Big Fish In A Small Pond

Big Fish, small pond. Some might see that as a negative thing, while others rather like being in a small pond. For one thing, it's easier to know people in a small pond. It's closer, comfortable and reassuring to know one's surroundings and the people that make up the small pond. People care about one another more in the small pond - and the caring about one another is what makes the small pond feel like a big enough ocean.

Jimmy Finley was a big fish in a small pond. Big smile. Big laugh. Big concern for others. Big stories. Big jokes. Big ears. Big voice. Big name. Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

I don't know how many bars there have been in Hudson, nor do I know how many there are now. I have no idea how many bartenders have worked in Hudson, nor how many are working there now. It would be easy to find out, but it doesn't matter. I do know there are some good ones, and I can think of at least one bad one - but none of that matters, because I know exactly how many bars I think of when I think of Hudson, and I know how many bartenders come to mind when I think of Hudson. One and one:  Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

Jimmy Finley. Talk about a big fish in a small pond. That was Jimmy, and everything about him made the small pond the biggest and only ocean that mattered. Jimmy knew me before I knew him. I think Jimmy knew everybody in the small pond before they knew him. Thing is, the moment you met him, you felt like you already knew him. He had a way of making you feel that way, and that's a wonderful feeling in a small pond - or in a big ocean. Feeling like Jimmy knew you and actually gave a damn about you is an awesome feeling, and Jimmy gave that awesomeness to everyone in the small pond. Everyone. That's huge. Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

There are a lot of things that make someone a good bartender - knowledge, ability, speed, organizational/multitasking skills, certainly the gift of gab - which Jimmy had in spades, throw in some other incidentals like good looks, sharp dressed, creative, pick something...and you can teach some of these things, learn some of them...perhaps most of them, but what you can't teach or learn, is how to make people want to sit in front of you at a bar before you even do a flippin' thing. You can't teach someone how to make people want to be around you and stay there. Call it magnetism - or whatever you want, but Jimmy just made people want to be around him, and just by being Jimmy. There are good bartenders out in the world, who bring any number of appealing things to the party, but there are very few individuals behind a bar that have such a way of making people feel so good about where they're sitting, that whatever they're drinking or eating becomes inconsequential and what matters most is you and the guy you're sitting in front of. Jimmy was one of those bartenders. Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

Good bartenders and good piano players have something in common in that we usually don't get much opportunity to see one another work. We're always working, but we always have each other's back. It's not a competition, it's a mutual respect thing. We only sat at each other's bars a handful of times, and I can't speak for Jimmy, but whenever he sat at my bar I was honored. I always hoped that some of that magnetism, that making people want to sit in front of me for no real reason would rub off, please...just a little bit, because that was magic - and that was Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

Jimmy left the small pond that he made so big, cozy and wonderful for Hudson a couple of days ago after a year long battle with cancer. Cancer picked the wrong dude to mess with there. F you cancer, you giant C word - because you're the bully that is going to get theirs. I had lunch with Jimmy barely a month ago, and I know for a fact that you never scared him. I gave you the benefit of the doubt when Jimmy told me he would meet me for lunch at a place we both used to work - on his way home from chemotherapy treatment:

Me: Hey man, are we still on for lunch at House of MSG?
Jimmy: Yes! But I'm not allowed to drive until January - I'll have my Mom drop me off on our way home from chemo if you don't mind taking me home!
Me: No worries on the ride - you sure you'll be up for lunch @ House of MSG after chemo?? We can pick another day if you like.
Jimmy: I'll be fine, and hungry - I won't feel the effects for 6 to 8 hours!

Jimmy. We had a great lunch that day. We had a great visit with Tim Ly, a man both of us once called boss. Tim had his light-up-the-world-around-you-like-sunshine smile. You just need to see it, because it's wonderful, but it's never looked more wonderful to me than it did that day - because it just felt like he wasn't going to stop because he knew that Jimmy needed it. Jimmy wasn't backing down despite clearly being in pain. On our way out the door, he told Tim to be sure and call him this winter if he needed his parking lots plowed - which Jimmy did as a side business, in a big Ford truck that had the letters, yeah THAT JIMMY painted on it. Big. I never saw him plow a driveway or a parking lot - but I'd bet money that the snow really melted away due to Jimmy's inner warmth for others. Any snowplow should have it so easy.

Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

Jimmy, you're loved - and missed, already. You were the best bartender in Hudson. You still are - because everyone in the small, wonderful pond that you made feel so big and like nothing else mattered, knows you and you know everyone. It's hard to imagine a bar somewhere else, a bigger one, that needs you more than the small pond - and you gotta know that you have a shit TON of seats to save for us all. Kinda sucks that none of us know exactly when we'll show up, but everyone - and I mean everyone shows up at your bar, so just save 'em for us will ya?  God bless you my friend, my peer - and in a job I know well, my idol - because I could do this until I'm the oldest person back there and I'll still never be able to do what you do back there, without even trying, simply because you're you. Jimmy.

Yeah, that Jimmy.

Rest in peace Jimmy Finley - real quick, can you pour all of us a double shot of your strength and courage?

Sometimes IT picks you

Sometimes you decide what you want to do, you pick - but other times, perhaps even most times, it picks you. You can fight it, but sooner or later you come to find that resistance is futile. It's not the worst thing in the world - unless you make it that way. You get good at something while you're on the way to something else. Maybe it's a port in a storm, maybe the storm doesn't end - maybe it's not supposed to...and more maybe still, and this one is kind of a big deal...maybe you're not in a storm at all, maybe you're right where you're supposed to be.

Maybe you're supposed to look around and notice all that's good about where you're standing. If you're lucky and have enough self awareness, maybe you'll come to your senses before you miss any more of the good stuff, the stuff you didn't really pay much attention to while you were on your way to something better - or at least something that you thought was better.

As I come upon another birthday, I suppose a bit of wisdom comes with the number of birthdays I've been able to have. I never assumed that would be the case - the wisdom thing anyway. I'm not of the opinion that anyone should refer to themselves as wise. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a bumbling idiot - but I've had more than a few moments that I'm not exactly proud of. That makes me about the same as everyone else on the planet.

Let's just say that I'm in a spot that I may not have ever thought I'd be in once my odometer hit the numbers it has. As I look around, things aren't so bad. They could be, if I were to choose to look at them through the wrong lenses - but I can't allow myself that luxury, to put a negative spin on anything. It wouldn't help, and this year has been too difficult for my family - and for some of my friends. So for me to be in the position I am and be able to even complain mildly about anything at all, just seems wrong. I know people who can complain and at a much higher level than I could on my worst of days - and this, this is not one of my worst days.

I could say that I'm not where I thought I'd be, certainly not where I thought I wanted to be - but the thing is, when I look around me, I see good/wonderful things. I'm rich in friends and my family is wonderful. I work for an employer that expects out of me, the same things he expects out of himself - and I like that. I like the fact that I can make others laugh while I'm at work, and that I can laugh while I'm at work - more on my worst days there, than on my best days doing something I thought I would enjoy so much more. Turns out I didn't. I'm not one to toot my own horn unless I know the tune - so while I can say that I'm good at what I do, I wouldn't say that I'm good at it simply because of the number of years of experience I've had at it. I'm good at it because I keep wanting to be good at it, and there are numerous reasons for that - my employer, my coworkers, our customers, what we collectively do on a daily basis, and lastly the resurgence of creativity in the craft, that has breathed new life into a job that I've often fought hard to get out of, left, came back to and you know what? Every time I've come back to it, I've been welcomed back. You get welcomed back enough times, you start to realize that you're home. Maybe it's not forever, but maybe you're right where you should be and rather than worry about when you should leave, maybe it's best you take a look around and take in what's all around you, because maybe you've been picked - and maybe there's a very good reason for that. Here's to another year - and well wishes all around. Birthdays aren't so bad as a grown up. I'll wake up tomorrow, on my birthday, and tell myself that age is just a number and that blank is the new forty, and forty is the new thirty and thirty is the new twenty - and then I'll start dialing in the smartass and sarcasm that I tend to sprinkle abundantly on every day, and birthday or not, it's business as usual. Despite my Irish blood, my birthday and how I put food on my table, no shots will be fired. Peace, good people - and may the year ahead be a good one for us all. Boom.

Coffee Thoughts

So, like, yeah...it's been a while since I've posted. Busy - and busy is always a good thing. Holy God is there ever all kinds of news, some of it good...some of it not so good. Mostly things are good and I don't have a single complaint. Fall, AKA Decorative Gourd Season...M'r Fk'rs, is my favorite season. I'd take it all year 'round if I could. I guess I'd also take it for granted too, if I were to have that much of it. All things for good reason eh?

It's a great time of the year for me. Creativity runs high - like...well, fucking off the charts high - what's not to love about that? Temperatures are perfect, looking in any direction is amazing and so is taking the longer and scenic way into work. There may be no better season to embrace change than Autumn - y'know, Decorative Gourd Season...m'r fk'rs.

Yes, I know what's coming. I'll take that too - and anyone who wants to challenge me on it, well...they goin' get a snowball thrown right at they face. Boom. How you like me now? I've said for years that I wouldn't bitch about Winter if I had two things: 4 wheel drive and a wood burning fireplace. This year I'm halfway there. Truthfully, I don't bitch about Winter - though I'm presently dealing w/a couple days without heat at home, I'm still not one to let weather dictate my moods.

Someone recently commented that the name of this blog was cynical - and I'll be the first to admit that I can come off that way once in a while - but if I'm allowed a moment of self awareness, that's something I do less all the time these days. There are too many things I like. So what if football isn't one of 'em?

Actually the name of this blog came about because when I set it up, every name I attempted to give it came up as unavailable. Boom. There you have it - it's that simple. If my memory serves me well - and it usually does, I didn't think that would take, but it did. It was a cheesy play on words, but here we are, on this here blog, y'know...the one that was created for one reason and one reason only: to get, and KEEP me writing. It works. Not only that, but there are all kinds of things to write about. Lately that writing just hasn't been here, though it was never my intention to drop off the radar here.

My active mind has too much to do this time of the year and I wouldn't want it any other way. I flippin' love this time of the year, and this year seems to be showing a clarity that I've searched for perhaps my whole adult life - not that I feel much like an adult. I'm not saying I'm there yet, but I'm pointed in the right direction. This hasn't been an easy year for my family - and family is everything. Fortunate are those who see true friendships as part of their family. I'm blessed to be in that crowd and I cherish some very long-standing friendships.

I may be struggling with family loss and a few other things this year, but I can see past those kinds of things and around them, and all that surrounds the events and potential happenings that aren't especially joyous - they are surrounded by people and things that are everything wonderful and good. I'm a firm believer that even on the worst days, there is still so much to be thankful for - and I think it's my personal responsibility to not walk by all of that.

Boom. There you have it - my thoughts as I finish the last of my coffee. There's more on the horizon, but meanwhile, there's a few things to do around here before I head into work. I dunno about you, but today is one incredible day to be grateful. And so, he did....

Keynote? Ninja PLEASE.

The good folks at Apple have come out with a new iPhone again. While no one can deny the amazing technological advances, the build up, hype and massive interest is...well, let's just say it's something to think about. It's quite possible that not all of that thinking is good. It's a phone, but it's not just a phone - and yet, it is just a phone.

It's a hand held ADD device - among other things. Spend five minutes driving and you're certain to see more drivers passing you on their phones than you will that are focused on the task at hand. Mad props to the moms out there who are skilled enough to turn an SUV while talking on their phone, because that's talent. Who would've thought there would ever be an operating system that makes messaging, Facebooking, emailing and texting so much easier...while driving, working, being with friends or family, or any other time when your attention should be directed anywhere else but towards an electronic device?

Remember when push button land line phones were revolutionary? Imagine that keynote:

Corporate Suit:  Hello and thank you all for coming. I'm very pleased to unveil our incredible new push button dial phones. With these incredible new phones, you won't have to stick your finger in a little hole and move in a counterclockwise circle, release and wait for the dial to fall back in the resting place before you stick your finger in ANOTHER circle and repeat that whole painstaking process up to eleven times if you're calling long distance...you can now simply press a button - and when you press that button, you will get audible tones to distinguish the buttons from one another...

Enter oohs and ahhs and faint applause - don't worry, there will be more applause at the end, once those in attendance have seen the wonders of this incredible new touch tone phone.

Alright, that keynote would've been brief - and certainly with a lot less wow factor than Apple's keynote for the new iPhone. Point taken. So too, would the keynote for a cordless land line phone - though that would've been a bit more exciting. It's not that technological advances aren't a good thing. It's not as if the new iPhone isn't cool with all of its features - but let's face it, Maxwell Smart had the predecessor to all cell phones/smart phones - the first cell phone ever. It looked like a shoe. It was a shoe. No keynote there - that shit was top secret and shit like that needs to be kept on the serious down low. Did you see that? That dude was talking into his shoe! How did he do that and where did he get that? Damned if I know - that's some top-secret shit up in that shoe.

All these new features are well and good - but really, they are just more reasons to live on the damn electronic devices, even when we're with people, when we're doing things that should have our undivided attention and interacting with others. Here's the thing about those land line phones with the boring and brief keynotes:  None of us who remember these devices spent much time or fuss talking about the devices. A simple wow-that's-cool would do. There wasn't really much to marvel at and give so much of our attention to - it was the phone call itself that mattered. What a person said. The call was much more important than the device it was made and received on. The message. Why? Because it led to people.

These new devices are putting a new strain of ADD into the overwhelmed majority. They're filled with features that take away our attention from the people and things that we're right in front of. Even if we're interacting with an actual person, we're not but an eye blink away from diverting that attention towards another person, place, time or event - because we just gotta look at our phones. Not only do we have to look at our phones, we look for them too. Of course you're going to want to know where you phone is at all times when many of these devices are approaching the better part of a thousand dollars in cost - but financial cost be damned, the most concerning cost here is attention. Cool as these new gadgets are, they're costing us attention - from one another, from tasks we should be doing and giving our undivided attention to. We should interact more with one another, less with these devices. Life is too short. Interact. Look at people, less at devices - and when we're looking at people, let us not be so quick to find a reason to look away and back to a device.

End semi-nostalgic rant/blog post now, while my antiquated iPhone, not a 6 nor a 5 is charging. So unhip.

Underwater?

In retrospect, he'd gotten this job far too easily. It also stood to reason that if he were to buy into the hype they'd given him - along with the ridiculous looking brightly colored necktie that they required servers and bartenders to wear at work, that with a bit more looking around, he could do better. The hype of good money and giving diners an underwater dining experience was not looking so great.

Did he want to learn all about the various and sundry aquariums in every direction on the walls, all of which surrounded a giant aquarium in the middle of the dining room that was so big they had a diver in the water feeding sharks and other fishes? Fuck no. Did he really want to spew random facts at his tables before he took dinner orders? Fuck no. He loved kids, but considerably less when he was at work. Suddenly it became all too clear what he would be dealing with on a nightly basis - multi-tasking on the floor would take on whole new meaning when he was expected to answer an endless slew of questions, most of which would be repeated more times in a single evening - and every single evening, than there were grains of salt in the sea horse shaped shakers that adorned every table in the dining room - and incidentally, are available for purchase in our gift shop, and yes, he'd be happy to get a set for them and put it on the bill. Fuck that. Restaurants and gift shops should keep their distance in his not-so-humble opinion, again, fuck that.

Also high on his list of things not to do, was carrying a big tray with six entrees and four appetizers on it, out onto a deck where patrons could sit in the hot Texas sun and look out at the brown ocean water. The minute he got out the door with the tray that he was holding between shoulder and ear level, Seagulls would swoop down boldly - and those nasty fuckers were often good at reducing the number of shrimp in appetizers and entrees. Fuck that. Bay Sky Rats, he called them. The best he could say about them was that it was amusing sometimes when one of the other servers made a totally amateur move by trying to out maneuver the gulls and angle the large tray away from them. Such a move seldom worked out well for the server - or the customers sitting anywhere close. The result was more often than not, a combination of a loud crash, plates and/or glasses breaking, food and drink in customers laps and all over tables and walking areas - and sometimes it included swearing, which he liked. As an added bonus, every now and again some of the swearing was from a server or bus person instead of just a patron who was demanding a dry cleaning voucher and unlimited free dining for life. Fuck that. On a side note, employees lacking in social graces such as F-bomb silencers/filters, were terminated in short order - it seemed that even under such circumstances, swearing in front of customers and coworkers was against company policy - read your handbook - page 12, under the heading, Maintaining acceptable conduct in front of guests and coworkers, paragraph 4 - Use of offensive and profane language on company property. Yeah...y'know what? Oh come on! - say it with me - fuck that.

It wasn't the fact that he was older than 98% of the people he would be working with. It was more the fact that 96% of them had to constantly be reminded that they were supposed to have the tools they needed to do the gig with them, on their person while they were at work. How many times did he have to explain to someone, the same someone, um, like what aioli was? He lost count of how many times they would ask him to borrow a pen or a wine key. Fuck that. Worse still, was the fact that because most of these people didn't have these things on a regular basis - despite constantly experiencing the anxious moments of not having them, and being reminded that such possessions were mandatory, the manager would come up to him as if he were just like the rest of them - and 98% of the time, the same manager asked him borrow a wine key. Fuck that. 

And so the die was cast. The big ridiculous corporate ship? He envisioned one more scenario, walking towards a table with a tray of martinis and tall drinks in ridiculous looking corporate ship logo glasses...cool? No, but whatever ups your check average. As he passed the giant center aquarium, he'd forgotten all about the diver now landing on the floor beneath the surface of the water at feeding time....wait for it...."MOMMY!!! LOOKIT THE MAN FEEDING THE BIG FISHIES!!"

By the time one heard any kid scream MOMMY!!, it was already too late. If any server did manage to not fall victim to a fallen tray, impact with child/children, coworker, guest walking in a daze and not looking where they were going - and mind you this kind of thing happened on a regular basis, thus proving that a large percentage of the general public had at least a mild form of A.D.D., that server would not have fortune smiling on them at the end of the shift when their side work included wiping the tiny, greasy fingerprints off of the Aquariums with Windex and c-fold paper towels. Fun, huh? Fuck that.

Fuck this. The silly looking tie, the strict corporate regulations, the Sky Rats, the heat, the overzealous prick of a manager who while claiming to be such a stickler for details, always seemed to overlook the fact that he was always on time, had every part of his uniform that he was required to have, knew more about food, wine & spirits than his coworkers and his managers, and the employee handbook. Yeah, fuck all that. He would jump ship and keep looking. Better now while the ship is still reasonably close to shore, because he sure as hell wasn't going under - and he wanted no part of this silly corporate voyage...and so, he did.

Gifts

There are memories on this journey that make a soul feel immortal, timeless and seasoned. The memories stick, fade and change a little bit - or sometimes a lot. Let's face it: some of them aren't worth hanging on to, but the ones that are? Hang on for dear life, because those kinds of memories are life - or what gives meaning to our lives on this journey.

I have a dear friend who has had a rocky road - and maybe a heart as big as I know this friend's to be, is the only kind of heart that can make it through all he's been through. To pass through things that test every cell of your heart, emotions and every other aspect of life, and do so with the strength and grace this guy has done - and continues to do, is many things - not the least of which is inspiring. His message is simple, and he's certainly not the only person who has said this:

 EVERY DAY IS A GIFT.

Indeed. Actually, every fraction of time that makes up a day is also a gift. We walk by most of those, but if you give it some thought, anything and everything can change in a split second - that's all it takes for a gift to be a memory. In this age of all the technological advances, we are drawn further apart and living less in the moment while attempting to reach for something in the future. We're more connected by the convenience of electronic devices than we are as the souls that would do well to realize that we're all connected, we're all in this together.

We need to be more in the moment. We need to appreciate that if we're sitting across a table with family or friends, that moment is worth so much more than a text that we're getting on our phone. I grew up in a time when eating dinner with my family meant that no one took a phone call while we were eating. Look around any restaurant now, or any dinning room table in any home - the odds are that you'll see someone looking at their phone.

For what? What are you doing? Where are you now? When will you be done with whatever it is you're doing? Did you get my text? Why aren't you answering my text? Far too many people don't realize that while they're sitting there across the table from someone, they're sitting in a moment that could very easily not come again - ever. They're not giving the moment its due. Any number of things could prevent this moment from ever happening again, some of those things would fall under very unfortunate circumstances, some could simply be a fork in the road. The experience could be repeated at some point in the future - but that moment is one unique fraction of time, spent by unique individuals. Why have so many of us allowed ourselves to be more connected by electronic devices than we are when we're with someone?

Perhaps our biggest offense is thinking we have time. We don't really. I say that because time does a number of things on this journey: It moves. It stops for nothing, for no one. It never moves backwards - no matter how far we may look backwards. And time levels the playing field. One might think that with all of the technological advances in our lives, we'd be astute enough to focus on the fact that we're all connected and in this together. Yet there are more wars, there's more violence, less compassion, less empathy and we grow further apart. What's really disturbing about this is that we know better - at least we should, by now.

As I reflect on some of my own wonderful memories, I start to sketch out a goal - one that has many offshoots that also need to take root. That goal is to realize that every day, and the fractions of time that make up that day, is indeed a gift. Here are two links that I hope will help in putting that realization into play and appreciate our gifts. Peace, good people, Peace.

http://www.cleveland.com/popmusic/index.ssf/2013/06/cleveland_music_scene_rallies.html

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVH72spR

Underhanded Sales B.S.

To use a phrase from a Todd Rundgren tune, I hate my ISP. Evil empire m'r fk'rs. The main issue? They constantly offer up much better deals to new customers, yet existing customers aren't eligible. Can't get a better deal - not once you're locked into getting screwed. The deals that my ISP offer up to new customers are the candy the pedophile uses to get the kid into the van. Candy isn't good for very long. Once you're stuck in the van...well, y'know that's not such a good place to be.

What's equally bad, are the underhanded sales techniques that the competition uses. All kinds of disclaimers that lead to additional, one time fees - and all of this crap is strategically placed in the sales process. You're lured to a point by something so appealing that the likelihood of you turning back is minimal. Oh no, I've come too far to turn back now, so what's a few more conditions, expenses and/or terms? I mean if it's just a one time fee...

Pardon the drop here, but fuck that.

Imagine these kinds of tricks in a job interview - to make a long story short, I'll speed up the process by saying let's take it from you shaking hands and getting hired. All the preliminary screening, background checks, interviews etc, are done and you're being welcomed on board - you pick the place, the sneaky shit starts here:

Your new boss:  Everything looks great then, I look forward to seeing you on Monday. Welcome aboard...(shakes your hand, and as he does, you speak up...)

You:  Thank you so much, ok, about Monday... I'm going to need you to give me a list of say, half a dozen or so of my new coworkers who live within a ten to fifteen mile radius of me. I am going to need a ride to and from work...

Y.N.B. : Um...I...well, I guess I assumed you had transportation.

You: No big deal boss, small matter. This is easily solved - just put me in touch with a few of the people who live close to me, & we're good to go - I mean if there are more people in the office - that's great...
Y.N.B. : I wasn't aware that transportation to and from work would be an issue here...

You: and why would you be? I mean we've gone over your needs, my qualifications, salary expectations, and everything has lined up perfectly - a win/win here. I'm thrilled to be a part of the team, you've chosen to hire me - and I think we both know that's a great decision on your part, so kudos to you for that - I mean why would I waste either your time or mine talking about my getting to work here without even knowing a) that I'd want to work here or b) that you want me to work here - no sense in putting the cart before the horse here boss.

Y.N.B. : Look, how you get to and from work is your responsibility. If you don't have a car, you can ride the bus..

You: Um, yeah...here's the thing about taking the bus:  I can't burden myself with riding with strangers and possibly not getting a seat for most of the way in - or home, public transportation just won't work for me - I mean, for God's sake, what bus driver is going to have enough sense of priorities for me to get here comfortably and on time? No, I'm afraid the bus is not an opti....

Y.N.B. : Look, it's just not my responsibility to get you here...

You: I agree with you - this is just a one-time thing I'm asking you to do, to put me in touch with a few of my new coworkers who might live close enough to me that I could come in with them...I mean, let's be honest - I'm the new guy, you can't expect me to know who my neighbors are yet, I mean it's not even my first day on the job!

Y.N.B. : I'm sorry, I didn't realize transportation was a problem for you. I don't think this is going to work out for either of us.

You: I assure you, transportation is not a problem at all - I have no problem riding into work with any one of my new coworkers and I look forward to meeting them. Of course this is going to work out - you've offered me a job and I've accepted the position. If that wasn't the case, we wouldn't even be talking - so clearly this is going to work out...look, I'm gonna be honest with you: I'm not a time waster - I don't like to mess around at work, time is money and company time is company money. Why don't we get down to business and let's get on to the introductions of those coworkers who live relatively close to me so that we can get the ball rolling?

Out the door folks - that's where you'd be in a scenario like this, and that's also what you'd wanna know if you're entering into a new ISP agreement - what are your costs out the door? Boom. Done. I'm in. Yup, I hate my ISP - and I might not feel that way if I didn't see them treating others better than they are willing to treat me. On a good note, this whole thing is but a tiny spec of a problem to solve at its worst, and there appear to be some options. Onward, let's cut the bullshit.

The negative Nelly & Norman Mindset - Part 1

From the moment she got out of bed, she was pissed - a force to be reckoned with and one that was best avoided at all cost. That fucking alarm clock. For starters, she had to make the coffee. She had to have the coffee. Can't handle being awake without my coffee. Don't fuck with me before I've had my coffee - a warning issued by her several times a day, several times a week. This in and of itself created a bigger window of time and opportunity for her to hang on to the pissed off and put upon moods she seemed to favor. She had to do more things than she got to do - and the having to do was bad, very bad. It burdened her with the responsibility of complaining about the things she had to do, and there were always too many of those.  This kind of mindset was something she would simultaneously bitch about and defend constantly. She didn't want to like herself - she wanted others to do it, and if they didn't, they were bad. Oh it wasn't her - it was circumstances, it was people. Anything, everything, anyone and everyone was the root of her short fuse of a mood. Anything and anyone but her.

Having to do more things almost always meant that there would consequently be fewer things that she got to do. Around the house. At work. For work. She always had to do more than she felt she got to do. Having to do things gave her the right to bitch about all the things that she had to do. It was more than a little ironic that many of the things she had to do, were things that she chose to do. Also ironic was the fact that once the choice was made to do something, she became more put upon and angry - at the person who asked her if she could do it, at the very thing itself.

The new task, again, chosen by her voluntarily, came with a plethora of things that contributed to her negative mindset - time, incidental needs, budget, another log on the fire of a martyr's life. The thing about martyrs is that they're not very honest - if they were, you'd hear something like this:

Martyr: Great - I just told so-and-so I would do such-and-such for them and I don't have the: ability/time/money to do it.
Normal Person/Friend/Relative: Hmmm...then perhaps you shouldn't do it.
Martyr: No, I have to do it - otherwise I wouldn't be able to complain about doing it.

Never happens in a martyr's world. Theirs is a contradiction at every turn - being put upon by all sorts of little things that life throws at them, yet wanting them. They go through shit tons of emotional acrobatics to defend hanging on to such negative mindsets too. This is why it's fun to mess with them sometimes.

You got to fight, for your right to party like that alright. Fight for it she did - and at nearly every turn. On the way to Starbucks, woe be to anyone who crossed her path. Even a simple good morning was likely to be met with a response like, "yeah - it might be once I get my double shot of espresso." - only she put an "x" in the word espresso, and swore she was right. She wasn't, of course, but no one of a normal mindset was keen on challenging her and opening up such a negative can of worms.

Yes, it was really that bad. It was as if you could drop a hundred dollar bill at her feet and she'd look down, pick it up and then be pissed off that now, on top of everything else this day was bound to dump on her, now she had to make a special trip to the bank. Shit. God. Damn. It. Really? All the crap I need to get done today, and you put a hundred dollars in my hand that now I have to fucking go to the bank to deposit and I still haven't had my coffee yet? Holy crap, someone just walked in front of me into Starbucks while I bent down to pick up the hundred dollar bill....

How does one argue with someone so hellbent on cultivating such a negative mindset? Any solution is met with opposition - and for what? It was as if she believed that if she let every little or big thing get to her, particularly the things she had no control over, that the world would stay out of her way.

Life, if she would only listen to it, was calling bullshit. Stop. One minute - look around. Listen. Breathe, for just a second, and pay attention to how it feels to have lungs full of air. You get to breathe - more than you have to breathe. You're put upon? What a load of bullshit - seriously. 

I am the Antilike

Sometimes the blue and white social networking site is too much for me - for any of us really, but I can't make that call for anyone but me. Oh I can think about it, but at the end of the day (cliche reference, numero uno) what others put on their pages and/or walls, the amount of time spent on the blue and white, and the importance they choose to give it all, is up to them. On any given day, the blue and white is basically like a Sims game and it's up to the individual just how much they wanna participate, you know - just how real do you wanna get?

Trolling posts that beg for a response, pseudo-activist posts, guilt-ridden-trolling-pseudo-activist-posts/ploys - you know, the ones that command you to click/like/share/post if you love your country, your siblings, friends - anything and everything near and dear to you. Not doing any of that means...well, that you don't love any of them/that, because if you did, for the love of God, you'd take the time to like/share/post. I mean for f'k sake, I already know 92.1% of my blue and white friends won't share, but I'll be watching - and I know who will share this. Give me an f'ing break.

There are loads of this kind of thing on the blue and white. My own friend list is a list of more people than I would have originally thought I'd have, made up of relatives, friends, coworkers - past and present - some of which are actually friends, some are simply coworkers, friends of friends - read: mutual friends, and some people that either friended (a verb for the new millennium, ha!) me because they liked something I wrote in response to someone else's post, or they clicked on suggested friends...maybe even accidentally. Oops, aw what the hell?

I guess you could say there's something for everyone.

Takes all kinds of peeps to make the blue and white world go 'round, that's for sure - and Lord knows, they're all on there - "activists", non-activists, hyper-cutesy CareBear types, blue and white supremacists...you name it, it's all there waiting for someone to hit a like, comment or share button.

I gotta be honest and say that I've been guilty of some misuse of the blue and white a time or two myself - and my own view of the whole damn thing is a mash up of feelings like using it to stay in touch with people who have shared part of my life at times, people who are still part of my life, not being able to resist a sarcastic or smart ass comment, mild curiosity of what others might be up to, and moments that are a complete waste of time.

The blue and white just can't be very far off from being a one-stop shop for all of it. The likelihood of the blue and white linking up with sites like Amazon and the United States Postal service, UPS, FedEx and God only knows what else, seems very high. F'ing social media crack. Oh the first taste is free, but after that...KA-CHING.

Like? I guess when you have only three choices - Like * Comment * Share, and two of those actually require at least minimal action and/or thought, well, Like is your go to eh? Why the hell else would anyone in their right mind "Like" a status post that has someone saying they're sad about something like having to put a pet down, they lost their job, or a friend or relative passed away?? This is where the whole Sims reference comes in people - I mean, seriously. If you saw your neighbor walking toward you crying, and before you could even ask what was wrong, they tell you - while crying, that something bad/sad happened (you pick something), would you really give 'em a thumbs up (Like) and go on about your day? Well, I mean...I didn't know what to say, I sure as hell didn't wanna share it, so I LIKED it - my friend knows what I meant, right?

 For my own tastes, not everything I put up on my wall is any or all of the following: a) something that everyone on my friend list will get b) something that anyone/everyone on my friend list will like c) something that everyone on my friend list will even see. Can everyone see it? Sure, if they're looking.

I'm not gonna lie about it, I'm a moody blue and white status poster. Most of the time that applies to my own wall. Inside jokes? Sometimes. Offensive? Yep, that too...sometimes. Questionable? Maybe. Cryptic? Sure, every now and then. Here's the thing: It's my f'ing wall and I rather doubt I'm the only moody person on the blue and white. Don't like it? Take notice of the fact that I didn't put it on your wall. Also worth noting is that if something shows up in my news feed that someone puts up on their wall, I respect the fact that it's just that - their wall. I'm not going to see something posted by someone else on their wall and take that as an invitation for me to tell them why I might disagree with them - and tell them how wrong I think they are...now should they put it on my wall, that's another matter - and again, I'm moody.

I'm not naive enough to think I'll agree with anyone all the time, no matter how close I am to someone - nor do I expect them to agree with me all the time. The blue and white gettin' outta control people, for real. Quick! Find me an emoticon for that shit, puh-leeeeze. Save me the trouble of expressing myself for real. As one friend so astutely put it (Thank you, Keith) - I've never been swayed to another point of view by something I saw on Facebook, pretty sure no one else has either. All I'm saying is, I know what I'm thumbs up for - and what I'm not thumbs up for. I guess I'm the Antilike sometimes. F it. I've done my part and clicked "Like" enough times to end things like animal cruelty, political injustice, world hunger. All right there on the blue and white. Peace, good people, peace.

An Old Saying Lands

There's this old saying: you don't know what you've got until you lose it. Agreed. We often don't think we have much - until we lose it, or we have to start putting it in boxes and loading it on a truck to move. Either one of those scenarios will have you rethinking all that you have. From where I've been standing these last few weeks, I've been experiencing at least two examples of this old saying.

I had surgery for a detached retina a couple of weeks ago - and in an eye that I've only been able to see blurred vision out of my entire life. I've never known good vision in that eye, and that's been my normal. While my surgeon tells me that things look good, it's going to take time. Without going through all the details, let's just say that I want every bit of the vision back in my eye - even if it is blurred.

Then there's my dog, and I've struggled with this dog - there have been times I wished I didn't have him and seriously considered finding him another home. Last week I had to rush this 12 year old hound to the vet and I was given three possible scenarios, one of which was affordable. Thankfully, that one seems to be the one that worked out. My dog is back to his old tricks - and I'll take 'em. A week ago at this time, I thought I was going to have to make the decision that no pet owner wants to make. I tried to tell myself that I was at peace with it if that's how it had to be - but I knew better.

Six years ago, friends of friends brought this dog to me. Eight months after having to put my perfect Black Lab down. Was I ready for another dog? Was this the dog? I may never forget Bentley's previous owners driving up and him jumping out of the back of their station wagon. I stood there talking to the owners and then B walks up to me, sits down right up against me and looks up at me as if to say, "So...I'm gonna live with you now, right?"

Six years, a few struggles and the line I've repeated almost as many times as the hairs this hound has shed,(He's mostly more good than bad) and he's my dog. I told him last week if he'd just get better, he could do whatever he wanted - and by this point, I pretty much know what that is and I'm cool with it. He must have heard me - because he seems to be back in all his glory.

So there you have it - two things that could be considered questionable, but when faced with losing them, I've come to realize their importance. I'm grateful and back to work. The simple phrase, "Welcome back" has felt amazing to hear from owners, coworkers and customers. I'm still not 100% back to normal, and maybe my recovery isn't moving quite as quickly as the rest of this mess has moved, but I'm getting through it. The amount of people who have helped, or offered to help and in numerous ways, has grounded me - because there are many people who go through things much worse and have no one or nowhere to turn to.

This will be what it will - and one way or another, I'll be alright - I may not be allowed to literally look up, but figuratively, I'm looking way up. So here's to looking up, way up - and to the things I've taken for granted or thought I could do without. Surprising what's important after all. Stay grateful, peace.

Like music too much?? You've GOT to be kidding

A friend once saw my CD collection and told me I was insane. Crazy? If you mean crazy about music, fine then - I'll own it. At the time my collection had tons of stuff that wasn't for everyone - hell, some of it may not have been for anyone, including me. There was a lot of stuff that I read about in interviews with various & sundry musicians - most of them drummers. I happened upon a lot of this stuff in cut-out bins and used sections of independent record stores, so a lot of it was mine for pennies on the dollar, but Holy God did it take up space.

The herd has been thinned quite a bit since those days...but it's still a heard (see what I did there?) that is constantly growing, albeit in the hyper-convenient MP3 format. Honestly I can't remember the last time I was in a record store - which is a bit sad, but when you love music as much as I do, it's a bit like an alcoholic in a liquor store...might not be the best idea.

One way or another, I couldn't stop my addiction for music if I wanted to - and I don't want to. Do I like music too much? There's no such thing in my world. Too much? Pfffft. Ninja, please. Music is perfect. Perfect in its flaws. Perfect in its normality. Perfect in its perfection. Just fucking perfect period. 

It's the air that a creative soul such as mine needs to breathe in. Air that needs to surround me, no matter what I may be doing, aside from sleeping - and then all bets are off. The very notion of liking music too much just doesn't seem possible to me. On any given day, indeed on every given day, it's any and all of the following: soothing, motivating, comforting, mood altering, life changing, inspiring, wonderful, necessary, mine to keep, mine to share - it's everything good.

It's interesting for numerous reasons: the arrangements, the lyrics, the individual instruments, the musicians (duh), the hooks, the flow, the message or maybe even a lack thereof...any of these things will lure me in, stop me in my tracks and keep me coming back for more. The longer the journey goes on, an altered Raymond Chandler quote fits perfectly:

There is no bad music. There is only some music that isn't as good as others.

 Chandler's quote was actually about whiskey, but I don't wanna talk about booze - though music can be quite intoxicating - and with better side effects. Two other authors are the inspiration for this post - Nick Hornby and Chuck Klosterman. In his wonderful book, Songbook, Hornby makes mention that one's collection won't suffice just as it exists - it will need to grow at some point. Yes. Hell yes.

In Klosterman's Fargo Rock City, there's a chapter that I kind of take issue with - mind you that doesn't really matter. Klosterman writes about anything in ways so wonderfully interesting and funny...and brilliantly, that it's okay for me not to agree with him on some points. Doesn't make him any less of one of my favorite authors - not by a long shot. Klosterman makes points about rock writers liking music too much, to the point of idiocy, and the overwhelming majority of what they hear being wretched.

Again, he does so brilliantly - and I get what he's saying here, it's just that I can disagree with sentiments like this because the overwhelming majority of what I hear is fucking awesome. It's fucking wonderful each and every fucking time I'm in the mood for it, and this is fucking why I love music so much, maybe even too much - but that's if you ask someone other than me. Me, well...I just don't think it's possible for me to like music too much, and I love the overwhelming majority of what I choose to hear, which thankfully, is a large list that keeps getting things added to it rather than subtracted from it. Peace, good people.

Mysterious on Throwback Thursday

As I ponder the subject matter for this, a blog created for the sole purpose of getting, and keeping me writing, some things are a complete mystery to me. There are two posts on this blog that have garnered more reads than all the others combined - one of those posts is about a dreaded household chore (cleaning an oven, which by the way, sucked) and the other is sort of an ode to binge-watching - despite the fact that I'm probably the furthest thing away from being any kind of hipster.

Hundreds of hits and then thousands of hits. Damned if I know why on either one. The more I read, the more ideas I get for content, outlets for said content - and I still feel that a lifetime isn't enough time to read all that I should. A grade school teacher used to tell my class (can't remember exactly which grade this was, but the quote stuck) that books are your friends - point taken. Two cups in on this beautiful Spring day, and I wonder if in the not-too-distant future, an elementary school teacher will say this to her class:

Remember, your Kindle is your friend.

Bleh. I have a Kindle, and part of the appeal I get, but I still like books. I always will. I like (some) magazines too, though the pile up can get downright daunting - and I could do with throwing a few things away around here.

So more arrived today - from a reading source that a friend has been after me to both read and submit work to. To test these waters, for both my reading and writing, I ordered two back issues of one of their publications - and one of the issues kinda begged me to buy it:  The 2012 Music Issue

Boom. I'm in. Never mind the fact that I may not even have heard about some of the artists/music in this issue. When I ordered this issue, I did see Lucinda Williams name, which is a very good sign. What I somehow missed, was anything that told me the 2012 Music Issue would come with a cassette tape music sampler. Really? Talk about a Throwback Thursday.

I had to think for a minute to realize I even had a device to play a tape on - turns out I do. Also turns out that I've never played a cassette tape on this totally unimpressive shelf system...and the shelf system is laughable when I think of either systems I have owned or currently dream of owning, particularly with a rather large music collection, but never mind all of that.

Into the deck this sampler goes...meh, not much real substance for the ears here, but I'll let it play out in the hopes that something just might grab me. That's kind of a difficult task when I know there is so much in my collection that does grab me, that does move me - and has/will for years. Maybe it's just me, but I think even my dog knows better with the shit that's playing on this cassette. He just walked over to the system and gave it a big long sniff, that the music snob in me wants to believe is a "Dude! What the ACTUAL fuck??" - and yes, my dog is that cool....sometimes.

It's kinda hard to believe that I'm sitting here writing and listening to a fucking cassette tape. Reminds me of when I sold my bicycle when I was a kid so I could buy a cassette tape deck to listen to music on. Not long ago I got into an argument that went absolutely nowhere with a younger coworker, who flat out refused to believe that I, as a teenager, had a cassette deck. He was convinced that because I was in my forties, I simply didn't remember that they didn't even make cassette players and tapes when I was a teenager, that I was too old to remember that what I actually sold my bicycle to buy was either an 8-track or a reel-to-reel. Really? You think I don't remember what I sold my own fucking bicycle to get the money to buy? Bitch, please. They did have cassettes when I was a fucking teenager, your ass is ignorant to take your stance that they didn't and I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about - they did, and so did I. Let the record show that I also remember that I never owned an 8-track or a reel-to-reel.

So there you have it - unsolved mysteries of sheer numbers of readers on this, a blog created to simply get and keep me writing. Hundreds of readers on some things, thousands on another - and like it or not, hundreds and thousands ain't a bad start, particularly when the reason(s) behind the blog are to indulge in but one area of creativity. Then there's the nod to Throwback Thursday - perhaps dangerously close to hipster status, but I'm throwing it out there on account of the tolerable cassette tape that I'm listening to as I type this. I'd be balls deep in hipster if I were stopping now to get to my appointment to get a tattoo and have my junk pierced - it's true, look it up....but alas, I need to stop and get some things done around here before I leave for work. Peace out, good people, peace out.

Submission?

Parameters of Mediocrity/Internet Jungle

For starters, there can’t be any poetry here - it’s forbidden and non-negotiable. Deal with it. Secondly, thou shalt not be too wordy. Within the parameters of mediocrity that surround the Internet jungle, rambling is strictly forbidden. Should you ramble, an alarm will sound, security will be notified and….hey - what’s that sound?

In today’s world, well it’s always today’s world. That’s how it was yesterday, that’s how it is now and that’s how it will be tomorrow. Just trust in that and let’s move on - before an alarm sounds.

So here we are, in a jungle, albeit an electronic information jungle. All kinds of scary monsters out there - everything from foreign lottery scams, pedophiles, pornography, massive email marketing scams, 20% off offers that come every 20 minutes from a well known household item store that advise you to act fast as your offer is still waiting - you get the picture. Everyone is selling something and it seems they'll stop at nothing to get the information to anyone and everyone. It really is a jungle out there.

Please take note that this submission is loaded with original content, written by me - name, address and phone number included. Also worth noting is the complete lack of any and all clever formatting - there is nothing on this page that is written in the desperate attempt and/or hope of getting you to notice me. Oh, I almost forgot - by getting you to notice me, I mean publish and/or pay me.

It’s worth mentioning that I’m writing this completely sober - I swear. May not be my best look as I’ve been told on occasion that I’m a very funny drunk - but never mind my hobbies. Let the record show that this submission, and the hopes of it rendering editors into a state of…well, sure, submission, as it were, is most definitely not about being rejected. You can trust me on this one, because if it were about being rejected, I would most certainly save the writing and the sending of it for a time when I was completely intoxicated, well-made Margaritas having made for a daring roll of the dice. It is indeed a jungle out there. By the way, the phrase “It’s a jungle out there.” may just be my favorite cliche - ever. I’ll decide after several Margaritas.

Big Family, Big Memories

Forty-six years ago, I flew from California to Ohio to attend the wedding of my Aunt Linda and Uncle Ron. I was their ring bearer. I was in 2nd grade. Somewhere in massive amounts of photographs that every Vincent has in their house, is a photograph of me in a tuxedo, taken on that day - I even have a full head of hair. Obviously I've long since outgrown that tuxedo, and my hair lasted...well, quite a few years after that day, but has mostly vacated the premises since, but I have yet to outgrow the memories.

To say that my Aunt Linda was my favorite aunt makes it sound bad for my other aunts - and I love all of my aunts and uncles. I guess I was just around Linda more, so we were close - but growing up in a family as large as the Vincents, you get close with everyone - that's just how we roll. Even back in second grade, there were a lot of us.

From the day I met my Uncle Ron, days before he married into our large family, he was someone I admired. Right off the bat. He had horses...horses! When you're in second grade and you watched cowboys on television and dreamt of having your own horse, well...that's gonna make a person cool pretty much the instant you find that out. Then there was his green Pontiac - which was so much cooler than the VW my parents drove...though that may have had something to do with the fact that Ron had horses, which I already mentioned the importance of. Nothing against my other uncles, but they didn't have horses. The fact of the matter is, Ron could've probably ridden up on a rusty bicycle that day and he still would've been my coolest uncle because....well, you know....horses! By the way, there ended up being so much more than horses and a cool green Pontiac to make me look up to, admire and love my Uncle Ron from that day on.

I don't remember a lot from that trip, but the memories I've had all these years from it have stayed the same:

I remember my soon-to-be-uncle's car and how cool I thought it was. I remember all of his horses - their names, and why only one out of the four of them could actually be ridden. I remember my uncle riding that horse, this beautiful black mare, named Connie - and on an English saddle. Holy cow! The only time I ever saw one of those was in a book! I remember asking my (soon-to-be) Uncle Ron if I could ride his horse. When you're a kid, you don't put too much thought into what you want - you just go for it. He said yes, but his idea of riding and mine were two different things. Of course he wasn't going to put me on top of that big horse and let me go - he was going to put me on the horse and lead me around. He must not have believed me when I promised him that I wouldn't make her run the way he did when he rode her - I would only make her walk, so it was okay for him to hand me the reigns. He knew best, but I didn't think so. Someone I shared this story with recently asked "So...did he let you ride one of his horses??" Me: Sort of...but my theory was, as long as anyone is leading the horse, I'm not really riding. 

I remember being creeped out that I had to walk down the aisle arm in arm with my Uncle Ron's younger sister, Janine - I would later regret feeling that way, because Janine grew up to be a very pretty lady, but in second grade, I didn't want anything to do with girls. Then there was some young lady at the reception that either my uncle Don or Jeff said they would pay me a dollar to kiss. Yes, I got paid, don't remember much else about it though - but I'll bet it's safe to say that no one else involved does either.

I remember a few other things about the wedding. But mostly what I remember is that I've looked up to my Uncle Ron from the first moment I met him, all the way up to now. Now is kind of a tough time, because we lost my Aunt Linda this week. A devastating loss for our family - for all of us, but I can barely fathom the pain my uncle must be in, and my cousins. This is hard for all of us - and Lord knows, there's a lot of us. 

Linda and Ron did so much for me when I was growing up. Linda was a beautician for years, and just about every haircut I had (back when it would've actually been styling instead of now, where I basically pay someone a finder's fee) in my youth was given to me by my Aunt Linda.

When my parents first divorced, I was at odds with my mom - mainly because I was being an a**hole. Hindsight is always 20/20 - but on account of me being what I was then, I lived with my Aunt Linda and Uncle Ron for a couple of months. Linda took me shopping for school clothes and when she said I could pick out the shoes I wanted, she tried to save me from myself - she tried really hard, and repeatedly:

Me (at 14): I want those boots.

"Those boots", happened to be cowboy boots that were a combination of blue suede and blue denim. Yeah, nothing made me think about how that one might have ended.

Linda: No you don't!
Me: Yes I do!

We probably went through half a dozen of the "No you don't/Yes I do" things before she finally caved and let me get them. I was far too naive and stubborn - I didn't realize that she was trying to save me. But I did always realize that she loved me. She loved me enough to try and save me when she knew I'd regret a decision like blue suede and blue denim cowboy boots for my school shoes - no matter how much I said I wanted them, and make no mistake about it - I wanted them. She was right. The older I get, the more I realize that Vincent women are seldom, if ever wrong. Personally, I've never seen an example of one being wrong - and unless I saw it with my own two eyes, I wouldn't believe it. In the end that day, she loved me enough to let me have my way - and find out on my own that some decisions turn out regretful. You gotta think these things through.

I regretted that decision from the very first day I wore those boots to school in the 8th grade, which by the way was a new school system for me. Three quarters of a school day in and I find out that the boots I wanted and thought were so cool and now owned and wore came with a nickname: Tex. Odd that this came as a surprise to me - I had it coming.

Nicknames stick longer than Super Glue sometimes. While I cherish the longstanding friendships I have with three guys I've been friends with since then, any one of them - and you all know who you are, will leave me voicemails to this very day addressing me as Tex. Linda tried to save me from this - and although she didn't inform me that my chosen school shoes came with that nickname, she did know I was making a huge mistake.  I should've been smart enough to figure that one out. Nope. I should've listened to her. Nope. Maybe she did know exactly how that one would play out - but she loved me enough to let me go there. I loved her for that. Back then it was a nickname I hated, now I think it's hilarious - even though the laugh is at my own expense. You grow up a Vincent and you learn to realize that it's okay to laugh at yourself every now and then.

There were so many other things my Aunt Linda did for me. There were times in my youth when I felt as if the whole world was against me - and although I was wrong to feel that way, Linda was relentless in believing in me and telling me just how wrong I was to feel that anyone Vincent would ever not believe in me and love me. All I can say about that now, is that if you grow up Vincent and you start to think that you're unloved in our family, you might need a smack upside the head - because you're obviously not paying attention.

The fact is, I never had to doubt that I was loved around Vincents - I am a Vincent and everything I ever learned about family, stability and right vs. wrong - all of it, I got from that side of the family. I guess that's why I always hated leaving my grandparents' house, or my aunt and uncle's houses - because I never wanted to say goodbye to people who love me so much, no matter what. Goodbyes were sad when you had to return home to a father who...well, didn't treat you like Vincents did. Even in my adult years, I don't like saying goodbye to Vincents. To Vincents, family is everything. Every family get together shows that. I will never like saying goodbye to a Vincent, and this goodbye, so much deeper than the temporary ones of my childhood, is so far beyond sad...for me, for all of us - have I mentioned that there are a lot of us? There are.

While I'm thankful that a woman who has always had so much of my heart is no longer suffering, even more thankful that she got to see all six of her beautiful grandchildren - including my cousin, Ronnie's twin boys, my heart is heavy with sadness.  I know a little something about the joys of our large family growing - and our family is bigger than I ever imagined it would be. I can't even put into words the magnitude of our family's loss. Rest in peace Aunt Linda - I love you and miss you so much more than I'm even capable of saying - and I know that you know I can talk - because you always listened. I just can't find words as well as I'd like to right now.  Uncle Ron, Becki, Cristi and Ronnie - I love you all, as I do the rest of the Vincents and Krausmans - Family.  Family is everything.

A List of Words Suggested NOT to use...

I write a lot. Consequently, I read a lot too - though I'm often intimidated by the amount of material and the fact that I often feel that I'll never be able to read enough - ever. Books, magazine articles, online stuff from various sources, and even stuff on an electronic reading device. There's always more to read than I seem to have time for.

One cup in, this morning , I saw an article that  which caught my eye - figuratively speaking, of course, in a writer's circle group on the blue & white:  "Very and Other Useless Words to Erase Forever" - Forever? That's  Seems like a long time. A really, really long time. I dated a woman who used to say that she wanted to be with me forever - but that was forever ago, and I have no idea if she's even in the same state that I live in. Forever is a long time. I'd better get moving on these words that  because they need to be erased:

Very or Really - Both of these? Really? Very well then, I mean...well, how much would I use either, y'know, if they were erased forever? I really wanted to use the words really and very, but they've been erased forever. Fine - I guess I won't real....oops, EVEN miss them. Next:

Suddenly - Cue the scary music. Suddenly, another word appeared on the Erase Forever List, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before the word would be gone forever. Shit. Fuck. Damn. There goes my suspense writing. How will I startle someone with words? How can I illustrate the sudden appearance of something or someone unexpected? Suddenly the word was gone - forever.

Amazing or Awesome - Like, wow. Over it. Really, I'm very tired of both - and not so suddenly. It might be amazing just how many times I've used either of these words. It would be awesome if auto-correct would take care of all this for me, instead of getting all up in my business all the other times it does.

That - Ummm...really? Good one. Should make one think quite a bit. While the previous two words are rather easy to spot, this one is a bit tricky. Gonna have to watch for it.

Started - I began to give much more thought to what I was writing - and to how. See what I did there? I did not start, I began. 

So, what we have here, is a little game I played while I drank my coffee and found a very interesting article. Really made me think. Suddenly, it was amazing how many times I used the word that. And then, suddenly, I got an awesome idea for a blog post that started out as a good idea...

I'm pretty sure the legislation to erase said words forever hasn't passed yet - but just to be safe, all the words that are struck through, well...y'know, those are forbidden. K? Peace out, good people.

No Critics Allowed

More like creativity is the road. It's all around me, I just need to pay attention. It's all around everyone , at least that's what I believe, but not everyone pays attention to it. I can only control what I pay attention to. Balls. It takes a bit of cajones to be here, on this blog. Not trying to pat myself on the back too much here, but it does take some stones to put shit up here. Yes, I said it. Shit - or not shit, to put anything at all up here/out there is a good thing - because it's keeping me on the road that I want to be on.

That road is creativity. Every word I could ever use here - or anywhere else, has already been used before, many times over. Everything I will ever say, has been said before - many times over. But here's a thought:  Maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to say it in a way that grabs people differently and makes them notice something that they haven't noticed before. Maybe I'll say it in a way that suddenly makes the value and/or beauty of it stand out in a way that they didn't see before.

I'm in the midst of reading two things by an author named Austin Kleon (www.austinkleon.com) and I can highly recommend both of these books: Steal Like An Artist, and Show Your Work. Both of these books have led me to look for other sources of inspiration and pay more attention to my own creative processes. I'll be the first to scratch my head over the number of readers this blog has, and do even more scratching when I see the stats for posts on any given day, and the location of my readers/visitors.

Not all of the work I do is stuff I can show - for the moment, and Lord knows much of it may be of no interest at all, but one of the things Austin Kleon talks about is showing work. Then there's crediting work from others and opening up new avenues for others by doing so. The two books by Mr. Kleon that I mentioned above are excellent reads for anyone who may be struggling with any part of the creative process - including me. They've also pointed me towards other books and different ways to look at, and for creativity.

I've said it many times right here on this blog, and I'll say it again: The reason this blog was created was for two reasons:  To get me writing and to keep me writing. Fuck the critics who want me, or anyone else to feel bad about falling, failing or fucking up in general on the road to nurturing my creative side. If an F bomb seems harsh, so be it - because when someone says something that completely disregards the very reason this blog exists and wants me to feel bad about even taking a chance, well...fuck 'em. If I don't write, how am I supposed to find my voice? If I don't read - and I'm a dude who basically feels as though I will never be able to read enough, then how will I know what I want to write about? The short answer is easy - I won't.

The deeper I get into creativity, the less I want anything to do with critics. I see no value in critics for the most part, particularly when it comes to art - and pick any art form you like. Who cares why someone doesn't like something you like? Do I want readers? Absolutely - but regardless of how many or how few I have, I have to keep going. I've had critics who don't get me say some really harsh things - and I've had even more harsh things from people who should get me by now. Both cases bothered me at first - until I started to see clarity through a fog of insults. Why give energy and attention to anyone talking about what they don't like about something? There are too many things I like that deserve my attention. The only original thing I'm capable of doing, is being me. That also happens to be my only option really - no matter how much I may want to emulate what anyone else is doing. I can only be me.

I may have a long ways to go - but one never really arrives, it's all about the journey. So I keep looking, I keep trying...trying to do, and learn...and banish the kinds of people that it's not healthy for me to be around. I give more thought to the kind of person I am, to be around. Am I a good friend? A good coworker? Employee? Brother? Son? Uncle? Am I cool enough? I mean, I wanna be...but that's not really for me to say, whether I am or not. We're all in this together, so it might be nice to start a movement - a movement of encouragers. This world has more than enough critics, and with the advent of all the online stuff, anyone and everyone can be a critic these days. My question remains, and I'll put it bluntly: who the fuck needs critics? Encouragers? We all need those from time to time.

So here's to the encouragers on the road to creativity - I say let's start a movement, a club - whatever you wanna call it, but let's put up a sign:  No Critics Allowed.

Showing my work

Been doing a lot of reading lately. Lots of different things in an effort to hunt down both creativity and inspiration. Personally, I believe that both of those things are always around and in far greater abundance than I think about most of the time. It's up to me to look for it and notice it. Sometimes it's right under my nose, other times I need to look further out for it.

The reading came at the suggestion of a friend and also from my former writing instructor. One of the things I've been reading is a book that talks about the virtues of showing your work. I guess I've always thought that would be contrary to the artistic process - my father always said I shouldn't show something until I finished it. In the Talking Heads song, Artists Only, David Byrne sang a line: You can't see it - until it's finished.

In school, there were always questions on tests that instructed us to show our work. I get it - they wanted to see how I arrived at my answers. But if I put the showing my work theory alongside my writing, the whole notion of not seeing it until it's finished makes perfect sense. Who wants to see a "shitty first draft"? (Thank you Anne Lamott)

Some of the other things I'm reading echo my own intentions for why this blog was even created in the first place. I'll say it again, to get me writing and keep me writing. I've had a few very critical questions thrown my way for this blog even existing - and that's fine, my skin is thick enough now that I don't give a flying f*** if anyone likes it or thinks I should be doing anything other than what I am doing with it. Readers? I've got readers. I'll be the first to scratch my head about my audience - and the places my blog is read from. But dig it, they're out there.

In a sense, this blog shows my work - shitty drafts? They're here - and some of 'em are even posted. Some of 'em I take down, and for every post that appears here, there are a dozen or more that have yet to be posted, finished or scrapped entirely. I'll admit that sometimes I click the publish button right after I hit the spell check. It's very rare that I get to either of those buttons without reading things out loud. It's also rare that I share things with my friends who write - but that's due to this hang up I have about hearing people talk more about their art/work than actually doing it. I once witnessed two people sitting at the bar in front of me, laptops right beside their drinks, launch into this huge discussion of what they were working on and why they liked it - and I wish I'd had the entire thing recorded, video and audio, because it really was like a real life Portlandia sketch. It was hilarious and kind of hard to believe this was real life.

My point is that writing is the kind of art where the finished product holds more appeal than the process. There aren't any new words here - and I suppose one of the reasons I've always loved to write, is the notion of arranging words to say something in a different way. I have a friend who calls it "dances with words."  I can watch a painter or a sculptor work, watch musicians practice...but writing isn't something where the process is terribly interesting - at least not in my opinion. To go back to the whole idea of showing my work, well, there are things I'm working on - characters, story lines....for what, I'm not exactly sure. Some of the characters are very loosely based on people I've come across - very loosely based mind you.

One such example is a vegan extremist - a tragic woman with two things constantly working against her:  a strong opinion and a narrow mind. Very strong and very narrow. So much so that the actions of this individual are often hilarious - though not intentionally. Finding this character came from two real life individuals, and one cartoon character. Toss in a lot of common human traits that point to no one person in particular more than any other person, and voila, a character is born. Born out of taking little real life things and exaggerating them to extremes - which sometimes aren't too far off actual statements and events. What will come of things like this? Damned if I know, but for those of you either encouraging the showing of work, and reading this, here you go - this, to me, is showing my work, at least as much as I'm cool with doing.

My skin is thick enough, but I gotta admit that I don't suffer critics well at all. Screw critics, what we need more of in this world, are encouragers. My mantra has become one of not putting anyone or anything down - and my reasoning is simple: Why would I want to spend any time talking about what I don't like, when there is so much that I do like - and that is what I feel is worthy of attention. Stay tuned, good people, I'll show more work. Peace

Un.Believable. (a rant)

Watching I Trust You To Kill Me, it's hard not to be struck by something that producer Jude Cole says about his record label not being interested in any artist over the age of 25. While some of the hype of youth is understandable for acts that target a younger audience, writing off any artist because they're over a certain age is impossible to understand for those who like to listen and appreciate the art of music.

It's not as if the music industry is doing terribly well in this day and age - depending on which school of thought one chooses to buy into. Great music can often take on an aura of timelessness and the art itself feeds from a fountain of eternal youth - for those who love to listen. Our society, for all the pomp and circumstance of technological advances, seems to want to produce more trash all the time.

It's hard to imagine some of the music being made today having the same impact and longevity that music from other eras has had. That seems perfectly natural that there only be more things made that see very short shelf lives. Why not throw art on the massive pile up of waste? Toss albums, compact discs and tapes into the waste/recycle bins at the entrance to Best Buy - we're done with it all.

The sad thing is, for all of these technological advances, we're throwing ourselves away. We're creating more things that get used for shorter periods of time and then we have to have the next big thing. We've already thrown away practicality, because even that has a short shelf life. It's not practical anymore, we're done with it.

There will always be stragglers, those of us who are among the last to get the latest, greatest thing. Some of us are perfectly fine to keep things when they're in perfectly good working order. We don't want to replace it if it's working just fine. We're not opposed to getting something fixed as opposed to getting something new. Can art, specifically, music, be something that is just as easily tossed aside?

Clearly for some people, it can be. Perhaps it just doesn't play a role that's all that important to them. All well and good, but there is serious joy in the arts - and there are forms of it that are too accessible to not have them close at hand, and treasure them as the valuable enhancements to our lives.

With so much music out there that's so enjoyable, the reality of Mr. Cole's remark is hard to swallow for those who take serious enjoyment from listening to music. The marketing strategy behind the notion of a record label not being interested in any artist over the age of 25 may not be tough to see, but it seems a bit sad to write any artist with the kind of depth that Rocco DeLuca & The Burden show in this film.

Is there some dude in a suit sitting behind a desk making this kind of call? What if book publishers had the same shallow notions that authors had to be youthful to be relevant? That could easily be where our pop culture, heavy with electronic gadgets that become obsolete far too quickly, is heading. Owner's manuals are closer than ever to having an opening statement that reads in the following way:

Congratulations on your purchase of your Hipster-for-a-Minute thingy. Please take a few minutes to familiarize yourself with your new device, which will give you weeks of enjoyment if used properly.

Never mind that the device itself could work for an indefinite amount of years - the device itself will be rendered useless once they develop an OS that won't work on first generation devices. All of this kind of thing will put us closer to music being encoded with a chip that will render the file unable to play for no other reason than there is too much newer music out there and the industry will decide that you can't possibly still enjoy a Beatles record when there are so many newer artists out there.

Of course by that time - and again, such a day may be closer than you think, there may not be a single soul on the planet who actually pays for recorded music.

A Mild Oppression

"Go to the beating area - now!", his mother commanded. Shit. Fuck. Damn, he thought. He did it again. He hated the beating area, a small, semi-soundproof room between the garage and the kitchen. Most kids knew this as a breezeway or a mud room. Not him. In a good week, he could merely pass through the beating area as if it were either of the things other kids knew it to be, not once having been ordered to go and wait for his father, or his mother and give thought to what he did wrong.

How was he supposed to think about what he did wrong when he could hear an angry parent stomping around looking for some household item that would serve as an instrument of discipline and justice, muttering phrases like, "you're in trouble now mister - just you wait until I get in there."

Jeezus. He was waiting, and at 11 years of age, being addressed as mister was more than he could handle. Mister was never a favorable title it seemed. What could there possibly be to look forward to adulthood for if every time someone referred to him as mister, it meant that he'd done something wrong? Sometimes whatever it was he did wrong was intentional and he was merely rolling the dice figuring that the risk of being caught was minimal - or even worth it. Sometimes those gambles paid off, other times he paid the price. He wasn't old enough to fully understand the whole no risk, no reward concept. He merely knew that he didn't always get caught for these childhood offenses.

Did he want to get caught? Nope. So there he was, waiting in the beating area, having had the misfortune to grow up in a time when parents were allowed to whoop a kid's ass if they deserved it. In his mind, he did not deserve it this time. He was playing baseball on the street with other kids in the neighborhood. It's not like he thought he could actually hit the ball far enough that it would go straight through the middle of the picture window of the one man on the street who didn't like kids at all. All of the players agreed that a ball hit even as far as the kid hater's front yard would be a home run - but this, this was a home run with authority.

He was halfway to second base when he heard the crash of the ball going through the window. He'd ignored the yells of the other kids in his unbridled enthusiasm for a ball hit well. Now instead of running leisurely around the bases to home, he wanted to run anywhere but home...say to the next state over, maybe China. At the very least, it'd be nice to make it to his grandparent's house and get the chance to explain that he hadn't broken the neighbor's window intentionally. No. Such. Luck.

As much as he hated the beating area, which was so named by his older sister, he also hated the ridiculous questions that often came with discipline and punishment for his wrong doings. He always thought of the teacher who once said that there were no stupid questions - because the moment she said that, he knew better. There were stupid questions, and they were often asked by either of his parents when he was in some kind of trouble:

Mother: What the hell were you thinking hitting a ball like that, straight at the neighbor's window? What are you going to tell your father when he gets home??

Father: Do you want a beating?

Why on earth did his mother ask him questions that he couldn't answer honestly, and without appearing like he was every bit the smart ass that he wasn't allowed to be around adults?

Him, to his mother: What was I thinking? Well Mom, I sure as hell didn't think I'd hit the ball that far - or at all. It was a pick up game - so stats are kept loosely at best, if at all...but I was chosen for my team last, if that says anything at all about my batting average. I mean, I fouled out in all my previous at bats, and everyone thought I was going to do the same this time - and they said as much. When dad gets home, I expect to be up to my ears in homework - which is what he told me I'd better be doing when he got home and he didn't want any back talk about it...so I was thinking I could bypass the whole talk-to-dad thing...

Him, to his father (as IF): Actually dad, what with all the chores I have to do for my allowance, and the homework I'm a bit behind on - a beating, tempting as that is, is gonna put me behind on things - can we do it next week?

Parents aren't looking for honesty when they ask such questions, even if they say they are. Why then, did they ask such questions? Why wasn't it enough to be told that it was an accident? That you didn't know? That you were sorry? Why did it seem like honesty wasn't rewarded when it was insisted upon?

This was the early 70's - anti-spanking laws had yet to be written and voted into a way of life. Kids couldn't call some child abuse hotline and get something done about what they had coming back then. They could only dream of a day when a belt, maybe a hairbrush or a piece of Hot Wheel track would all be illegal to use upon any child, regardless of age, race, the neighborhood they lived in and the kids they hung around with. Nor could they be used with phrases like, "You're lucky I'm not really mad this time..."

Fodder. Really.

The other night at work I was asked a question that I evidently had an unacceptable answer for. It's a question that I've been asked several times, by men and women. Doesn't matter who asks, my answer is exactly the same. Here's the question - you can figure out the gender flop on your own:

Q: What nights are the best nights to come here and meet eligible men?

Really? Yes. Really. I thought that I was answering this question honestly and politely. Really? Yes. Really. Here's my answer - you can figure out the gender flop on your own:

A: Actually we get a nice range of people/ages pretty much all the time here - there isn't really one night that's heavier on gender than any other night...

I said that because I find it to be true. The person asking the question seemed to take offense to my answer and remarked to the effect of, if I was answering as non-specifically as that, they weren't likely to return. As if I were working in some privately stocked pond and knew what the fish were biting on any given day, when in fact...I don't and I don't.

There might be such a pond, with an employee who knows exactly what the fish are biting on at any given moment. I mean, there has to be right? Shouldn't someone take the mystery out of it in the new millennium? I dunno - I mean, what's in your tackle box? If you're coming to fish, I'd think you'd want to be prepared for all kinds of things. If the guy working the counter at the bait shop says the fish are hitting night crawlers, then by all means - get you some night crawlers. The fellas are hittin' the low cut tops tonight ma'am, which is kinda odd since short skirts and slurred speech was working really well earlier in the week. Tonight the ladies seem to be taking chivalry and good listening skills, yesterday it was all brawn and gold chains...excessive cologne? Nope, they're not hitting that today.

I didn't think my answer was anything but honest - and it just so happens that I like the nice mix of people who come into where I work. I'm not really offering advice, but if I were, I'd say come for the food, the drink, the atmosphere we have - let the rest take care of itself. I can tell you what nights of the week we have great deals on things like pizza, beer and wine - and I can be very specific.

The notion of coming into any place for something other than what the place does with food, drink and atmosphere is a bit foreign to me. To me, my outlook is that if I go in looking to try the food and drink, who knows...I could meet a nice lady...or I could be with a friend or two and leave with all of us having had a pleasant experience.

The person who asked this question told me I was assuming they were there to pick up someone. Not at all. I thought I was doing my best to answer honestly - and I would hope that my honest answer wouldn't be a disappointment to anyone. We're just not a place where one night favors eligible ladies or men. Nor do we have kids eat free night. "I'm ten and this here's my sister - she's 16 and she just got her driver's license. We'd like a table for two please...what's that you say? Kids eat for FREE tonight? That's awesome, because neither one of us has any money on us!"

 In my job, I play a part in what I hope is a very favorable dining experience. That's what I hope people return for, tell their friends about and leave feeling good about. Was I supposed to answer a question like that in the following manner:

A: Well if you'll just take a minute to fill out this questionnaire that we've compiled, I'll tell you the exact night you need to come here - with or without your appetite and/or friends, and I can seat you by those who would be a compatible match for you...

You want I should post Twitter alerts when we're filled up with single ladies or dudes? It's not really that kind of party. Don't get me wrong, on any given night the ratio could be swayed heavily in either direction, sometimes even both. It's not like I look at those nights when they end thinking, "well, whaddya know, everyone left happy tonight, paired off just like they're supposed to." What we do is our best to make sure that everyone leaving is leaving with the best possible experience we could give them by way of these kinds of things: Drink, food, hospitality and service. We strive to do that regardless of what the ratio is.

If I had an answer that specifically addressed the question of eligible men or women, I'd certainly give it up. I don't have an answer to that question. It could've been last night...or the night before. Then again, it could be tomorrow night...or the night after. In my line of work people often say that you can't make everyone happy. While that's true, it's also true that in my business we give everyone the same chance to be happy. I shared this experience with my superiors that night, because I was genuinely shocked that an answer as honest and polite - and the only answer I have any time I'm asked this kind of question, would be taken with the offense that it seemed to be taken. I like what I do when I'm at work. I like the very notion of giving everyone the chance to be happy. Cheers.