when it is allowed. That is why I tailgate, to get into the clear. Honestly!

Wedding Vow Caveats I Expect to Hear This Summer

2011-01-18T17:28:00.000-08:00

I do ...
... provided you delete the Bay City Rollers from your iPod list.
... except in years when the Detroit Lions win the SuperBowl.
... until you start wearing sansabelt slacks. Then all bets are off.
... assuming the statute of limitations on old, college stories is five.
... for as long as you rub my feet.
... given all Vegas weekends include me, a nice hotel, and huevos rancheros.
... as long as you don’t blog it to the world.

Old Spin Magazine Quote

2011-01-14T12:15:00.000-08:00

I was in the car on the way to dropping the kids off at school the other morning. Elvis Costello blaring on the radio. The kids wanted to know with whom I was singing along. My explanation was fuzzy, at best.

Today, I stumbled upon this old quote. It made my laugh out loud.

"Rock critics like Elvis Costello because rock critics look like Elvis Costello."
- David Lee Roth in Spin Magazine, March 1988

November 9, 2012

2011-01-11T17:21:00.000-08:00

Date is now on the Calendar...

BOND 23 RELEASE DATE ANNOUNCED
LOS ANGELES, CA (JANUARY 11, 2011) – Michael G. Wilson and Barbara Broccoli of EON Productions, together with Gary Barber and Roger Birnbaum, Co-Chairmen and Chief Executive Officers of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc., today announced that the 23rd James Bond film will commence production in late 2011 for a worldwide release on November 9, 2012. Daniel Craig will be returning as the legendary British secret agent, with Sam Mendes directing a screenplay written by Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and John Logan.

A Thought

2011-01-08T07:08:00.000-08:00

It has occured to me giving something your time is not even close to giving something your attention.

Very different things, indeed.

That Could Leave a Mark

2011-01-06T12:18:00.000-08:00

A thumb gets slammed in a locked car door leaving a purple thumbnail. Ouch! That’s going to leave a mark.

The wind catches that same car door and bashes it into a colleague’s mirror. Ding! That leaves a mark.

She bonks her head on a half open door in the dark. Ouch! That’s going to leave a mark.

A stain is left on the kitchen table from something that spilled. It is a permanent mark. What’s the saying? It’s not a party until …

The kids play basketball with white soled shoes, so they don’t leave marks from the action on the court.

Then there are tattoos.

What is the quote used in this blog before? From The Replacements and Shane Falco,

“Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory ... lasts forever.”

In the end, all one has is the glory; the memories, moments, expectations, and influences left with others. It is fairly easy to get crazed up about the daily social schedule, status, the perfect house decorations, and expensive gifts at Christmas.

Ultimately, that is all fuzzy stuff. In the end it is not real. The impact of a life and work is the mark one leaves with other people. It could be the art one makes or a simple, honest handshake. It might be a powerful seminar that gets one pumped to work even harder or a quiet road trip with a lover that can/will be talked about for years to come. It is a memory of yard work with dad and cooking with mom. It is keeping a promise and, hopefully, the strength in telling the kids ‘no’ sometimes. And, in return it’s Zuzu’s petals.

It might be simplistic, but the experiences one creates are definitive. To slip silently and unnoticed into the grave might be the worst scenario of all. So, make your good mark. Today! Everyday!

Bumps happen. Things get fixed and forgotten. But leaving a mark in this scrapbook called life gets talked about. Make it a good one.

Maybe This Year, Then

2011-01-05T12:17:00.000-08:00

Maybe this year,

The economy completely recovers.
The $300 I loaned out is returned (after two years).
The go-ahead for that next big project is granted.
Family life stabilizes.
The kids turn into adventurous eaters.
Technology mastery is achieved.
The commute becomes milder.
Leisure time is prevalent.
Gas prices drop while the mpg triples.
The housing market normalizes.
Global warming reverses.

Then, I can,

Paint and draw.
Write and blog.
Discover new music, live music.
Read.
Garden and grow things.
Build and construct.
Travel and explore.
Cook new things.

The point is none of the Maybes are likely to happen. So, why wait on the stuff I really want make. Remember Rule number Six.

A Group of .... Is called a ....

2010-11-04T17:43:00.000-07:00

I just read a piece from an email subscription of which I belong. It listed the following “groups”.
- A group of unicorns is called a blessing.
- Twelve or more cows are known as a flink.
- A group of frogs is called an army.
- A group of rhinos is called a crash.
- A group of kangaroos is called a mob.
- A group of whales is called a pod.
- A group of geese is called a gaggle.
- A group of ravens is called a murder.
- A group of officers is called a mess.
- A group of larks is called an exaltation.
- A group of owls is called a parliament.

That being said, we are missing a great opportunity here. Here are a few I’d like to start using on a daily basis.

- A group of 15 year old slacker boys should be called a loaf.
- A group of 12 year old girls at a birthday party sleepover should be called a shriek.
- The water-cooler crowd at the office should be a rumor.
- Two or more adults all posting their whereabouts by cell phones at the same time should be called a twitter. (Oh, wait)
- More than three winemakers together in a room should be called a spit. Or (this one is not mine), terroirists.
- If you are a Mac, your friends are all Macs, and you all talk Mac together you are a core.
- Smokers huddled together outside of bars should be a cloud.

Add yours in the comments.

If You Take Your Ball and Go Home, They Still Win

2010-11-04T12:55:00.000-07:00

“Bad politicians are sent to Washington by good people who don't vote.” - William E. Simon

The final numbers aren’t in yet for national voter turnout Tuesday as absentees are still being counted. The preliminary numbers vary depending on the area and the source. Some places were up to about 43% or more, which is pretty good for a mid-term election.

But understand one thing. You suck if you didn’t vote on Tuesday. You’re disastrously foolish if you believe your abstinence from the ballot box is teaching those darn politicians a lesson. Sending them a message by NOT voting is like taking your ball and going home. You do know we just continue to play without you, right?! And we talk about you when you leave saying things like, “What a spoil sport!” Or, “That guy is a total downer! Who invited her anyway?!” Better yet, “What a whiner!”

See, that is the point. The politicians really don’t want you to cast a vote. They don’t want to hear you whine. They hold more power when they don’t have to answer to your complaints, criticisms, opinions, or your vote. So quite honestly, the best way for them to avoid you is get you to go home or walk away.

Getting you to stay home is pure marketing genius. It is negative marketing at its core, but genius none-the-less. It is the foundation of the attack ads where the goal between both candidates is to generate so much bad will in the public that you give up altogether. You walk away from it all in order to avoid the whole uncomfortable mess.

What I don’t understand is why you haven’t figured this out yet. You are being manipulated. You are being purposefully pushed out of the system. Hell, they are giving you their own ball so that you will go home and not play. Then they can do whatever the hell they want or can habitually get away with.

So, to put a better marketing spin on this whole voting responsibility thing, let’s start with this one. Voting is completely free and there are parts of the world where a citizen has no say. So this is highly valuable, this free voting thing. Where else can you say Free = Valuable !?

Even better, given the absentee ballot you can vote at home. You can talk about the candidates and issues with a significant other or a phone call with a friend.

Voting doesn’t take a ton of time. In fact, it is approximately the length of time it takes to sit on the couch and enjoy a beer. Snacks are optional.

Voting is easy. Remember the ScanTron test. You can fill in a bubble with No. 2 pencil, yes?

The hardest part is having an opinion. And in most cases, having an opinion means you need to know the reasons and justifications to back it up. However, here is a “Get Out of Jail Free Card” for that one. Voting can be as private as you want it to be. Let your vote do the talking for you. Nobody else has a right to know how you voted. It is just between you and your ScanTron.

Ultimately, even if you are fairly disgusted about the options today, vote. Find a differentiator between the options and vote, if nothing but for the least offensive choice. But, vote. Stay in the game.

Although, when the follow-up pollsters call your house to ask how and why you voted, tell them you voted for the candidate/issue with the most positive message. If nothing else, that alone might make significant changes for the better.

Cleanup the Morning After

2010-11-01T12:58:00.000-07:00

The Trees Have Spoken

2010-10-12T17:34:00.000-07:00

"Mister!", he said with a sawdusty sneeze,
"I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees.
I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues,
And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs" --
He was very upset as he shouted and puffed --
"What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?"
– The Lorax, Dr. Seuss (1971)

Long gone are the days where the newspaper was picked up from the bottom of the driveway, de-dripped from the sprinkler overflow, and tucked under an arm to be dried out and leisurely perused during the hour-long work break for lunch. The romance of the paper is virtually gone. It now arrives on demand with a smart phone and free wi-fi.

Newspaper racks slowly disappear much like the demise of the payphone booth. And the newspaper industry is rather worried, according to a friend in the industry. It is assumed the same goes for the book publishers and the countless magazines strewn in racks in the grocery store. Rumor has it they might seek an Obama bailout.

And yet, the old Once-ler knows ...

The news hasn’t gone away. Authors still write. Fashion, cooking, cars, and gossip thrive as always. The old Once-ler knows the ideas and images and writing still prevail. They may, in fact, routinely crank ‘em out today at record levels. The Lorax would be the first one to exclaim, “And, it is about time!”, as it is the cost of paper and their delivery that makes the economics of the newspaper/book/magazine difficult.

It is the trees that handcuff the publishing industries to the past. It is the paper that keeps them old world. Take away the paper from the mix and one is left with a less expensive way to deliver the same content. It is quicker and more accessible, and requires the producers to work with more urgency. That isn’t a bad thing.

There is more to worry about than the life expectancy of a paper product. The old guard resists change. That is obvious. The new world embraces it. That is less obvious.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
Nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”
– The Lorax, Dr. Seuss (1971)

The good Dr. was wrong to certain degree. The majority does indeed care. A lot. Though they may not really know it. Most endorse change. They do care. A tree told me.

Now, where is that Barbaloot suit? There exists an urgency to find a creative Halloween costume.

White Dog Down ( ? - 2010)

2010-05-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

Ode to the Grape

2010-05-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

Deep within a sense of place,
Our region, terrior, A.V.A.,
A round, near perfect, juicy embrace,
Of an orb to cause a soiree.

Tenderly squished by bladder press,
Or punched by paddle and pole,
These winemakers, nay, artists profess,
Labors of love. They shall extol.

Extensions of a miracle, squeezed.
Acidic. Earth. Alive.
From these spheres, the Gods appeased,
A complex nose to revive.

Autumn’s toil turns fiery kiss,
With a swish, a sniff, and a taste.
Elements in the glass reminisce,
Of past years. We are graced.

The spirit thirsts for answers, facts,
Among a throng of friends.
With moments in time, a place to relax,
This earthly splendor transcends.

So with glass in hand ponder this,
The brilliance from the vine.
Offer up a smile, a kiss,
A toast. Enjoy this wine.

Only 7%

2010-04-13T12:54:00.000-07:00

"44% of eighth-graders in Singapore scored at the most advanced level in math, as did 38% in Taiwan. Only 7% of U.S. students scored that well." - Trends in International Mathematics and Science Study

I don’t care what the debate is with budgets at our local, state, and national level. Pulling money from education, classrooms, teachers, and students is NOT an option.

Planning to Sail

2010-04-02T12:56:00.000-07:00

I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it - but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor. - Oliver Wendel Holmes

Sailing is a passion garnered from years of muscling the mainsheet against the force of the wind on the sail while countering the impact of the waves with the push and pull of a rudder in a fourteen foot sailboat. That activity forged a minimal, yet ever present childhood ambition to become a pirate. Combine that slight daydream with a rather low level fear of moderate heights with a distinct aversion to scrubbing floor boards and my place on a pirate ship is easily the crow’s nest. (Add a monkey or a parrot and one can complete the picture.)

First, the 360 view must be incredible. Watching the horizon line may sound boring to some, but it must be better than the one-thousandth viewing of a sea of car license plates in front of me at either end of the day. Second, rum could be fun up there in the crow’s nest, me thinks.

But third and more to the point, I’m a planner. In a world of vast unpredictability and the ever present danger of that which spawns mutiny, I find tremendous comfort in seeing what lies ahead. I like knowing what way we’re going.

Every six months, the blank monthly calendars are printed and a plan is laid out: the weeks the kids are under roof are in green highlighter, what events and concerts would be fun are in bright red, and the times that are most advantages to take precious vacation time are carefully lined out in yellow.

At times, this feels overly planned out. All the spontaneity life offers is sucked out of life to be listed as a monotonous to-do list. But that outlook is resisted at every turn.

No, these actions with a calendar are just pre-thought out opportunities. Preparing for the struggles against the daily forces, the wind and the waves, the pull and the thump, no, they are just part of it. Those happen and are organic to the plan. Sailing through it all is impossible without some preparation. And, I like watching the horizon line.

About a Verb and a Slogan

2010-03-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

You don’t understand how men work. We don’t give each other gifts. We pretty much ignore each other ’til somebody scores a touchdown. - Red Forman, That '70s Show

Rarely are purely things impressionable. Cars, computers, phones, clothes, jewelry, cigars, wine ... Those are nouns. Nouns have little impact in the real world.

Oh, preferences on things are fine and warranted. But, I’ll take the verb any day.

Phone is a noun. Texting and posting is a verb.
Wine is a noun. Tasting is a verb.
Paint and canvas are nouns. Painting is a verb.
Thai Food is a noun. Cooking is involved and requires action (a verb). Eating is a verb. Sharing is an even better one.
The yard and a garden are nouns. Mowing and planting and growing are verbs.

This culture has it backwards. We should care more about actions, happenings, interaction, and change. Seek experiences and events, not the noun itself.

Take a car, for example. Look at a 1965 Silver Cloud Rolls Royce. It is a beautiful car, no doubt. But it holds little value as a noun. It sits in a garage. It is a lump of metal worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. But, throw in a verb (the action) and DRIVE it. Road-trip it with your mom and dad from Palm Springs to the mid-west, and that evokes stories and memories.

Diamonds. They are expensive pieces of carbon. They are worth a monetary value based on a set criteria (the four C’s). Yet, shopping for them, seeking out the perfect gem that speaks to you is an adventure. Finding the diamond holder (the ring) and feeling the adrenaline rush before “Yes”, that is the experience.

MasterCard has it right. Sort of. There are indeed some things money can’t buy. For everything else, well, you know. The concept here is that people don’t always buy stuff for the stuff itself but more often than not get it for the immaterial meanings that attach itself to or are expressed by the stuff.

Verbs, indeed, are priceless.

Touchdown!

Ouch! ... Thank you, Sir. May I Have Another.

2010-03-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

They are the same problems only bigger. So, we’re told we must work harder. Now hard work is good work. But continuously banging a head against a wall is just stupid.

School Districts are required to meet budget. So, the Board lays off teachers, grow class sizes, and ask the remaining teachers to work harder.

The database at work is still in disarray after years and years of (un)coordinated attempts. Yet, people work harder to force in more data. Same ‘ol, same ‘ol.

The fastest route to work for the morning commute is clogged due to construction in town. The double lanes have been reduced down to one, long, slow moving line. Deal with it!

Lecturing teenage kids about cleaning up after they have finished with some project or snack has little effect. So, lecturing harder is the result. Apparently, teenagers are hard of hearing.

A bottle of wine recently purchased was corked, both of them. Is there a risk in buying another bottle of the same wine from the winery again?

Conversations with an individual are continuously hostile, but necessary. It is the same issues, same results every time.

Stop! This is stupid. Simply trying harder using the same old methods doesn’t solve the problem when the results stay the same. If banging a head against the wall is the routine, banging harder isn’t the answer. Try something different.

School Districts could do with some creative budgeting in these hard times. Old, stale, budgeting tricks of cutting dollars where it hurts the kids most is wrong. Handicapping teachers is counterproductive and it is making the quality of the kid’s education worse. The classroom environment needs more, not less. Yet, options such as parcel taxes and furloughs remain taboo subjects and disregarded. As a parent, I’d gladly front another $20 on a parcel tax and I’d think the communities would be wise enough to understand a quality K-12 education is a huge community asset.

We’ve been haphazardly filing data in a database system for years. It isn’t all that reliable. But, it isn’t a broken database program. It is the process for inputting the data that needs changing. The change is in HOW the data is implemented..

After 9 years at the same job, the car practically drives itself to and from work on its own. If there was ever an autopilot for an automobile, this commute would be a prime example. However, there ARE other routes around the new construction with only a minute or two of difference. And, 15 minutes earlier the traffic is amazingly light.

The kids hear “Blah blah blah, Ginger. Blah blah blah, Ginger”. The lecture has lost its luster. So, the tact is changing (while remaining calmer and preserving some sanity at the same time).

The cork is losing its romance as “corked” bottles (those that smell like a wet basement or socks after a morning workout) seem to be more prevalent these days. The purchasing power is currently aligning with that of the screwcap and synthetic corks. There ARE other choices than opening a stinky bottle of wine.

The point is: doing the wrong thing harder is not the answer. Go ahead if you desire. Bang your head against the wall with greater force. But, I say that is wrong option. Think outside the box. Be creative. Try something different. Because what’s happening right now is not working and it hurts.

X

2010-02-23T12:27:00.000-08:00

This is a story about Roberta.

Roberta is a gadget girl. She can’t live without ‘X’. Pick any ‘X’ as long as ‘X’ resembles a cell phone or laptop computer or an iPod. It could be a GPS system in her new car. It could be the ‘X’ in Xbox. Roberta gets a new camera or recording device every time new technology leaps forward. Roberta is a Mac, though she also owns a ThinkPad for work, a Kindle, and a Blackberry (as a backup to her iPhone). Roberta travels with an extra suitcase just to transport the miscellaneous devices and plethora of needed power cables. Even her cat has a micro-chip imbedded under its fur as a digital cat tag in case the animal gets lost or stuck in a tree someplace.

In the ‘70s, Roberta was the first girl on the block to get Pong. She had both Beta and VHS and an eight-track in her Camero. She was the first to jog with a clunky Sony Walkman. Roberta was cool (in her bell-bottom jeans and feathered Farah Fawcett hair). She had a lot of friends and admirers (and a daddy with a lot of cash).

Not much has changed for Roberta. She leads the charge in the digital age. She is a technological, Charles Darwin study in the flesh. She simply can’t live without the next ‘X’ today. She depends on it. It is her livelihood.

Roberta was at the local wine bar a few months ago. She was there on a stool at the bar, socially active and engaged in the scene, yet paying her bills electronically from her phone. She sent the transfer from her bank with a push of button on the tiny screen, twittered her location to her friends, and then casually sipped from her glass of Spanish Grenache. She talks, techs, and sips at the same time. Roberta is impressive.

On her way home she stopped by her neighborhood TJ’s to get a quick something to heat up for dinner. Given all her talents and good looks, Roberta doesn’t cook and her hyper-efficient refrigerator with the digital blue screen on the door houses little for actual sustenance inside. In the parking lot, for some unknown reason, she left her purse in the car, opting for a moment or two where she didn’t have to shoulder all that stuff in her bag. And, while she browsed the isles of packaged food with only her debit card in her back pocket, her car was stolen.

Imagine what might happen if one’s entire digital and electronic life vanished. What would you do? How does one repair the personal, albeit technical, violation of one’s life?

For Roberta it started out with a private moment on the curb next to the vacant car slot and a recently purchased bottle of beer. She didn’t panic, but she did start counting all the missing gadgets: both cell phones, her iPod, two laptop computers, her camera, numerous thumb drives with vital information (some classified), a Kindle, and one military grade Taser ( a gift). Oh, and the car. She did still have her debt card.

So, she trudged back inside the store and asked for help and a phone. The first call went to the police. The second call she placed to work, as she was at that very moment taking a two week vacation.

I’m sorry to say, there is no end to this story. Yet!

The car was never found. Her gadgets have never been recovered. And Roberta is still on vacation. The cat is still home. Somebody, I’m sure, is feeding it.

Last week, a small crowd of friends gathered around that neighborhood bar. They read from a postcard with a Mexican stamp. The postmark showed it was mailed from the Yucatan. All it said was, “Dear Friends, Life has improved. I miss you guys. But, I have to go. My next margarita has arrived and I want to finish the last chapter from my paperback before the sun sets. Take care.” And then it was signed with an ‘X’.

Roberta is not returning texts and emails. So, nobody can confirm if 'X' is Roberta.

Can you get to that? I want to know

2010-02-18T12:29:00.000-08:00

I once had a life, or rather
Life had me
I was one among many
Or at least I seemed to be
Well, I read an old quotation in a book just yesterday
Said "Gonna reap just what you sow,
The debts you make you have to pay."
Can you get to that?
Can you get (I wanna know)
I want to know if you can get to that (hey!) (get to that!)
Can you get (can you get to that)(I wanna know)I want to know if you can get to that – Funkadelic

I must admit to bit of writer’s block, although it feels more encompassing. My computer archive folder with all my “thoughts on paper” looks more like a smattering of words on the screen with little current meaning. Now that I have (almost) completely unwrapped my brain from last month’s move and merge, I look at myself and feel nowhere close to any expected routine. Granted, there has been little regular practice of any sort for a year or so now. And it isn’t just the writing now either. Cooking, exercising, music, reading, painting/drawing, as well as this creative outlet called writing, have all fallen off the regular radar.

But I have to admit, I feel ready. I want to get to that.

A day or two ago, I read in a fitness magazine (while in line at the grocery store) that even if one doesn’t feel like exercising or working out at least get up and make the attempt, that each individual has a personal “point of no return,” where, once you’ve reached it you’ll complete the workout. For me, my “point of no return” for exercise is simply getting my feet on the floor at 5 a.m. and out from the warmth of the snuggle. Once upright in the morning, I have no problem with the rest of the exercise program (as long as my iPod is charged).

Cooking still happens out of necessity, love, and fatherly duty. But it is far away from the way it used to be organized. I once had a chalkboard in the kitchen that displayed the scheduled meals for the week. Originally, this was out of necessity in order to avoid the post-work “what do you want to have for dinner?” conversation, the post-work run to the store, and the subsequent unhealthy options that inevitably became dinner due to the lack of time. With the chalkboard, there was no stall to think and debate. I simply made what was planned and on the board. Early Saturday mornings the quiet of the house is rather Zen-like with a cup of coffee, the weekly grocery ads spread out on the kitchen table, and blank menu board awaiting the plan for the week’s dinner menu/shopping list. In fact, the Saturday morning ritual only got better as The Girlie joined in on the tradition. So, what is the P.O.N.R. here? It is simply the chalkboard. Unfortunately, at the last house I created a bad, bumpy chalkboard with blackboard paint. I’ve been artistically offended at my own handy work since then. So, using it ceased. As a result, the weekly routine suffered. So, this weekend the board is getting sanded (after some quiet time with a cup of coffee and the grocery ads). I can get to that.

I can get to that!

Painting

2010-01-17T22:28:00.000-08:00

It is not rocket science. It is painting a wall (or eight). I’m comfortable with a brush in hand with a color at the tip. So, why do I despise painting walls in a space to be inhabited?

Time!

Quite simply, I want to do the job correctly and have NEVER had the time to do just that. Granted, I’m not fast. So, when time trumps quality, history has beaten me into cutting corners instead of doing what I know I am capable of doing. And thus mistakes happen.

However, this time around I enjoyed the process tremendously. I did hide. I escaped to go pack up a house I’m vacating. I ran errands that needed running. I cooked instead of painting, no doubt. Yet, I’ll argue that rewarding the painters with my version of mac’n’chicken’n’cheese was well worth the effort.

But when I did put the brush in my hand, I enjoyed today’s painting. There was no rush. Just Jillian and me with a similar goal to give the kids the room they envisioned. I think in the long run we did just that. However, it wouldn’t have happened without her vision, her patience, and her love.

So, yes, what can we paint together next?

Transformation or Irritation

2010-01-06T21:42:00.000-08:00

I had a long conversation with my father over the holidays. My mom and fiancee escaped to the other room as it sounded more like a squabble over computer issues. But, it wasn’t. It was just two men trying to make sure each other was understood or simply heard. It was really a discussion about the differences of our generations.

I’ve thought a lot about that conversation as the new decade begins and believe dad and I fall into two, distinct, generational directions or trends. Directions I don’t see easily turning around.

I call the first generational direction Transformation (or a change into something improved or useful). I’ll call the other direction Irritation (or impatient and exasperation).

Transformation happens. Growth happens. Change happens. Our technical infrastructure is simply massive today and getting bigger (and smaller). Take, for example, my phone. Cell phones that take videos/pictures, surf the internet, send text messages, calendar items, retrieve/send email, calculate, look up words, record grocery lists, store music, and play games are common place. The newest Generation Z kids (born from the mid 1990s to mid 2000s) fluently work technology without even needing a lesson (though they barely remember 911 or comprehend the historical perspective). They are now about to graduate high school and enter the work force. And I have to say, they understand the concepts of Transformation. And you know what? They embrace change because that is all they know. GenY and GenX (me) get it, too, although in distinctly different ways.

The alternative direction is Irritation. Frustration happens, too. It is only human to believe we’ll live and dream forever and that we can accomplish everything we want if we just work hard at it. However, as the Baby Boomers get older I fear the reality is they can’t keep up. Today’s tech world moves too fast. And whining about it doesn’t help because nobody can slow it down (though virus designers do try). To make matters worse, the Gen X, Y, and Zers blink unknowingly as teachers. There is no text book or manual anymore. If you have a question, there exists only a quick link to a help menu or a phone call to person in India (speaking of irritation). The best answer you can get from a GenXYZer is to just “figure it out”. That is what we do.

I guess the best answer to my dad is to draw an analogy. If one truly wants to learn a language, get into a total immersion program. If one wants to learn Spanish, go live in Spain.

Generationally speaking, we are all shaped by the events, leaders, developments and trends of our time. The GenXers like me, dubbed in part as the internet generation, are fairly comfortable with change and are naturally going to align ourselves with Transformation. The GenYers, having started the Facebook, MySpace, blogs, and instant communication technologies love “the next new thing”. So, they are going to chose Transformation. And these GenZ kids are simply amazing to watch “go”.

The Baby Boomers do have a choice. And being irritated about the ongoing transformations won't get you credit for doing both.

End of the Year Traditions

2009-12-30T12:25:00.000-08:00

My friend Andy and I used to say, “Once is fun. Twice is tradition.” For a long time, we sort of lived by that rule. And, although Andy is no longer with us, some of our traditions still remain in my life.

I distinctly remember celebrating and talking about New Year’s traditions with him a number of years back (during our weekly tradition of a Friday after work beer at Spike’s Place). I was not convinced of the requirement to sing “Auld Lang Syne” at midnight now that Guy Lombardo was no longer living. Especially given the song is renown for containing the most forgettable lyrics in the English language. In typical Andy fashion, he convinced me otherwise.

See, although the song starts out questioning whether old times should be forgotten, the song is generally accepted as a call to remember those long standing friendships. To prove his point, Andy picked up his freshly topped Spike’s mug, foam running down the sides, and rather loudly sang the second verse:

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup
And surely I’ll buy mine.
And we’ll take a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Then with even greater gusto, Andy finished with an almost operatic pose missing only the Viking helmet:

And there’s a hand my trusty friend
And give us a hand o’ thine
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
For auld lang syne.

Now, I’m not sure he nailed the lyrics quite right, but bar Patrons from tables all around applauded. Andy downed his beer and sat with a great sigh into his bench, a big smile, and a gleam in his eye. His point was true.

Most of my New Year’s traditions have eroded over the past few years, obviously. As for this year, traditions are enthusiastically starting anew. 2009 will go down in the annals as the Year of Transition. I’m content to hang with the kids, fiancé, and hopefully a few close friends to usher in a new 2010. I’ll think of all my friends and loved ones scattered all across the county and take a cup o’kindess yet, for auld lang syne.

Better yet, I’ll make it a double, another right good-will draught. Because, once is fun, Andy. But twice is tradition.

The Gift

2009-12-15T00:01:00.000-08:00

It is Christmas Eve. I could be in for a long night.

There is one present remaining on my list. It is an important one. I simply can’t let her down, not after the birthday fiasco some time back. I’m better than that. So, I press on.

At one point tonight, downtown was fairly busy with frenetic shopping. But now the crowds are thinning. The men I pass are in much the same situation as me. Their eyes show a small amount of holiday cheer, another part acknowledgment of pending failure, but mostly panic. They, too, have no gift.

The women seem to be shopping in groups. They are busy, no doubt as it is a crazy night indeed. But, in them I sense calm, giddy gossip, and a couple glasses of wine. They are enjoying themselves.

And now, most of the last minute shoppers have either settled on something or found it. The streets are no longer bustling. Businesses are closing their doors, cleaning up, and preparing for a few days off to enjoy time away from work.

The cell phone store lights go off, a sure sign of my doom. The furniture store is already dark. The skate shop doesn’t make sense at this late hour and the last of the skate rats have been shooed out the door. The lingerie shop is tempting me in the open door, but that is a trap as it is a gift more for me than her. So, avoiding temptation, I duck into the card shop with a small amount of hope.

A number of weary-looking people are in line to pay thus completing their lists with trinkets and stocking stuffers. The teenage clerk behind the counter is quickly trying to dwindle the line down to a manageable group for closing. She glances my direction and sighs. I avert any eye contact only to notice a box of Valentine displays behind her on the floor, ready and waiting. The horror. The thought of a Valentines gift in just a month is disquieting and makes my heart quicken. I flee back outside. What I am looking for is not in a card shop.

The wind is cold, hinting I should be home for that long winter’s nap. I face a random, darkened display window. My reflection is a mere silhouette. I tighten my coat at my neck and breathe in and out deeply noticing the fog I make on the window. I am out of ideas and out of time. The old standby of a nice bottle of wine from Señor Juan’s Wine and Tequila Emporium is the only thing I have left. But now, surely Juan’s is closed, too.

Giving into my impending doom, I turn to notice a familiar body wandering my way. He is almost dancing in his gate. It is my Old Friend.

“Well, hello! Season’s greetings,” Old Friend says with cheer. His grasp is warm and inviting as we shake hands.

“Merry Christmas, Old Friend. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?” I inquire. Old Friend lives quite far out of town. I haven’t seen him in months and feel a pang of quilt at not having called.

“Just out and about. I thought I’d run into some friends tonight and happily got cornered at The Pub with all the joyous celebration,” he said while his hand painted a wide panoramic painting of fun in the air. I could smell the Christmas cheer oozing from his pores. A deep smile made his beard crease up into his cheeks and his eyes twinkled bright in the dark night. The big bag in his other hand proved he had finished his shopping.

“And you?” he inquires a bit too curiously.

“Last minute,” I utter a bit too softly.

“Ah, I see,” Old Friend sympathizes. “Have you been to Durango?”

I cough. “Durango? The City?” I think it is odd Old Friend might know about Durango.

“No,” he knowingly chuckles. “That new store on 13th.” He points a finger in front of my nose and over my left shoulder. I turn both to avoid getting poked and to follow his direction.

“I think they should have it,” he answers, his hands now switching duties from the weight of the bag. I notice the black, Durango brand on the bright red bag as it twists around his new grasp.

“Hmm. Really?” I continue. “A new store? Haven’t heard of it and I can’t believe I’d miss a store on 13th. What kind of store is it?”

“Tons of unique gifts. Perfect gifts. You should check it out.” Old Friend takes a step to the side and starts walking. “Come with me, I’m parked that way anyway.”

“ ‘kay,” I sort of mumble. “Where is it again?”

“Next to the wine shop, Señor Juan’s. Between the wine shop and the alley, actually. You know the wine shop, right?”

I do know of Señor Juan’s. I stop there occasionally to buy wine from my friend who runs the place. But I’m sure it is a used book store on the alley. I’m sure of it.

I fall into an even stride alongside him and am about to ask him if he really knew what he was talking about when he seemed to pick up his pace even more. Old Friend is lighter on his feet than he looks and I have to work to keep up. We hurry down the blocks of closed shops where I see not a single other person anywhere. I harbor my doubts this Durango place will be open now. But I have no other choices.

I’m a bit out of breath when we arrive at a magnificent storefront. It is the only building with lights still on and because of this it has the look and feel of a well lit snow globe in a dark room. They twinkle and wink through the bare branches of the tree on the sidewalk. I'm amazed by the abundance of gifts perfectly displayed in the window. A prominent, tall door painted in green welcomes us with an arrow stating to go around back. A ‘Fresh Paint’ sign hangs crookedly underneath in explanation.

Old Friend is already down the corridor. I round light over the door marks the rear entrance in a halo of light amongst the blackness of the alley.

“Come on,” Old Friend encourages me and darts inside. I wonder in amazement how he managed to get down the alley so fast. I follow quickly to the door and open it. A petite woman with short, red hair flits right passed me carrying a small stack of wrapped, blue boxes.

“Welcome,” she beams and continues over her shoulder with a joyous “Merry Christmas.” She hops quickly behind a counter out of sight.

I hear the familiar tinkling of a retail door bell at the front of the store and catch a glimpse of the freshly painted, green door close behind someone. I’m briefly concerned someone might have just ruined the paint job but let it go as it is of no concern of mine.

I look around for Old Friend while I unbutton my coat. The store is warm and inviting. Oddly, Old Friend is nowhere to be seen. I’m not terribly worried and, quite honestly, I’ve lost my concern as I gaze about onto some of the most amazing items I have ever seen displayed in a store.

“My name is Faith. Can I help you find something?” my little red-haired, sales lady inquires. Her head tilts a bit to one side as she smiles and tries to read my inner thoughts. I take in her stimulating aura and steal a peak at her exposed cleavage and the Rudolph necklace dangling there daring me to look at the little red nose. This woman has magic.

I glance at her perfect face with an immediate loss for words. “I’mmaa,” My hands try to talk for me and wave helplessly in the air.

“...at a loss for a gift,” I finally recover.

“After me,” she directs. I follow as Faith floats in front toward a series of shelves over on the brick wall. Her hand extends in model fashion to frame an object.

“I believe this should be the perfect item for her,” Faith smiles cheerfully.

It is perfect. I am dumbstruck and in awe.

I remove my glasses and peer closer.

“Can I hold it?” I ask as if a child wanting to hold a delicate ornament or a sleeping kitten.

Faith smiles her answer and helps me take it off the shelf. There is no doubt now. I feel the rush of excitement. I know what I have to do, yet I check the price anyway. Not that there is any doubt. At this point, money will not inhibit this purchase. This, in my hands, is pure joy. It is love. It represents all that I seek and wish to share. It is everything.

“Yes, this is it,” I state knowingly. “Will you wrap it?”

“You betcha’,” Faith snickers with a hint of mid-western lilt in her voice.

Soon enough I am at the green front door with a beautiful, red bag in my hand. I look down to the black, Durango brand and turn to say thank you, but hear the rear door open. Faith is already on to the next customer.

“Merry Christmas,” I exclaim to Faith somewhere amongst the stacks of amazing gifts by the front door.

I take one more look around and promise myself to come back before Valentine’s Day. I pull open the door and walk out into the cold wind. I button my jacket back around my neck in preparation for the jaunt back to the car. I feel light and satisfied. I am ready now.

As I step off the curb and pass the alley, I am caught in a pair of headlights. I hold a hand up to shield my eyes from the light and am able to make out silhouettes. In a flash, I hear the back door to the store loudly slam shut. I notice the Durango lights are now off, too. The engine, to what looks like an older model pickup truck, races a bit and drowns out the unmistakable sounds of hearty laughter between a man and a woman.

I’m keenly aware of the need to move out of the way and continue my journey to the car, carrying my precious gift securely in my hand. I tighten my grip on the bag handles.

The truck pulls out of the alley and onto the street behind me. Over my shoulder I briefly perceive my Old Friend and Faith in the cab. A Dwight Yoakum Christmas tune is blaring out of the open windows. And I distinguish a big Durango brand on the door of the truck. We exchange waves as they peel out and head the opposite direction. Their laughter and singing fill the air over the engine until I can no longer hear anything but the quiet of a city going to sleep.

I feel the urge to get home now.

I round the last corner and fish for the keys in my pocket. As I approach my car I happen upon John, my friend who owns Señor Juan’s Wine and Tequila Emporium. The one next to Durango. He is with his girlfriend.

“Merry Christmas!” I say with newfound holiday cheer.

“Happy Holidays,” they echo and we shake hands and hug each other as friends do. We talk and catch up. We haven’t seen each other much as these holidays have made for busy times indeed.

“I tell you, John, that Durango store next to your shop is quite astonishing. It is brilliant,” I state proudly. I felt like I just discovered a secret, one that John and his girlfriend already knew.

“What store? Where?” John asks, his dark eyebrows turning down slightly. His girlfriend clutched his arm a bit tighter.

“Next to your place,” I state while unlocking my car door and setting the new gift carefully in the driver’s seat. “The one on the alley side,” I casually continued.

John has a look of concern, “That was the used bookstore. It burned up two days ago. Started in the break room they said. With all those books, it didn’t take long. Between the fire, the water, and the smoke, that store is a total loss. You didn’t hear about that? It was all over the local news.”

I’m confused. Yes, I had heard something but it hadn’t registered as THAT bookstore. I vaguely remember hearing a bunch of sirens the other night. But I simply had other things going on.

“Wow!” I said really not sure how to proceed. “And you? The Shop ok?”

John says with a smile, “It is hard to taste wine when the place smells like smoke. But other than that, nothing serious. I came out ok.”

“That’s good,” I confirm. I was indeed glad John and the shop would be fine. But I’m taken aback. I awkwardly stand there saying nothing more.

Eyeing my bag in the front seat, John’s girlfriend asks, “You finish your shopping?”

Leaning on my open car door, I lay a hand on the red bag in hopes it is real, “I think so.” I force a smile.

“Well, hey! Happy holidays,” John interrupts. It is time to get home. “Let’s get together soon, ok?”

“Happy holidays,” I echo with hopefully enough cheer behind it to mean it. We shake hands, hug goodbye, and they continue their travel down the sidewalk huddled together arm-in-arm in the cold night air.

I acknowledge a strange feeling as I look around the desolate streets. The only cars out are those scattered around The Pub. It is late, but the bars are still open.

I close the passenger side door on the perfect gift, walk around the car, and settle into the driver’s seat. I eye the package as I start the engine.

Pulling out into the street, I reverse my normal path home. I point the car toward Durango.

I slowly drive into the block and roll down my window to get a better look. As I creep by I notice the old bookstore sign. It is blackened from smoke and fire. The windows are all boarded up with plywood. The alley is pitch black and I can’t make out anything at all. The wine shop looks just fine and normal next door. But, Durango has vanished. It is, in reality, just a burned out bookstore.

Yet I have the perfect gift sitting right next to me. It is here in the seat. I blink in question “No. It can’t be,” I say outloud.

I crank the steering wheel toward home and start to roll up the window. As I pull onto the next street, I see in my darkened, rear view mirror an older model, white pick-up turn carelessly up the block in the opposite direction with a Durango brand on the side panel and an outline of two people in the cab. As my window comes to a close I hear them singing along to a Dwight Yoakum Christmas tune.

"Merry Chirstmas," I yell out the window. The anticipation of the gift still remained on the passenger seat.

Holiday Drivers

2009-12-10T12:56:00.000-08:00

I had to run a few Christmas shopping errands at lunch today and I really must say that it was a pleasant experience. People are so cheerful right now despite the rainy, gloomy day on the Central Coast.

For instance, I was on my way across town to the mall when I realized the store I was about to pass might have the exact same thing only cheaper (maybe) and, well, not across town. So, quickly, I turned into the parking lot, cutting off only a few (five) drivers who each acknowledged my rather impressive, skillful driving prowess with a choir of cheerful honking horns and seasonal hand gestures.

“Happy Holidays to you, too!” I waved back.

You people are oh so nice this time of year. Really! I meant it!

In Seeking the Answer or the Question

2009-12-07T12:31:00.000-08:00

Love lives now,
In a fragile place, in a fragile time, with fragile steps.

Love breathes now,
In quiet talks, in quiet moments, with quiet whispers.

Love dreams now,
In deep sleep, in brilliant light, with open eyes.

Love works now,
In labor of, without complexities, with pride.

Who among us has ever dreamed of a love,
Based on truth, complete with honesty, as equals?

Id's Alive

2009-12-02T12:55:00.000-08:00

If you could only hear the things my inner voice comes up with some times.

You know what I’m talking about, the subconscious, your Id. It is that little voice in your head that talks to those angels on your left shoulder and the devil on your right whether you are even aware of it or not. That constant dialogue with yourself detailing everything the senses sift from synapse to brain. It’s the inner influence that keeps poking at you constantly only to be silenced by deep sleep, a riveting movie, or tequila.

The Id, by Freud’s definition, is unconscious. Yet my inner voice has, at times, become distinctly animated over the last year.

(Oh, please spare them. You’re not going to blog about that time last summer, right?)

After a particularly stressful week of divorce issues, parent-teacher conferences, Non-Profit Board meetings, multiple work deadlines, kid schedule conflicts, the non-stop home chores ...

(Dude! Pssst. This is a bad idea.)

and a new fiancé of considerable excitement and focus, I found myself walking downtown talking to myself (my Id). I didn’t realize I was talking to myself. But, I was talking to myself. Outloud!

(Sorry. But you hadn’t been listening to me much. You were to swamped “doing” and not enough time “dealing”. Know what I mean?)

Sshh! Anyway, yeah, I found myself downtown dropping off paperwork to the lawyer. I took the opportunity to walk up a block to get some lunch. Unconsciously, I must have been talking to myself (you) outloud. As I walked passed these two college kids, one of them said to the other, “the homeless sure are dressing better these days!”

Laughing and snickering followed. I looked around to see what homeless person they were talking about.

(Breed ‘em and weep, my friend.)

Ah. Reality. Me!

(What are you doing?)

I’m leaving. I’m going home to go paint in blue, orange, and black with music turned up to ten. And I’ll sing. Maybe I’ll write. Never the less, Leave. Me. Alone.

(I am immune to your gentle Midwestern-Jedi mind flip and the waving of that hand in front of our nose saying, “You are no longer talking to me, eh.”)

A great idiocy in the force, there is.

(I’m still here and you are about to walk into a parking meter.)

Bite me! I wonder if I am out of tequila at home?

I blog to purge. It is better than talking to myself in public.

How to Win the Lottery

2009-11-20T07:32:00.000-08:00

Put $1 down on a lottery ticket and you win automatically.

Invest that dollar toward your thoughts and the dreams of what you'd do if it actually happened. That alone is worth the $1.

It's Hamma' Time

2009-11-17T22:52:00.000-08:00

The other day a friend of mine asked me for advice regarding their pending separation and, ultimately, divorce. More specifically, he wanted to know how I survived it what with all the highly emotional, legal, and financial issues.

That is a loaded question. I understood his trepidation completely. I had the same fears and wanted a ton of answers to questions I didn't even know how to ask.

First, I’m not sure my circumstances are over enough to where my survival can even be counted in the category of “been there, done that”. There are still lingering, almost daily issues. So, I prefaced my comments in the conversation that I didn’t have an appropriate answer. I’m still a work in progress.

Secondly, and more importantly, I’m incredibly biased by own understandings, strengths, and inadequacies. I don’t have a well rounded experience in divorce (thank goodness).

But that is not what my friend wanted to hear. He wanted me to tell him what to do. And that got me thinking.

I’ve been doing some minor construction projects lately and I have construction on the brain. So, I easily went right to the following analogy. For a person comfortable with a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Got a problem? No big deal, use my divorce-hammer. Bang away at it and your problem can be solved with my hammer. That'll fix it.

At the architecture firm with which I am employed, I’ve been using the same marketing hammer for nine years to some moderate success. Those who have found chiropractors for back pain issues sing the praises of the adjustment hammer, while acupuncturists use that needle-nosed hammer. Recovering alcoholics view the world with their AA hammer, while others find solace in the corner bar...Hammered. Conservatives swing their Rush Limbaugh hammer while Liberals hit their nails with an Olbermann hammer made for lefties. Nutritionists say my cholesterol issues are diet related and should be fixed with a low-fat/whole grain hammer while my doctor fixes me up with the Lipitor hammer.

All of those hammers hit the nail on the head.

I am positive there are studies upon studies that show the biases all around. And I guess that if you truly want to nail it, one should look at the problems in a different way. Take it as an opportunity to find the best solution, not one based on bias. My way is not the right way. And neither is yours all the time, either.

So, my advice to a friend during a very difficult time was to simply be the best person possible. Use whatever tools are available to stay secure, as well as emotionally and financially centered. Be creative. The rest is a work in progress anyway. In fact, divorce and the life after it is a complex construction project in multiple phases. One might need more than a hammer.

Besides, it is fun to wield the electric drill every now and then. Demolition with a saws-all is always a good time. And there is always duct tape for emergencies. More to the point and on a personal note, I've learned to improvise as I lost my favorite hammer in my divorce.

Dear People from My Dream Saturday Night

2009-11-16T23:47:00.000-08:00

Dear people from my dream Saturday night (The Sequal),

Wow. I must say, you all look phenomenal. Really, you really surprised me. If I acted a bit stoic, it was out of sheer amazement in your company.

I was so honored to have THE Jerry Rice and THE Barry Sanders in my little driveway. I love you guys. Tossing the Michigan football was cool. Barry, I’m seriously bummed you left without saying a word though. First, a word would have been good. Any word. Hello even. I don’t have many idols, but you make the list of celebrity dinner invitees. And then, when I came back from grabbing my new jersey with your name and number on it, you had vanished. I was really hoping to get some running back advice for my fantasy league team. See, Chris Johnson and Ray Rice are no-brainers this week. But I’m not sure if I should go with Ricky Williams as my flex player or not. I might go with TJ Houshmazilli (“Championship!”). Jerry seemed to think wide receiver was the way to go. Go figure. But, I’m really leaning toward running backs as the season progresses. Anyway, are you going to be at the Detroit-Cleveland game next weekend? Let’s get together for a tailgate beer or something. I’d like you to meet my fiancé. She’s awesome. She’s a Giants fan, though. Sorry. But she likes football, which is important for me as you know.

Mrs. Beatty, I’m glad you are still kickin’. I don’t know where my mom and dad could have been. I think they were still on a cruise. I must apologize for being at a parent-teacher conference without the parents. I am one now, you know. A parent, that is. In fact, Science is my son’s favorite subject outside of math. And, yes, I am sorry for calling you Old Lady Beatty behind your back. I was in seventh grade. I didn’t think it was wrong at the time. More importantly, I didn’t think you heard me what with you being so old and hard of hearing. Anyway, I was thinking about what you said and I don’t think I need to redo that report on Madame Curie. You already gave me an A-. I’m good with that. Also, you should try wearing pants. It is 2009. Teachers can do that now. Although, those horn-rimmed glasses are still rather rockin’.

Holy carpentry, Batman! Carl, it was good to see you, too. I know we are FB friends n’ all these days and you haven’t been on-line much, but I was rather surprised you showed up at my little construction project. My embarrassment stemmed more from not recognizing you, I think. You’ve shaved. The beard was good. You should keep it. Oh, and thank you for the pointers on my craftsmanship, or lack thereof. Indeed, everything is as level and plumb as I could get it given the existing conditions, the brick-like soil, re-use of old wood, and the sloped patio. Biligi would say “it eese kind of nice”, though he would also say it is “sheet”. It is, after all, just a simple, wooden gate at the side of the house. Carl I wish you would have stayed and grabbed a hammer for old time’s sake. Yes, I am going to rebuild that one section. That part is “sheet”. Am I supposed to keep your dog now? I think she misses you and I have my doubts about her getting along with Lucky, the cat.

So, thanks for visiting me again. I hope we can do it again soon. Let me know ahead of time, though. I’d really like to be more prepared for these visits. I do love that you all took the time, but I just feel so unprepared. I hate that feeling.

Until next time.

Sincerely,

Mud

PS – We missed you at the Mudhole-Paso Robles High School football game. It was fun. I’ll warn you to stay away from those tri-tip sandwiches next time. My stomach loudly played tag football with Muppets all night long. Even the cat needed more quiet, subsequently sleeping on the far side of the bed. Tasty, though!

Out of Touch with that Inner Struggling Artist (ISA)

2009-11-14T07:54:00.000-08:00

The Inner Struggling Artist (ISA) is that area in one’s brain that knows they’re brilliant at their “thing” and just haven’t been discovered yet. It is that part that so desperately needs the world to sit up and take notice. There is talent to share and when others start to understand that fact, everyone will be for the better. All those people that have criticized the art/work (or lack thereof) over the years will turn into suck ups. Ultimately when one only listens to the ISA, the echo back simply pleads for that ... One. Big. Break.

ISA = Waiting for the other shoe to drop

ISA = Train Wreck

ISA = Desperate Media Attention / Acceptance

ISA = The Parents of the Balloon Boy Hoax / MTV dramas / Kanye West

ISA ≠ True Artistic Value

ISA ≠ Success or Self Worth or True Happiness

The people who muddle through their lives being guided by their ISA either simply crave attention or thrive on getting beaten up. They require the daily drama. They probably can’t understand true, personal success and what it means to own it. As long as ISA rules, their daily flogging will continue. Every. Day.

Quite simply, pull Struggling out of the equation. Seriously! I just can't bare to watch you anymore.

That's A Lot of Ivory

2009-11-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

I'm spending some time at lunch these days trying to catch up on old, saved emails and links to articles I'd like to read. So, I just read a statistic that there are at least thirty million children/students in China currently taking piano lessons.

Thirty.

Million.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/7436434.stm

I wonder how many are playing the violin, the oboe or the tuba?

There Should Be a Law

2009-11-12T18:31:00.000-08:00

I refuse to talk about the fact that Christmas decorations are popping up in places pre-Thanksgiving. There should be a law.

I will not discuss the newly stocked isles at the grocery stores (yes, all of them) with wrapping paper, tinsel, and candy canes. I noticed them even before Halloween. Next year, I might go trick-or-treating/partying as Santa Claus. Talk about an evil costume. There should be a law.

I drove by a house on my block and the owner was hanging twinkle lights already. There should be a law. And another one about taking them down before, say, Independence Day.

Unless there happens to be some new way to roast a turkey I haven’t heard about, I will not crack the pages of the recently received cooking magazines on my coffee table as they are promoting Christmas over Thanksgiving (THE BEST holiday of the year). In fact, I believe the favored recipe for turkey is to simply place the bird in the oven until done. Seriously! That is it. No recipe needed. Ok, maybe I’ll brine it overnight and rub a stick of butter into the skin first. But, I won’t have Christmas recipes trump my Thanksgiving. There should be a law.

I’m currently listening to CDs or sports radio to avoid ANY accidental December oriented tuneage from music stations. There should be a law.

I have, however, purchased my first Christmas present of the year. I’ll give latitude on that one.

But on Friday, November 27th, bring it on! Until then, there should be a law.

Corkscrew Schmorkscrew

2009-11-05T12:16:00.001-08:00

The Right Thing About 3 a.m.

2009-10-22T03:31:00.000-07:00

Blogging has been good for me and I claim no journalistic ideals for the future (aka. I have no book deal, I promise). I never did the serious journal thing before and in no way had a diary outside of a sketchbook. The closest thing I ever had to a journal was when a junior high school friend and I bought “little black books” at a stationary store to keep the names of girls and phone numbers and “stars/rankings/notes”. You know that little black book I’m talking about. The Fonz had one. Only, our meager thumbs up rankings never really amounted to much and the pages stayed all too blank. Although, I do recall one or two memorable names (not to be repeated here as Facebook has so wonderfully put us back in touch after all these years and that just wouldn’t be right).

Yes, blogging for me is pleasurable, albeit a bit of a process. EHTT puts me in a daily, if not hourly, state of inner search for something interesting and creative. The enjoyable part goes away, though, when I find myself in that sleepless hour of self evaluation at a sky-divingesque, X-Games sort of level. These are the wee moments when I’m convinced blogging is less than productive to my welfare. Being emotionally authentic might also be damaging to my sleep patterns at times.

The space between my head and my heart is not for casual play. It is where I seek what is right and good. It is where therapy happens. But it is also where artistic expression can find a voice in the night. It is where conception of an image for a painting or a line of a poem is worked out. It is where the details of a household construction project find solutions. It is where I remember the name of that song in my head and how it would segue so beautifully with that Arcade Fire song both musically and thematically (some d.j. habits die hard). And it is where I write, at times sans keyboard.

Sometime last year, I scoffed at the accusation that I held an innate inability to be alone. It was referenced in the context of a now dead marriage and, at the time, a dating life. It was intended to be a derogatory cut at my being and stated purely to hurt me. It was meant to make me rethink a new, wonderful, and hopefully, lifelong relationship. So, I ignored the comment. I have and still claim a life not of solitude. Instead, I choose people.

As for being alone, I crave the creative juice flowing moments that one can experience only in pursuit of art. And that kind of quality time is precious. Unfortunately, it is also just as hard to schedule. But when the opportunity presents itself, I am all over it.

Now, I readily admit, I tend to concentrate hardest on that which is directly in front of me and lack the enviable ability to multi-task on other things when creating/writing/constructing/etc. For example, I don’t cook dinner and watch Monday Night Football with much speed either, especially during the weeks when the kids are in the house. So, when given time to myself, I had best be organized because I will dive into a project and not look up, maybe for days. And when that happens projects might just linger in unfinished land (and I Hate unfinished land).

For me, the process of sorting through the shreds of information between head and heart is vital, if not mandatory, for the self. Though, it is rarely swift. I am not much of a loner and I have built my life around the people I love and care about deeply. Should they have me, they are a part of my life forever. So, when I withdraw in search of creative isolation, I unintentionally alienate and leave those I love to question whether my allegiance to them is at risk. And, I can’t have that. For that, I apologize.

So, what do I do?

The Fonz: Cool is knowing the difference between right and wrong and doing what is right with guts.

Well, I sort through it all and do the right thing. I paint in between laundry loads while waiting for the plumber to show. I cook, facilitate homework and baths, and play with PhotoShop all at the same time, doing none of them well, I fear. I make my lover mix-tapes (CDs) while doing some on-line bill paying. And, I blog in the middle of the night to connect some random dots between head and heart.

Thumper said, “If you can't say something nice ... don't say nothing at all.”

2009-10-12T17:33:00.000-07:00

I haven’t blogged in a long time. Sorry. I’ve found some enjoyment in ignoring the on button to my laptop. Facebook can do that to a person. It is a love/hate thing, I think. That and something like 550 unopened emails.

Plus, this is the all important birthday month for the kids and me. Oh, and I’m now engaged. So, yeah! I’ve had a lot of things worth documenting and denoting the date. But I haven’t felt like blogging ‘em to the world. Quite honestly, because things are all “Even Happier Than That” right now, I’m rather boring to you, I fear.

But the most prominent excuse for not blogging is I’ve spent much more time listening. I have been sort of eaves dropping in on the world and it is a lot more fun sometimes than trying to come up with something to write about. You all have a lot going on.

Though sadly, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the talk in the grocery store line and around the water cooler is simply passing judgment on others. No new ideas to report. No success stories of encouragement to reveal. And that is bothersome, really. People talk constantly about what friends are doing with a mighty tinge of harsh verdict laced within. It’s not as if I’ve been oblivious to gossip and am just now learning the term. It’s just that it is all so negative. And I’ve had enough with negative.

Bertrand Russell once said, “No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.” Listen around and you’ll hear that is unequivocally true. It is much more fun to talk about the scandal or even the minor blemishes over the successes and daily joys. Pay it forward was a fun, one-time movie theme, but it isn’t as much fun as the daily drama and sorrow of an acquaintance or friend. None of it would carry any weight if we all didn’t want to believe in it to make ourselves feel a bit better “just knowing”. It probably isn’t even true, maybe a half-truth, but we act like it is a fact.

There is a lust in man no charm can tame,
Of loudly publishing his neighbor’s shame,
On eagles wings immortal scandals fly,
While virtuous actions are born and die.
- William Harvey

In all of that, I take one exception. Facebook. FB is sort of a personal public relations site where one propagates one’s good stuffs. Why would one want to air dirty laundry on purpose when you get so much more drama talking trash?

Never the less, you might read more from me now as I try hard to stop listening to the gossip and get a better grip on new ideas and thoughts.

C'mon. Breathe, blog, BREATHE! Don't you die now. Not now!

2009-10-12T17:30:00.000-07:00

beep

beep

beep

beep

Random Songs on the iPod

2009-07-19T15:45:00.000-07:00

How to play...

(1) Turn on your iPod or Zune. (2) Go to SHUFFLE songs mode. (3) Write down the first 25 songs that come up--song title and artist--NO editing/cheating, please. (4) Choose 25 (or so) people to be tagged

(To do this, go to "NOTES" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, enter your 25 Shuffle Songs, Click 'Preview' below to tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click Publish, the little blue box at the bottom of your screen).

Here's the 25 that sloshed out of my iPod...

1. Put Down the Gun - Peter Case
2. Breed - Nirvana
3. Black & White - Three Dog Night
4. Train - Robert Bradley's Blackwater Surprise
5. Low Millions - Low Millions
6. Walcott - Vampire Weekend
7. Fire - The Ohio Players
8. You Are - Screamin' Cheetah Wheelies
9. Wide Open - Minibar
10. I've Done Nothing Wrong - Monte Montgomery
11. What I think She Sees - del amitri
12. Bach: Christmas Oratorio, BWV 248 - Sinfonia - Ralf Otto: Concerto Koln
13. Still - Matt Nathanson
14. Program Director - O.A.R.
15. The New Love Song - Joshua James
16. Night Drive - The All-American Rejects
17. Blue in Green - John McLaughlin Trio
18. Stag-o-Lee - Professor Longhair
19. Honey Let Me Sing You a Song - Matt Hires
20. The Silence Between Us - Bob Mould
21. The Night Inside Me (Solo Acoustic) - Jackson Browne
22. Gravity - Josh Joplin Group
23. Somehow, Someday - Ryan Adams
24. See the World - The Kooks
25. I Wish I Was in New Orleans - Tom Waits

Lunch - A Mission

2009-07-08T17:59:00.000-07:00

Start date 070809. Noon. Captain’s Log ... A signal from deep within... A grumbling... We must find sustenance quickly. A Sub planet has been located. I’ve have formed an expedition of one and beamed down with a small, silver transport. There is little time...

“Status report, Mr. Sulu”

“Aye, Captain. There seems to be others joining us in the search at this time. All passages are seriously congested.”

“Thank you, Sulu. Let us hope we get through the line quickly. I have the landing coordinates pinpointed. I shall be there soon. Perform another wider scan, Mr. Sulu.”

“Scanning, Sir. Seems congestion is at the far end of the lot. Not your Sub destination, Sir.”

“Let’s keep the communicator at the ready, Uhura. Given the short time we have, we may need to switch destinations.”

“Frequency open, Sir.”

“Captain,” interjects Mr. Spock.

“Yes, Spock, proceed.”

“I am detecting an unusual vehicle proceeding through the north end of the lot. It seems to be some form of white and red shuttle service. Life forms appear elderly and slow.”

“That could inhibit our time-frame to Eat Fresh. We only have a half hour... Mr. Sulu. Take it south to the end of lot, warp factor 5. Be at the ready.”

“Course noted. Warp Five in.”

“Captain,” interrupts Mr. Spock. “A large delivery transport seems to be blocking the alternate way out. You could be blocked in upon exiting, Sir. Might I suggest the deli down the way!”

“As a Vulcan, Mr. Spock, you sound more like my mother. Don’t worry, the Sub destination can handle the small volume in short order. The transport should be gone by then anyway.”

“Engineering to Captain.”

“What is it, Mr. Scott?”

“The Vulcan is right, Cap’in. The large transport has parked in your only exit way. You’a no’a’canna move. With the construction on the highway there, they’ve diverted the loading zone. You’re a dead in the water, Sir.”

“Scotty, see what you can work out. Call CalTrans and get a report. There. Must. Be. Another. Way.”

Remarkably, a dark, shady spot in a corner of the area opens up. It is well out of the heat of one of the sun-like orbs of light.

“Mr. Sulu. I’m docking here. Prepare to open cargo doors on my mark... three... two... ONE. Spock, what is our time?”

“Captain, if my calculations are correct, you should be exiting the Sub destination in about seven point five minutes. This destination works rather efficiently and well below the average waiting time. And they are said to be extremely friendly, Sir.”

“I’ll make note of that, Spock. Thank you. I’m going in. I’ll be out of communication for a bit. Mr. Sulu, prepare to beam me back in seven point five minutes.”

A life form greets almost mechanically from the other side of a glass panel, “Hello!. Welcome to Subway.”

Fade to black.

Fade up to see the USS Enterprise. The crew is staring at a presentation on a large screen. Uhura picks out the onions from her sandwich and delicately sets them aside. Sulu takes his package and slips back into his place at the control panel. He adjusts something on the console in front of him and swivels back in his seat. Scotty is noticeably missing as his package lies at the side by an empty chair. Spock raises one eye as he toys with the small sub, “It seems they used oil and vinegar instead of mayo. Interesting!”

“Can you fix it, Doctor?”

“Dammit, Jim. I’m a Doctor, not a sandwich maker.”

Giving Spock an imperturbable long look, the Captain smiles and takes a long slurp on his diet drink, “Upward and onward, Mr. Sulu. Next frame, please, Mr. Chekov. Next. Frame. Please.”

Open Doors

2009-06-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

My mom likes to quote that age old saying, “When God closes a door, He opens a window” or something to that affect. I’ve a difficult time hearing that saying as the timeliness of its utterance usually sucks coupled with the fact it rarely helps me see through to any truth. It still hurts when a door is slammed on you whether God did it or not. I’m not one to crawl through windows as a typical answer to my problems so I’m not keen on the solution much.

Geography poses a problem here, too. It depends on which side of the door/window I'm standing. Am I outside looking into a house? Or am I inside looking to get out? Typically, locks on doors are on the inside, so I can’t see a problem with a closed door if I’m already safely inside someplace. If outside, I don’t desire to have a ‘breaking and entering’ charge on my record.

You see my problem.

However, I do concede to Mom (and maybe God) the intention of what she is trying to communicate. I get the message.

So, in honor of Mom and those doors all over the world, I wrote a simple poem.

At first glance, all are doors wide open,
With endless possibilities each day.
Through years, one finds, no door’s sovereign.
False opens tend to look some that way.

Soon, doors once open seem closed,
By time or by fate or by choice.
The truth is so rarely disclosed,
Yet, that last open door is your voice.

The hard part is hearing the thing.
The ring of the right thing to do.
Opportunity as a threshold for change,
Now a place to restart again new.

My Punk Lyrics

2009-06-26T12:35:00.000-07:00

I turned on my college station the today. I haven’t listened to KCPR in a long time. It seems the only venue for music listening these days is either in my car or playing name that tune with my girlfriend as we leave The Dish on the 80’s channel. In the car, I usually chose my mp3’s or a CD. So, I haven’t seen the left of the dial in a long time.

Today, it isn’t the Burnt Dog Radio of old. However, during my chase across town for a samich’ at lunch I gave it the old college try again and loved it. I’m not sure who or what the band was, but it was fun to hear punk again.

It was punk the way punk should be; hard-driving, harsh lyrics, with anger pointed toward pop culture and convention. Screaming lyrics into a mic. Punk.

I tried to imagine me standing at CBGB’s now as the lead singer and lyricist of a modern punk band. Today, the lyrics I’d scream into a mic might go something like this.

BOUGHT ANOTHER CHINESE CHICKEN SALAD DRESSING AND I ALREADY HAD ONE IN THE FRIDGE, DAMN!
I STILL LIKE CHEESE, BUT SHOULDN’T EAT IT BECAUSE OF HIGH CHOLESTEROL.
STUPID LIPITOR IS EXPENSIVE, BUT I PILL SPLIT, I HATE PILLS.
I HAVE A PLUMBING ISSUE UNDER MY SINK, LEAKED THROUGH TO THE KITCHEN BELOW. THIS COULD MEAN MOLD. BUT IT IS A RENTAL SO I DON’T CARE. I JUST DON’T CARE.
DIVORCE SUCKED. I’M HAPPIER NOW ANYWAY. BUT IT SUCKED.
CELL PHONE DOESN’T HAVE GOOD SERVICE AT HOME. I REFUSE TO BUY A LANDLINE.
NEW BRAKES ON AN OLD CAR ARE EXPENSIVE. F-WORD.
TWISTED MY NECK CAMPING. CHIROPRACTER HELPED. STILL HURTS SOME THOUGH. OUCH!
ANARCHY IS TIVO-ING LETTERMAN AND RARELY WATCHING IT.
Ooiii !
(repeat)

As the Blog Turns, So Do the Days of Our Lives ....

2009-06-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

While EHTT blog posts have started to appear again with a bit more regularity there has been quite a lot going on that I have not retold to you, and I feel like blame should fall on the Middle East.

Actually, what it comes down to is my social life has improved tremendously mostly due to my girlfriend’s popularity and her affinity for wine and cheese and tequila. It also has a lot to do with the giant time-suck called Facebook. Ultimately, though, I don’t turn my computer on as much as I have in the past. For instance, I was watching the middle movie of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy with my girlfriend and my son when a bird dive-bombed the cat. I strained my neck trying to see below the window sill how Lucky the Cat would react. The cat was just fine and rather complacent about the whole thing. My neck hurt for long time. My computer was nowhere within reach.

Just remember – you heard it here first.

Dear people from my dream last night,

2009-06-11T17:32:00.000-07:00

First of all, I am really sorry I could only stand there and watch you drive off the cliff (at the end of my driveway). You were in that van with all the windows, driving really fast, and oddly smiling and laughing as your group went over the edge. So, there really was nothing I could do. You should’ve seen how I quickly bounded that rocky ridge, though. It was like I was Free Running or something. Never the less, I was the first one on the scene. In fact, it took just a few seconds it would seem. But, you’d vanished by then. What a great trick. I just wanted you to know, I really did mean to help you. By the way, what was with all those perfect, black boxes with a head of cabbage mounted in each one? The lone purple headed cabbage looked awesome. Was that a velvet lined box or velour? Nice touch! Anyway, I hope you guys are ok. You need to drive slower on my street.

Secondly, to that beautiful girl I tried to kiss, I offer you my apology, too. I really did enjoy the kiss. A lot! I must say you looked identical to my girlfriend. I thought for a minute you really were her. But, then you just vaporized. Poof! I know my girlfriend wouldn’t do that unless she has discovered her superpower. So, just so you know, I can’t let that happen again. But maybe we can have coffee soon.

And to that dude in the orange vest, it is not a roller skate. It is a commute vehicle that gets 34 miles per gallon. I’m sure you and your Hummer don’t understand the concept. Please finish up all that construction. Turn your sign around from Stop to Go Quickly. You are inhibiting my progress. I need to get to work faster. You see, there is a copy machine continuously spitting out reams and reams of paper with nothing on it. I need to fix that problem as it is neither good for the environment nor my job performance.

Anyway, I just wanted you dream people to know. It didn’t feel right to leave it all unfinished. And I’m not sure we need to talk about. I don’t think the real world people would understand anyway. It would take much to long to explain and probably bore the hell out of most. So, see ‘ya ‘round.

Sincerely,

Mud

PS – You are all invited next time for sushi. I love sushi. I could live on Dashi, Dragon Roll, Unagi, that cold Saki in the black n’ gold bottle, and Kirin Ichiban. Although, I should warn you it might not be such a good idea to down it all immediately before bedtime.

Blog Anniversary Rules

2009-06-10T12:53:00.000-07:00

This is a redo/revisit of the first post from my blog Even Happier Than That. I posted it just about one year ago today.

A year ago everything was new and different. Life was changing. Emotions ran high and I needed these rules to keep moving forward.

Today, my rules stay the same. Comments follow....

Rule 1 – Learn to Trust again. Find someone to trust and try trusting them for a while. Wow! Rule number one was quite powerful this last year. Yes, I trust again. I think the difference now is to be trustworthy. I can be that.
Rule 2 – Get everything out of your work. Work is rewarding in and of itself. This economy has made this difficult. But, I’m still working and working hard.
Rule 3 – Be a good friend. Help someone else. I have. I do. I will continue to do so.
Rule 4 – Experiment. Play. Flirt. Enjoy Yourself. This is lighter than you think. This was the fun rule and easy to accomplish when one is ‘single’ every other week.
Rule 5 – Be self disciplined. Slacking is not an option. Not easy after rule number four and a rather lengthy move during the first three or four months of this year, but I’m better here. I must get back to a gym routine again though. Rule number four hasn’t helped out rule number five in that area.
Rule 6 – There is no win and no fail. There is only make. Make. I do make. I write here. I create. I build. I have art projects still to do.
Rule 7 – Work hard toward something. If you work it will lead to more. It is the people who do all the work all the time who eventually catch on to things. I am taking my LEED exam in a few weeks. And I have another professional project right around the corner.
Rule 8 – Don’t try to create and analyze at the same time. They are different processes. I don’t confuse these, ever.
Rule 9 – Always be around. Come or go to everything. I have found very little time for myself because of this rule. I’m not sure why I even need my satellite dish (outside of for my kids). I never sit still anymore and I am always on the go to do something, see friends, or do something with my kids.
Rule 10 – Invent new rules next week. I think I’ll stick with these for a while more.

A year of EHTT ... And I am even happier than that.

A Dear Jane Letter

2009-06-06T15:05:00.000-07:00

Dear A –

This is difficult for me. I may stumble a bit with what I want to say here. So, please give me a bit of latitude. But, but, the reality is I can no longer be in this relationship. I’m sorry.

When I first found myself in your part of town, I found you fresh and new. It was exciting to explore your aisles. In fact, I had to learn a whole new way with you. Normally, I place my produce in my cart last so that my tomatoes and peaches don’t get smooshed. But because you had your coffee stand and the deli right there when you came in the entry door right before the produce section, it just made sense. So, I changed. It was a bit different, but I changed for you.

As you know, I’m a morning person. Our early Saturday ritual became so comfortable. Your family eventually knew my name and everything. They became my family, too. And when my daughter became old enough to go with me and started to join our weekly get together, I looked forward to our time more than ever.

We had some really good times. I loved the way you offered up those fresh cookies and muffins to my Girlie while we shopped and drank our hot chocolates and coffee. You were the first to offer me a cup holder on my cart. That was so cool, too. I must admit I will miss your Asian aisle. Your ethnic offerings really do it for me.

However, things have changed. As you know, I had to move. It wasn’t my choice. But life comes at you fast at times and I’ve since relocated across town. It isn’t a long-term residence. I’m only renting. But it is close to the kid’s school. I know you understand. All in all, we are happier now.

The thing is, this isn’t about me. You’ve changed. Oh, I stayed away while you went through all that cosmetic stuff. I had to. I know you get that. And I must admit, you look really good now. But, see, that is part of the problem. You’re too good. You don’t need me anymore. You are so popular these days. Even my daughter asks if we can go visit you. It is so hard to tell her no. She doesn’t understand because she is only 10.

Quite honestly, I’ll admit the other reason is that I run the risk now of stumbling into my ex-wife with you again. That is too painful, not to mention awkward as hell. I just can’t see the two of you together sharing that melon thumping experience and ogling over the best cucumber. It made me feel dirty and even now still gives me a cold shiver just thinking about it.

So, we are over. And just in case you hear from someone else, I think you should know directly from me that I’ve found another. ‘V’ has everything I need. You might remember, we had a ten-year relationship before I started seeing you. We used to live just an apple throw away back then. And now that I’m living over in the neighborhood again, we’ve reacquainted. In fact, you may remember a few years back ‘V’ did that cosmetic thing, too.

You should know it isn’t just ‘V’. I’m single right now, so I’m occasionally involved with a hip little thing during my lunch hour from work. ‘TJ’, as best known, gives me a unique experience. I find myself wanting to experiment much more and try new things. Soy flax seed chips, fresh flowers, and $2 wine has a certain appeal. You can’t compete with that, no doubt.

I also have a monthly fling in a private club. I’m not even embarrassed to admit that to you. ‘CC’ is so big. You have to posses a special card to get inside. It is so exclusive! I can stock up on things like cereal and granola bars. You know how my kids eat. Sometimes, I feel my little commute car isn’t big enough to hold all the boxes of stuff. I never had that issue with you before. You never gave me more than I could handle, though I would have liked the challenge. ‘CC’ has socks. You don’t offer me socks. Consistently, I can find my pork loin for around $1.59 a pound. Granted, storage can be an issue at times. That is half of the game. ‘CC’ is amazing.

You should know that I am in quite the demand these days. I get notices in the mail on a weekly basis. Yes, I still get your colorful propositions, too. But, I’ve been exploring and testing the waters. You should keep an eye on that neighbor Spencer across the street from you. Spence isn’t big. Nobody but a few us locals are in the know. But Spencer makes your end of town worth the trip some weekends. Spence is quite the breast man. So, I might still see you around when I’m in the neighborhood to get my fill of breastesses. Maybe.

Anyway, I guess this is it. I know in my heart this isn’t goodbye. In fact, I still see your sister to north from time to time. She is the closest place to my Lover. I know, I know. For now, though, we need to part ways. Tempt me again with one of those two-for-one milk jug deals, I might have to stop by for old times sake. But no promises, o.k.?!

You take care. I gotta go.

- Mud

Can O' Black Beans

2009-06-04T21:27:00.000-07:00

I get the fact there exist young adults half my age that are, in fact, cooler than me. When I was their age I might not have been ‘that’ hip, but I was equally as far away from sansabelt slacks. So there! That just might be THE measuring stick for coolness. Debatable! Maybe.....

But no, I’ve come to a place where these young adults have no clue as to the era that WAS my music. Oh, RockBand and GuitarHero are ushering in a pathetic introduction. Secretly, I’m happy my son knows a few old tunes that we can share. But, there exists a whole generation missing a link of music history. The immediacy of downloading music seems to have unraveled the process and magic of opening the plastic from an album or even a compact disc to read the poetry. I yearn to teach that to a class (like the ‘Music of the 60’s’ class when I was in college in the 80’s)….

Wow! Did you feel that? Flashback. That happened quick, yes?! The kids of today look at 80’s music like we did the music of the 60’s. Ouch!

Anyway, I was disheartened the other day to hear The Replacements through the grocery store PA system as I compared prices of the generic black beans with a name brand of which I had a coupon in hand. Those two pieces of life should rarely cross. The Replacements and coupon shopping don’t mix in my heart. It is a personal violation of sorts. But, these days things mix without permission. They do so with a dagger's hurt at times. “Left of the Dial” and grocery carts have little in common in my reality. But, thus is life.

It was all soothed when the girl baggin’ my groceries bobbed her head and sang the lyrics to that well known Bon Jovi lyric, “You Give Love a Brand Name”.

I smiled all the way to car with the grocery cart wheel kicking sideways to the beat in my head. I was all of a sudden glad I saved the 35 cents and got the generic can o' black beans.

I was thankful she hadn't screwed up the wrong lyrics to "Romeo in Black Jeans".

Life 2.0

2009-05-15T12:23:00.000-07:00

Two years ago today, I flipped through the standard radio stations on my way home from work. I was going through a 70’s kick of sorts. The Eagles’ lyrics, “We make it harder than it has to be. And I can’t tell you why,” came through loud and clear. I sang. I pondered. I was moved. At that very moment, the lyric simply immersed itself in the passenger seat next to me for the car ride home, buckled in and turned up the volume. I’m not being blunt here. It was the day I decided to ask for marital help.

I remember this because I started to blog about it, writing this post two years ago today instead of celebrating a wedding anniversary. I never finished it, so I never posted it. But the remnants stayed in my “blog ideas” folder. All irony of the date aside, it was the beginning of the end.

Fast forward the digital tape. Although the new blog has been a bit neglected as of late, the essence that spawns the tales is anything but. Life 2.0 is working out a few glitches in the matrix, but the new version is streaming along quite nicely. And it is illustrated quite beautifully that today’s date means very little in this new momentum forward.

So, date acknowledged. Done. What’s next?!!! Ah, yes, Wine Festival weekend. Awesome! This is going to be fun.

Green Ass Kicked

2009-04-22T12:44:00.000-07:00

Today is Earth Day. It is a day first designated as an environmental awareness event back in 1970 and is largely the birth of the environmental movement. So we’ve been at this now for almost 40 years as a society.

Hmmm. I’m feeling like we could have done more by now.

I’m not discouraged, however. There are great signs in our world to indicate that a green momentum is taking a stronger foothold. In my line of work, the marketplace shows that not only is green building continuing to thrive, but might hold one of the keys to our economic crisis. It is, in fact, a cornerstone in President Obama’s economic stimulus package by touting current stimulus programs as an opportunity to rebuild the country in ‘Green”.

Two birds, one stone. A green W.P.A. in 2009.

“We know that there are buildings – school buildings, in particular, but I think public buildings generally – that need to be retrofitted to make them more energy-efficient.” ... “We will get that money back so that not only are we creating jobs, but we’re also making those operations more efficient and saving taxpayers money over the long term.” – President Obama

Brilliant. And it’s about time. Our perception of a physical building or a house or a school is about to change. We are about to see public construction go green in an effort to boost our local economies (hopefully sooner rather than later … Do you hear me California State Legislators?).

So, what did I do to celebrate Earth Day 2009? I registered to take my LEED Green Associate (LEED GA) accreditation exam. I have a month to study. The exam is in May.

LEED (Leadership in Energy Efficient Design) is a rating system for facilities that has been in the marketplace for around 10 years via the United States Green Building Council (USGBC). The expertise is growing. Green construction is thriving. The cost of green building is no longer expensive and rather competitive with “traditional” construction. Case studies and new schools of thought are abundant. So, why not go green!

Saving energy and saving the planet is simply logical. There is no argument to the contrary. Every day is Earth Day. In the booming construction times of just a few years ago, it was the dollar that ruled. Just get it built and flip it was the argument from the era of excess. But a few months ago, that era ended.

We are about to see a change in the way our immediate cultures look at our homes, schools, public buildings, and even retail facilities. We are about to see a push for greater accountability, social realization, and a broadening awareness of our responsibility. For when our built environment consumes more than 30 percent of our total energy and more than 60 percent of the electricity, we need to take stock in our every day practices. When, in the United States alone 5 billion gallons a day of potable water is used just to flush our toilets, it might not be a bad idea to utilize new, highly effective, waterless systems. Don’t get me started.......

The far-reaching influence of our built environment necessitates a universal action to reduce our impact. Period.

Let the 39 year old Earth Day kick your ass in gear. It did mine.

Act 1, Scene 1

2009-04-14T12:03:00.000-07:00

He just bought a new battery for his computer. He hasn’t purged out the text from his mind in a long time. It has been months and the battery was the excuse. It now seemed a requirement to sit on the leather couch with the big pillows, feet propped up on the dark wood table next to his Guinness, and a fire going in the fireplace (no Dura-flame here, no sir, just matches and a single sheet of newsprint). It is a new house after the divorce. A new space. A new couch. New pillows. Everything was newish at least to him. So, having to be tethered to a wall outlet just didn’t work in his mind. It didn’t feel right.

The battery was now installed so no more excuses, right?

He sits somewhat uncomfortably though. The table is a bit too high to rest his feet causing him to recline too much to type. He hadn’t tested that out when he bought it. He should have. But, it doesn’t matter now. Even though the words aren’t there he’s going to push forward anyway. He looks outside for inspiration.

It is the end of winter but not quite spring yet. It wants to rain. The sky is drab. He’s dressed for the weather in old jeans and big, bulky socks. The standard black t-shirt under a smart, black/grey ribbed sweeter. His black glasses perched a bit crooked on his nose. The hair is unkempt (maybe disheveled is a better word). It is coifed that way on purpose because he’s been told it is sexy and he believes it. Not that there is anybody around to see his freaky hair anyway. He has an evening to himself. He enjoys being alone in this way.

He types. He types anything because he needs to hear the sound of the keyboard. Progress. The clicks represent progress.

Her eyes gaze out along the long line of trees. A small wisp of smoke floats out above the tall branches from a fire pit down near her village. She sits on a jutting grey outcropping of rock and isn’t afraid of the steep drop below. She swings her legs playfully with a bit of a grip to the edge of the rock. Her clothes are loose and thick, but her mood is light and upbeat. In the distance there is the sound of dogs barking playfully. And she counts large birds flying together pointed toward some destination in a graceful ‘V’.

“Hold it. Loose and scratchy?” she turns to say. “Oh, come on. You may have put me in the dark ages, but don’t make me wear ‘loose and scratchy’. “

I typed thick, not scratch. And you practically wore burlap then, right? I’ll have to research those types of details later. I need to get the basic story and plot down first. Seriously, no more interruptions like this one. Screenplays are hard enough.

“Well. This just isn’t starting out well. I think you need to make me or you or whomever I am swordfight or something.”

You’re a girl. I’m a man. You are not me. You are Karin. Eventually you become a queen.

“Yeah, right! You need to start this script out with action. You even said, and I quote, ‘This is a female queen in the mold of Braveheart’. I might need some blue face paint.”

Karin looks over her left shoulder to see her attacker approach with two, thick branches trimmed of twigs and ready for battle. She smiles. She thinks she can beat her friend this time. Her bare feet slap against the rock as she jolts up.

“What, no boots or shoes of some sort?”

I like your feet. Do you think they’d wear toe rings back in 12th Century? I need to look that up.

“Oh, give me a break. I’ll go barefoot, but don’t you think it would be sexier if was wearing something other than burlap. I think some light, wispy thing that could show brief glimpses of the swell of my breasts would garner my movie a better response. Plus, it would distract my future love interest here.”

Karin catches the smooth branch playfully thrown her way. She flips it around and points it at her friend who sneers and wipes his cheek with his wrist. Her stance shows a practiced swordsman. Her smile reveals a game she loves to play.

She stops. “You know, you aren’t writing this in the correct format. Do you need to get some better software for this endeavor? And by the way, who do you have playing me? Please tell me I’m not going to be played by your Jennifer Love Hewitt fascination.”

You don’t have that choice.

“I’ll quit. I’ll just hand my stupid phallic-sword metaphor back to my buddy here, walk back home and leave you here with no hero-girl. You, your ADD, and your fragmented sentences will be stuck.”

I now understand what Charlie Brown meant by ‘Good Grief’. I should make you run from a bunch of rabid dogs or something.

“You don’t scare me…. Okay. Okay… okay! I’m sorry. You’re cute with that tousled hair.”

Tousled. That’s the word.

“Good. Want to start again? Put me in something sexy though, okay!?”

The battery light in the upper right corner flashes red. The laptop needs to be plugged back into the wall. Hour and a half. Poof! He sighs deeply.

Not tonight. He checks his watch and surmises he is nearing another beer.

“Wait…! Maybe I should be skinny dipping in the creek over th…. ”

He closes the lid on the laptop with a click. He slides it off his lap and hides it with one of the other pillows. With the remote he flips on the big screen to discover it was last on ESPN2. That was over a week ago.

Oooh! Basketball! Yippee!

Nice fire, though.

Esprit de Corps

2009-04-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

The self is a cloister of remembered sounds. - Wallace Stevens, poet

I’ve been looking in a rear view mirror at many of the friends and groups I’ve associated with in this life’s path (thanks in a huge way to that giant time suck called FaceBook). Most of those valued relationships have developed from the side effect of doing something slightly or hugely of common interest. We all have friends still in contact from that one summer working together at a gig we grunted out for pocket change. There is that huge network of college friends joined together during a few years of figuring out an overwhelming degree of independence. There are important colleagues who get the passion behind that one major project we worked around the clock to win for the firm. And ... (your circle/cause here).

Arguably, it is the people that are important. They hold more value than the pocket change handed over for the late summer, after work beers by the lake. The college survival network itself is more essential, in some ways, than the education received at the end of that era. And those colleagues that get the work bond are vital. It is the people that are the imperative part, right?

Most of the time, I don’t think we see the obvious while working in the moment. I remember thinking, sitting in an umpteenth Executive meeting at the college radio station, that the meeting itself was worthless. More was accomplished before and after when we chatted directly with the individuals or groups than listening to the soapbox diatribes (myself included) with a lengthy, personal agenda. I wasn’t there for the meeting. I was there to talk directly to people with a shared interest. Why not skip the meeting and just all have a beverage and talk about our mutual passion, the radio station ... The Community.

Quite honestly, more college radio station issues were developed/thought out/accomplished sitting with the group at Scott’s pad just off campus than with all 18 “Executives” in a big classroom. Though I’m sure the beer helped, no doubt. It was the esprit de corps that threw a bunch of us misfits into that big pool and created the lasting memories, no?

Work today is no different. The most important stuff happens in the hallways and at the copy machines over coffee than during a conference call. It is the one-on-one, the side-by-side, that works magic, not the project itself or the PowerPoint presentation.

I watched and listened to my daughter play cello with her school orchestra in a State-wide competition last weekend. They played beautifully and it was the best I’d heard them perform it. Their goal was reached and they got the high marks they hoped to receive. Yet, when talking with her about the whole experience, she talked more about her friends, the bus trip fun, and the butterflies they all shared while on the stage. They all talked about next year as if they were ready to practice again for it tomorrow. It was refreshing, effusive, and captivating. I get that.

I get the orchestra/theater group experience. I get the chess club, the GATE class, and the swim team. I understand the camaraderie associated with a group joined by a common cause.

So, no Mr. Hayes, it was never about broadcasting my voice on the radio or stroking my ego. It was always about sharing a passion and making a difference together, which thankfully included you. What I remember from those college days at KCPR has a hell of a lot more to do with the group than it ever did about musical tastes or talents. We all had our opinions, but I learned by listening to others and in turn trying some new things on my own, and sharing it together in return (‘cause in reality, I think we were the only ones truly listening).

It isn't very Ayn Randian of me to write, but, say what you want about the individual, I found a certain strength in our group.

Choices

2009-04-08T17:55:00.000-07:00

This is not earth shattering. It is not even close to important. I’m not sure it even warrants a blog post. But, I have been pondering quite a few things over the last few months amid all the boxes and packing and moving and unpacking and making decisions about where to put my stuff.

A lot about divorce is in re-inventing oneself. Well, maybe not re-inventing to the scale of “I am now James Bond”. No, it is more like rediscovering the important pieces of what makes me tick, both the good and the bad.

Sometimes they are simply trivial ticks. For instance, I’ve decided I really miss button-fly jeans. I only own zipper jeans right now and I think that is sad. I liked button-fly jeans once upon a time. But are they in style? I don’t think I know that answer. Will I fit in or stand out? Do I care?

I know what to wear to certain restaurants. I have decent clothes for my upcoming conference in SFO. I have suits that aren’t too far outdated... yet. And I also know there are a lot of people that are sure to tell me the answers and that will give great advice. These things all will help me blend in.

But maybe, just maybe, I want to stand out from the crowd now. Here’s the tricky part (yes, the Big, Fig Newton)…. Look at me! I’m either a freak or a fool. Or maybe I’m just cool. Those white loafers with the metal thingy would sure grab some attention. These things will get me noticed.

Clothing is not really the issue, just a textile illustration of a minor yet conscious dilemma. I know I have a choice to make with literally everything I do, from posting on this blog to buying a certain brand of beer. Is the decision to fit it or stand out?

The point is: I now have more choices than I really ever had before. I get to choose.

I want button-fly jeans.

Divorce is weird!

Dishes I’ve Attempted (and still ate) That You Won’t Find on Top Chef

2009-02-09T21:08:00.001-08:00

Cheese Pizza from Vons
Beer Can Pot Roast
Gorton’s Fish Tacos with a Peach Relish
Blackened Grouper (way blackened … way) and Dirty Rice
Oatmeal
BBQ Vernors-Soaked Chicken
Pan-Seared Pork Chops with Smuckers Grape Jelly Reduction
Deviled Eggs and Tobasco
Red Vines as the straw for a Diet Coke

Coffee Regular

2009-01-23T07:50:00.000-08:00

I rarely go to Starbucks. I make my own coffee black with either soy, 2% milk, or Coffee-mate. It depends on the day. When I do buy my coffee, I like the more local coffee houses and not the chain stores.

This morning I didn’t feel like heading home for breakfast after the gym. I decided to get a start on the pile of work awaiting me at my office. So, I figured I’d grab a coffee at Starbucks and eat a couple of granola bars at my desk.

I wasn’t the only early morning patron, which quite honestly startled me a bit considering these economic times. There was one sloppily dressed college kid all in black and grey, a woman dressed professionally, and another woman either on her way or from a gym.

The dude at the counter received his coffee and paid. He walked away sipping and nearly spit it out in his back pack. He turned and muscled back in front of the professional lady.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted to a wide eyed young girl at the register, “I asked for a regular coffee.” He held the cup out arms length to give it back as if it were a dirty diaper.

“It is coaffee regulah … 3 creams, 3 sugahs …” the obviously east coast accent explained. I was as surprised as everyone. New York, I figured.

“Uhm, ahhh,” stuttered Goth boy, “this is California. Regular means black.”

East coast barista grabbed back the coffee in a slight miff and dumped it and refilled it with plain, house black. She handed it back saying, “sowrry!”.

Do they train people anymore?

Professional lady ordered something and paid with an ATM. Gym mom ordered something and handed over her dollars dumping the change in a jar. They stood over next to the “self-serve” station and talked.

“Yeah, I have to buy a new phone this morning. Dropped mine in the toilet,” confided professional lady as she rolled her eyes in self amazement.

My interest was piqued. I took my time adding my non-fat milk. Please continue. I stirred slowly. As it turns out, the phone was in her pocket. She never puts the phone in her pocket. But this morning she put the phone in her pocket. Isn’t that always the case. From what I over heard, the phone is gone. The conversation somehow morphed to Rice Krispy treats, and surprisingly, I lost interest. My mind jumped to the work of the day.

On my way out the car, I wondered what would happen if I dropped my phone right here, in the puddle. (It's been raining.) Well, it would fritz out or something, I’m sure. It might be a bit sticky. There would be only myself to blame, and maybe the irresponsible person who spilled a caramel latte with whip or something. And, I could blame God, of course.

It’s cheaper, and I get my coffee the way I want it because I make it myself at home, but I must say I’m missing quite a bit of colorful experiences by not getting my morning fix from the shop down the street.

How do YOU use your mobile phone?

2009-01-21T17:25:00.000-08:00

I dare you not to smile ...

HOPE

2009-01-20T17:30:00.000-08:00

>"So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."

America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations." - President Barak Obama

I Have My Dream

2009-01-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

Today is Monday, January 19. It is a day reserved in the name of Martin Luther King. And, I am happy to see that instead of it turning into another designated shopping day slash Hallmark holiday on the yearly calendar, it has become a day dedicated in service.

I don't blog about my company as a rule, but today I think we missed an opportunity. Instead of turning this day into an extension of another three day weekend, I'd like to see the firm suggest ways we can take the day to volunteer our service. If we don't chose to do that, THEN we can come into work regularly.

Not sure the powers at be see it that way, but I have a dream (albeit an itty-bitty, small one).

Some people just call it networking ...

2009-01-07T12:51:00.000-08:00

You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk? - Clint Eastwood

I guess in a way, I feel lucky. I embrace luck and understand a large part of who I have become is because of placing myself out there and at the ready for luck. I always have. Always will, too.

Lucky is being in a wine bar last Valentines Day for a singles event.

Lucky is that chance encounter that changes your life.

It is precariously easy to plan for the day in order to minimize the obstacles in life. Nobody likes setting themselves up for the nastiness and potential disappointments that can come our way.

But I wonder ... where might I have ended up if I just hid and sulked? Instead, I got lucky.

Now that I live near downtown MudHole ....

2009-01-07T07:21:00.000-08:00

In 2009 + Life's Lyrics 18 - Brand New Day

2008-12-31T11:09:00.000-08:00

New Year’s Eve has always been a source of trepidation. For some, it feels like a night of mandatory feting. Everyone dressing up in garb they might never wear again (comfortably maybe, but, probably not). It can be an expensive night. People marinate their brains on alcohol in order to forget the previous year. Or celebrate/dread the upcoming one. It can be more of a hyped-up holiday where one must attain a socially respectable level of enjoyment.

However much I enjoy a good party, this NYE brings about much needed reflection. For the majority of the year, 2008 sucked. But with it came a ton of great and encouraging people and events. Suffice it to say, I would have soberly stared at you, blinking unbelievably if you had hinted to me that in 2008 I would teeter-totter between extreme emotions while crying/laughing along at each one:

- Surviving divorce and now a reveling in a new Love;
- Bush anger and Obama hope;
- Leaving what has been my home (living out of suitcase through all of 2008) and now starting a new home from scratch (with a permanent place to put my toothbrush);
- Fearing economic upheaval and being thankful for a job I love;
- Losing my dog of 13 years and thriving with my non-profit work for the zoo;
- Cooking for one vs. cooking for my kids/friends/Girlfriend; and,
- I will not miss the countless remote hours alone in a small condo from hell but will always cherish the memories during the multiple travels with friends/loved ones.

If nothing else, 2008 was not boring. And you know what? I have no real regrets. Well, I might have done a few things better given a chance to revisit some things, but all in all I’ve come through the year looking forward 2009. I’ll be ok.

From Joshua Radin's acoustic little ditty (sounding very Cat Stevens-esque) are these lyrics from the song Brand New Day. I hope when you wake up on Thursday, January 1 on 2009, this is the first song you hear.

Some kind of magic
Happens late at night
When the moon smiles down at me
And bathes me in its light

I fell asleep beneath you
In the tall blades of grass
When I woke the world was new
I never had to ask

It’s a brand new day
The sun is shining
It’s a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know I’ll be ok

Most kind of stories
Save the best part for last
And most stories have a hero who finds
You make your past your past
Yeah you make your past your past

It’s a brand new day
The sun is shining
It’s a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know I’ll be ok

This cycle never ends
You gotta fall in order to mend

It’s a brand new day
It’s a brand new day
For the first time in such a long long time
I know I’ll be ok

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

2008-12-24T14:08:00.000-08:00

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Twelve Chocolate Truffles

Eleven songs on CD
Ten-Toed Socks with Stripes,
Nine Scented Pine Cones,
Eight Festive Mugs,
Seven Bows O' Mistletoe,
Six British Ales,
Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

2008-12-23T12:58:00.000-08:00

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Eleven songs on CD ("Toast" to the Season)

Ten-Toed Socks with Stripes,
Nine Scented Pine Cones,
Eight Festive Mugs,
Seven Bows O' Mistletoe,
Six British Ales,
Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Tenth Day of Christmas

2008-12-22T21:47:00.000-08:00

On the Tenth Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Ten-Toed, Socks with Stripes

Nine Scented Pine Cones,
Eight Festive Mugs,
Seven Bows O' Mistletoe,
Six British Ales,
Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Ninth Day of Christmas

2008-12-19T18:39:00.000-08:00

On the Ninth Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Nine Scented Pine Cones

Eight Festive Mugs,
Seven Bows O' Mistletoe,
Six British Ales,
Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Eighth Day of Christmas

2008-12-18T17:31:00.000-08:00

On the Eighth Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Eight Festive Mugs (for coffee)

Seven Bows O' Mistletoe,
Six British Ales,
Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

note (12.19.08): Giving a 5th grade teacher Christmas coffee mugs is sort of the equivalent to giving an Eskimo an ice cube maker. Smooth move, Genius....

On the Seventh Day of Christmas

2008-12-16T20:36:00.000-08:00

On the Seventh Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Seven Bows O' Mistletoe.

Six British Ales.
Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas

2008-12-14T20:55:00.000-08:00

On the Sixth Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Six British Ales.

Five. Golden. Hoops.....
Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas

2008-12-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

On the Fifth Day of Christmas I gave my Love a gift.
Five. Golden. Hoops. (well ... two sets of earrings and a bracelet

Four Purple Orn'ments,
Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas

2008-12-11T07:21:00.000-08:00

On the Fourth Day of Christmas, I gave my Love a Gift.
Four Purple Orn'ments

Three Crimson Candles,
Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Third Day of Christmas

2008-12-10T22:23:00.000-08:00

On the Third Day of Christmas, I gave my Love a Gift.
Three Crimson Candles

Two Christmas Mittens,
And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

On the Second Day of Christmas

2008-12-08T19:20:00.000-08:00

On the Second Day of Christmas, I gave my Love a gift.
Two Christmas Mittens (pairs).

And a Photo in a Shadow Box Frame.

49er's Got Game

2008-12-08T07:15:00.000-08:00

Unka Tim and I took the kids to their first NFL game. 49ers v NYJets. Quote of the day came from The Girlie:

Is Jet Favre on the New York Bretts?

'09 To Do List

2008-12-04T20:52:00.000-08:00

I have come to a conclusion. It is now too late for some things to happen in my life. For example, becoming a Quarterback in the NFL was once at the top of my list. That won’t happen now for a ton of reasons. First, I’ve never played football outside of the neighborhood games in fifth/sixth grade and 40-somethin’ QBs rarely make it anymore. Second, eye-glasses don’t work well in a helmet. And third, I really don’t like getting sacked.

But the dream lives on as I can still throw a mean spiral really far (as long as I am willing to deal with the shoulder pain the next day).

I think it is also too late for me to join up with the British Secret Service. They can only have nine Double-O’s anyway and I think you actually have to be British. And being Ott-Seventy Three and holding down a desk job in the basement below Q just doesn’t quite have the same appeal. I also don’t want to die. For now.

The same goes for being a famed archeologist.

I can now accept those things will never happen. So, I’ve changed my focus and I am willing to try some new ideas while resurrecting some older ones. I’m not talking life purpose stuff. I’m saying I’ve started a mental to-do list for 2009. Yeah, I know, I know. I'm a month early. Bite me (in a nice, glad you're reading my blog sort of way).

My New Year’s Resolution is to tick off as many of the following things as possible (in no particular order):

•Review your Rules on a regular basis. They are your guide.
•Continue on as the Dad you know you are and stick to those beliefs. They need you. You need them.
•Keep blogging.
•Foster that Love. Write her more poetry. And flowers. Gifts are good. And more mix tapes/cds. She likes those.
•Take more photos with your kids.
•Smile more. Laugh even. It might crack your face, but who cares. You’re old(er).
•Divorce? What divorce?
•Practice patience and tolerance (see Divorce? What divorce?)
•Keep focused on your Non-Profit, volunteer President role. They need you. You need them.
•Get outta Dodge (Mudhole) more often.
•Review your Rules. I'm not kidding.
•Keep up that gym routine. Just get up and go. It’s only 5 a.m., right? Right!?
•Read before bed a couple nights a week. That stack of unread books is too high.
•Stick to that overly strict diet. You know the one: eat better, eat less, exercise regularly.
•Less beer – More wine
•Less t.v. – More music
•Hike (not football, but mountains).
•Simplify and get rid of stuff.
•Cook even more.
•Cook for friends even more.
•Attend more concerts and live music.
•Re-visit that screenplay you started.
•Review your Rules. Again. In fact, just post them on the fridge.
•Don’t go crazy, but get some new clothes. You look like a 40 some odd Dad that hasn’t bought some threads in the last 10-15 years.
•Sing in the car loudly and wave at those laughing at you. Don’t be embarrassed. They are just jealous of your amazing voice.
•Paint new art for the new house. It is YOUR house now. No more compromises. Paint what you like.
•Golf again (more than once a year).
•Get greener and reduce your carbon footprint.
•Stick to your new budget and put away some money for a rainy day.
•Call your mom, your dad, and your sister. Tell them not to worry. You’re not James Bond or Joe Montana, but life is good.

On the First Day of Chirstmas ...

2008-12-02T20:07:00.000-08:00

On the First Day of Christmas, I gave my Love a gift.
A photo in a shadow box frame.

Hath Frozen Over

2008-11-25T06:12:00.000-08:00

My buddy Tim and I do a yearly football trip. As Michigan fans, we usually build the trip around a Wolverine game. This year we braved hostile territory to watch the game in the Horseshoe in Columbus. The following is the text conversation with my GirlFriend.

Mud: Officially behind enemy lines now. Going under gover … GPS pointing us toward The Bush Tavern for lunch … Or Capin’ Woodies Pub & Grub
Mud: In Columbus now … Toasting Tim (he’s 45 today) with more JW Blue before heading out to the Elevator Brewery and Draught Haus.
GF: Toast him for me too. Have fun! Is it snowing there?
Mud: Not at the moment. As we got closer to Columbus it got warmer … Which is appropo FOR HELL. I swear I just saw a flying monkey or two out the window.
GF: Why is it Hell?
Mud: Home of archrival THE Ohio State University … That’s why the ‘bhind enemy lines’ and ‘under cover’ ….
Mud: Big Ballroom Dancing competition at the convention cntr, too.
GF: I get that. Wasn’t sure if u had a bad personal experience or not.
Mud: Never been here before… Hell is grey (and scarlet) and a cold day in hell, btw.
Mud: Hell has a Westin. Tho this non-smoking room smells like smoke. Probably because THIS IS HELL.
GF: u crack me up. I usually like Westins. No duvet w big fluffy pillows?
Mud: Yep. Bed looks comfy. Little slice of heaven WHILE IN HELL.
Mud: K. All bundled up now. Heading out to that brewery. Gonna brave these hellish elements and walk six blocks.
Mud: This bar offers and MBA … A Masters of Beer Appreciation
Mud: Beef Sliders, Aztec Chicken Soup, and a six flight beer tasting.
Mud: btw, we counted four bail bonds places (one was on the corner of Rich St.), a violin repair shop, and the State Capitol bldg on a four block walk thru Hell.
Mud: While in Hell what better concert to go see than AC/DC.? Playing tonight down the street from here. Might try and scalp a few.
Mud: Tim ordered chicken wings. He’s practically in tears they are so hot. Probably because WE R IN HELL.
Mud: Four Vines on the list … So let Christian know his wine is served in Hell. I think he’d like that idea.
GF: You so need to save these texts & blog them. You are on such a roll!
Mud: Back at the hotel room… We needed more ‘Blue’ because everything is scarlet here.
Mud: There has to be a decent Cigar Bar in Hell. That and the place they make Hand Baskets.
GF: Do u think the Blue will clash with the color of your lips & fingertips?
Mud: Blue and Blui-ish whould work together.
Mud: btw, on the walk back we passed Akbar n Jeff at the bus stop across from the bail bonds place. Didn’t see the rabbit tho.
GF: I don’t know Akbar & Jeff
Mud: Matt Groening … Life in Hell comic strips … before The Simpson’s
Mud: Akbar n Jeff. Brotghers or lovers (or possibly both)…. And that silly rabbit
GF: I had school is Hell. Loved those!
Mud: They wore fez(s) and Charlie Brown shirts.
GF: No AC/DC tickets. Sold out. Maybe the place called Columbus Gold out near the airport. They have and OSU v.UoM whipcream wrestling extravaganza.
Mud: According to the ad. Hell has hot women.
GF: Just try to resist “the other delights”
Mud: I don’t think Tiajuana Brass is their house band. I know this because they are the opening act for AC/DC.
GF: Well if you run into Herb tell him that OH blows harder than he does.
Mud: Nice! ROTFLOL
Mud: Dinner at Barley’s. Motto: af few beers were brewed up over the years here….. I’m eating the Grilled Portebella Sandwich with Blackbeans and Rice. The Amber is well on the way to being one of the better Ambers. And from Hell, that statement hurts a lot.
GF: Who did Hot Lips Hoolihan marry? Tim can’t look it up either
Mud: Cl. Donal Penopscott
GF: U R WEIRD. I knew you’d know the answer.
Mud: We found a dive bar. Guinness on tap. Juke box crankin ‘three steps’ by Leonard Skynard. Stumbling distance to the hotel.
Mud: 99 Luftballoons and Petron shaken over ice…. Happy 45th, Tim.
Mud: Hell continued tomorrow for the big game. Night.
GF: Night.

Life's Lyrics 17 - Something Coming Over

2008-11-11T13:02:00.000-08:00

Yep. Like I'd written it myself... from O.A.R.

Who's that with his arms around you?
Making eyes at you that way?
Looks in love, man it looks familiar
Damn, it's me
Never thought I'd see that day
It's like I came to from sleeping
No more bed rails
I'm pulled to daylight by your voice
Not that I had any choice

Now there's something coming over me
I know it's you
And there's someone that I used to be
But he is through
And I know that it's forever
And it's hard to do
There's something coming over me
I know it's you

And now we're talking 'bout the future
And a future wide open
If we love, it'll be the best place
I've ever been
And it was you to the rescue
Did I mention that I've never felt like this before?
I'm powerless to fight it anymore

Now there's something coming over me
I know it's you
And there's someone that I used to be
But he is through
And I know that it's forever
And it's hard to do
There's something coming over me
I know it's you

Used to watch this game from the sidelines
Now it's time to get on in and play
You've been waiting there for me for my whole life
I saw you, I saw you
And I know that it's forever
And it's hard to do
There's something coming over me
I know it's you

Now there's something coming over me
I know it's you
And there's someone that I used to be
But he is through
And I know that it's forever
And it's hard to do
There's something coming over me
I know it's you

Life's Lyrics 16 - Whatever Happened

2008-11-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

Another O.A.R. song.... maybe I'm not necessarily interpreting the lyrics quite the way the band intended, but this is positive "moving forward" song for me.... I've only listened to it 10-15 times already and I just got the cd this morning in the mail.

Tell me I'm dreaming
My feet are stone and my light is dim
Chasing this demon on his way down

Whatever happened? Whatever happened?

Spent the night out on the hill
And watched the world
Sleep sound and still
And over mountains
Darkness will wash me over

Whatever happened? Whatever happened?
It's been a long way back
From the edge of that
Saw the world from the hill
I'm right back where it started
And it still feels right
Like the very first time
I saw the world like a kid
Yesterday is over
Let's write another story tonight

City gates of rusted iron
Can't contain the light inside
So I spot this devil at the county line
And went no further

Whatever happened? Whatever happened?
It's been a long way back
From the edge of that
Saw the world from the hill
I'm right back where it started
And it still feels right
Like the very first time
I saw the world like a kid
Yesterday is over
Let's write another story tonight

After all the time is gone
I'll have morning

It's been a long way back
From the edge of that
When the world was a kid
I'm right back where it started
And it still feels right
Like the very first night
Saw the world like a kid
Let's write another story tonight
I saw the world from the hill
Let's write another story tonight
I saw the world like a kid
Let's write another story
Write another story tonight

After Mediation

2008-11-06T17:28:00.001-08:00

and tonight's playlist:
(I Ain't) Missing You (Acoustic) - John Waite
On My Way (Acoustic) - Ingram Hill
50 Ways to Leave Your Lover - Paul Simon
These Days - Jackson Browne (see below)
Time for Me to Fly - REO Speedwagon
I Will Survive - Cake
Turn and Walk Away - The Babys
Off and Running - James McMurtry
heartbreak a stranger - Bob Mould
kiss this thing goodbye - del amitri
It Is What It Is - Minibar (see above)
Nothing Left To Lose - Needtobreathe
thought i knew you - Mathew Sweet
Last Day of Our Acquaintance - Sinéad O'Connor

Life's Lyrics 15 - These Days

2008-11-05T23:34:00.000-08:00

It is the night before I walk into a lawyer's office and face divorce mediation. I am unusually light about it and probably shouldn't be. I guess I'm resolved to what ever happens, happens. Not much more I can do at this point. All the forms are filled out. I've talked with my soon to be Ex-wife at length so that there should be no surprises tomorrow.

So, after tucking the kids into bed, I've spent the better part of the night cleaning a kitchen, a room I'm not sure will host many more meals for me. I'm a bit melancholy. And when that happens I turn to music.

While finishing up the last kitchen items, I quietly started a playlist on my iPod that holds nearly ten hours of relatively mellow acoustic music. i put it on random as I didn't want to dictate a mood. The first song to spill forth was an acoustic version of a Jackson Browne song, These Days.

Oh my. Did this hit home tonight. I listened for nearly half of an hour on repeat. I never got to another song. In order to purge the song and get a decent sleep tonight, I decided to post it. So, here ....

Well I've been out walking
I don't do that much talking these days
These days--
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to

And I had a lover
Its so hard to risk another these days
These days--
Now if I seem to be afraid
To live the life I have made in song
Well its just that I've been losing so long

I'll keep on moving
Things are bound to be improving these days
These days--
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Dont confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them

Now I need to find a way to fall asleep....

Life's Lyrics 14 - Second Chances

2008-11-05T17:51:00.000-08:00

New band for me needtobreathe. I like the band but struggle with the lyrics (not my point of view these days). But the song Second Chances speaks to me. I can't listen to it much as it brings me down and I don't need more of THAT. needtobreathe ... cool band.

All my past is color
Placed inside my hands
Empty is the canvas
Patiently I plan
Stars are bright above me
That’s not where I am
Greens will be behind me
Blues will make the man

I can’t help but fear I’ve done this wrong
Cause seldom second chances come along

Greys are all around me
Fading into black
Stars were bright above me
Won’t you bring them back

I can’t help but fear I’ve done this wrong
Cause seldom second chances come along
If time can break us, will it make us strong
Cause seldom second chances come along

Good Morning

2008-11-05T06:15:00.000-08:00

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
- Maya Angelou (at the inauguration for President Bill Clinton)

Last night was a wonderful experience. I sat on the couch, my kids on either side of me, watching history. November 4th, 2008 was a day about a new chapter in American history for all the obvious reasons. But it was also about my kids. It was about us. I am proud to be a part of this change.

Granted, the days ahead are going to be challenging to say the least. The responsibility and mountains to climb are rather daunting. However, I am encouraged by the passion and shear energy from this movement. I learned last night that we can, no will, change for the better.

This morning I have hope for change for the first time in a very, very long time.

Good morning, indeed.

Reason #31

2008-11-04T06:42:00.001-08:00

... from 30 Reasons .... Reason #31.

The Apology

2008-11-02T23:24:00.000-08:00

... after 13 years of marriage, I was told I DID get an apology ... in an email.

Ron Howard on This Election

2008-10-23T21:46:00.000-07:00

See more Ron Howard videos at Funny or Die

Me, Not My Money

2008-10-21T17:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not a member of any organized political party. I'm a Democrat. - Will Rogers

I have no money to give. Of all the elections, I have no money to donate to my candidate of choice this election year. With a staggeringly slim divorce budget and these economic times, there is no money leftover.

And the countless emails I’m getting to give money are starting to rub me the wrong way because they don’t need the money. Right now, what they need, is more people.

If I ran the campaign today, I would make a huge announcement that given the economic uncertainty, my campaign was not going to ask for another dime. Instead, I’d ask for people. People with ideas. People to hold a house party just to listen to my plans on a conference call. I’d ask for more volunteers to help spread the word.

You are only asking for money because that is what campaign offices do. I’m president of a local, non-profit board. I get asking for money. We do it all the time, because that is what we do. We have all those systems in place and they kind of work on automatic. But, quite honestly, right now, what my non-profit needs is more people power. We need volunteers and people with know how. We need dedicated community leaders. If we can show a strong group of people, the money will follow ... Eventually.

So, Obama Campaign? .... Focus on your people who can get more people. You need my attention, not my money. You need my enthusiasm for your candidacy, not my last dollar. You want my time, my ideas, and my vote. Not my money. Not today.

McCain-Palin Haiku

2008-10-21T12:11:00.000-07:00

These are precious ones.
You can vote for your favorite.
Haiku Politics!

Unless You Have Blinders On

2008-10-16T17:47:00.000-07:00

So. The last Presidential debate was last night. And after reviewing all the debates, I’ve come to the following conclusion:

If you are a registered Republican and plan to vote party line no matter what, McCain won.

If you’re anyone else, Obama won.

California Prop 8

2008-10-15T12:04:00.000-07:00

Prop 8, if passed, would take away the right from same sex couples to live in matrimony in California. And again, I repeat, take away the right. Removal of rights. People limiting other people’s rights because they just don’t agree.

I understand there are biblical implications and that can get sticky when we try to legislate religious and moral issues. I respect religious beliefs and differences. But let’s keep those in the church where they belong.

I heard the argument yesterday that this would protect the sanctity of marriage. But I once wrote in the previous blog, that the largest danger to marriage is not same sex marriages. It is divorce.

So, if it is allowable to get on a ballot the removal of a select few people’s rights, then maybe we could get an initiative on the ballot that “prohibits divorce”, the real enemy of marriage.

What? You think that’s crazy. Not much crazier than Prop 8.

Birthday Drive

2008-10-13T12:02:00.000-07:00

This highway rocked of craters and boulders
Has wound around unto a new road.
It is rife and rippling with frustrations and rage.
Yet, the love and the calm of a cruise.

The rearview mirror reveals the many
Lefts and rights and the wrongs.
Only the horizon tempts with a rising sun
If I can stay within the guardrails of sanity.

I hold no regrets. Although, I have heart aches.
I get past them, around them, and through them,
Steering clear of them by looking ahead.
Tunnel vision forward. There’s no more what could have been.

I’ve always identified the family man, me.
I was one before family became true.
I wonder if I should change self-perception,
When they’re half the time not with you.

On this day on the morning commute, alone and quiet,
I wonder if the man I used to be, my younger self,
Could understand the path I have become.
That I no longer follow that map anymore,
That now I navigate my way better without one.

The Play Station and the Financial Crisis

2008-10-10T12:32:00.000-07:00

The Boy asked this morning, “Dad? What’s goin’ on in the news? What’s this crash they’re talking about?” The morning news was talking about another couple hundred point fall in the DowJones and the President just made a quick speech to the American public.

I started to explain it simply enough, but I could tell it wasn’t registering. The Boy had a glazed look in his eyes. And The Girlie looked up from her cereal bowl obviously semi-curious about the news, too.

“Ok, let me put it this way,” I started again. “Let’s say you wanted to buy yourself a new PlayStation. It cost $100 dollars. You promise to pay it back by earning it over time doing yardwork. However, I don’t just want my $100. I want $110. The extra $10 is called interest….. Does that make sense so far?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “But, won’t charge me more than the $100, right? You’re my Dad!” he joked.

“No, I’m a bank. I make money for the bank by charging you a bit more than the money I loaned you. Banks need to make money, too. They don’t just give away money for nothin’,” I clarified with a finger in the air as emphasis.

“Fine. I get it,” he admitted, “What about this crash though?”

“I’m getting to that. Stay with me,” I continued. “Now, not only are you promising to pay me back the $100 plus the $10 interest, I want something called collateral. Collateral is something of similar value you let me hold until you can pay me back. So…. Let me think …. I give you the money to buy the PlayStation, but in the meantime I get to keep all your GameBoy games until you do.”

“So, basically,” he continued, “You get to do whatever you want with my GameBoy games if I don’t pay you back. Right?”

“Yep!” I said, “now for the crash…. One day, you and all your friends decided GameBoys were kind of old school and nobody plays them anymore. GameBoys became like Eight Track tapes.”

“What?” the Girlie scrunched her nose.

“Never mind,” I back tracked. “You all decided Gameboys had cooties. You all are into Rock Band and Guitar Hero now, anyway. Those GameBoy games are now not worth the $100 anymore. They MIGHT be worth $20 on eBay.”

“That stinks,” the Girlie chimed. The Boy chuckled.

“Exactly,” I pointed to her and she smiled. I looked at the Boy “Plus, you’ve been spending so much time playing your new PlayStation that you haven’t done any yardwork. You don’t have any money to pay me back for the PlayStation. So, since you can’t pay me back, you just let me keep the GameBoys. Make sense?”

“Yeah, I got a new PlayStation for some worthless Gameboys,” he beamed.

“That’s right,” I continued, “the bank, or me, just lost a bunch of money because we thought GameBoys and PlayStations would be popular for a long time. And, now they aren’t so much anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have loaned me the money, huh!” the Boy admitted.

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “I, as a good parent, should have asked you to raise the money on your own first. You should have been able to afford it on your own. As a good bank, I should have had you be a bit more responsible. Instead, I let you just get whatever you wanted.”

“So, now,” I continued, “Think of the PlayStation as a house. Instead of a hundred dollars, think of hundreds of thousands of dollars. What the banks did was loan a ton of money to people to buy houses, like I just did with you and the PlayStation money. Only, nobody predicted that the value of their houses, or in this case your games, would go down in price. PlayStations, as we speak are being replaced by Wii’s. Even your PlayStation isn’t worth as much anymore and you just bought it. For years, when you bought a house, it was thought that it would keep its value, that it would be worth more tomorrow. What is happening now, is that our house isn’t worth as much as when we bought it three years ago. A lot of people borrowed money based that their house would be worth more in a year or two. That isn’t happening. Houses lost a lot of value and now the banks are losing a ton of money. It started a really bad money cycle. And it has caused a lot of worry.”

“So, basically,” the Boy wanted to be done with this lesson, “I shouldn’t borrow money. I should raise it first.”

“Yes,” I answered, “With one last point … be careful what you buy. Nothing holds value very long. Not a PlayStation. Not a house. You have to be careful with your money. Americans and the banks and the government haven’t been very careful over the last ten years or so.”

“Obama will fix it,” shouted the Girlie striking a cheerleader pose.

“I hope so, Girlie. I sure hope so,” I finished.

Life's Lyrics 13 - Lucky to Know You

2008-10-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

Luke Reynolds is now leading the band Pictures and Sound, a previous Life's Lyrics. Before P&S, he was the front man for a band called Blue Merle. Lot's of words here I identify with, repeat and sing in my heart ... moving forward. This is my poetry, if I had written these lines....

Friday morning all alone
One by one the stars
each say goodbye
Yeah pictures and a thousand words
A thousand miles turning into song

And I want you to know
I feel lucky to know you
Cut open my heart
And you'll see that it's true
I want you to know
I feel lucky to know you
I feel lucky to know you

Yeah summer fades into fall
And with it
Came the writing on the wall
So I sent a thousand letters on the
Backs of silver angels
through the sky

And I want you to know
I feel lucky to know you
Cut open my heart
And you'll see that it's true
I want you to know
I feel lucky to know you
I feel lucky to know you

I took a drive it's what I do
And wrote another song (poem) for you
The things we want
The things we crave
We have no choice the choice is made

And I want you to know
I feel lucky to know you
Cut open my heart
And you'll see that it's true
I want you to know
I feel lucky to know you
I feel lucky to know you
I feel lucky to know...

Friday morning all alone
And one by one
The stars each say goodbye

Life's Lyrics 12 - On My Way (aka "Anger Management")

2008-10-09T18:26:00.000-07:00

I always have my musical obsessions. Ingram Hill is one at the moment. They showed up earlier this year in Life's Lyrics 6 with a cover of Solsbury Hill.

I just burned this song to a CD. Just this one song. I keep it in my car and sing it loudly on repeat when things with the separation, divorce, and life with an ex-wife become difficult enough I need to scream. I figure singing is better than screaming. Plus, the band rocks.

I don't want your old letters
And I don't want to be friends
I've had enough to last a lifetime
and I don't wanna go again
I don't have to find a reason
And I don't have to answer why
It doesn't matter who is wrong here
I just wanna see you cry

And on my way I'll take the sunshine
On my way I'll take your dreams
On my way I'll say I'm sorry to no one but me

Let your family know I'm leavin
Lie to your girlfriends that you're well
Call and leave a cryin' message
I wanna know it hurts like hell

And on my way I'll take the sunshine
on my way I'll take your dreams
On my way I'll say I'm sorry to no one but me
On my way I'll be my own man
And I'll only please myself
On my way my pride's the only feeling I've got left