Friday, June 26, 2009

My heart hurts a pain that our reality can't explain. We've lost entertainment leaders who helped shape our lives and within each passing moment they set free from their personal journeys hand delivered gifts that enhanced the elements that continue to make us who we are today. We mourn what has been taken while gathering everything that connects us to their music, acting and incredible way to keep us laughing. For there will come a day when you'll meet someone who'll say, "What was it like to be part of their generation?" I will stare into the eyes of the passerby, "Michael was our Elvis. Farrah was our Marilyn and Ed ranked up there with Mr. Sullivan." God has moved a mountain.

Arroe Collins
6/26/09

Thursday, June 25, 2009

I can't! I won't! I never will! Wait! You have access to email....yes!

Would life be simpler if emails hadn’t been invented? Set aside the idea that tapping out a thought or happy face smile to a friend or family member has connected more conversations than Harry Potter or the Twilight series. Every day, every hour and chances are in the past six seconds…someone you know just got busted thanks to the root of our current evil...an email.



During the mid80’s before internet addiction I once had a boss who refused to send his radio on-air talent inner office letters because it invited too many headaches. Words on paper don’t feature properly intended emotion. We’re extremely guilty of reading too deep or not far enough into a simple gesture or lack thereof.



I’m constantly getting fingers shoved into my computer screen from readers who assumed they knew. Writing and reading an email is like standing in an art gallery and each person who passes by exposes their separate view. One second the painting is a blue frog with well whittled teeth. Then it’s a transformation of a darker period that enlightens the inner spirit like an ocean vomiting seashells for collectors who rise at midnight. What? Exactly!



Probably one of the biggest and most dreaded email adventures is the infamous, “Oh no! I forgot to attach a valuable piece of information to the letter sent to my boss!” You’re forced to make a choice…return to work or give the man in control the ever so secretive password to that little island located within a manmade tower of gadgets and disc fragments.



What is the most professional way to approach what could end up being a major disaster?



Racing to your rescue is Anne Marie Sabbath a true master of workplace manners. She says, “No matter how tight the plan or how disgusted you feel having to return to work or cough up the secret word…the center point of gravity is simple: you don’t own the computer connected to the document. Everything inside is 100% company time. If there’s something inside that wouldn’t inspire wandering eyes…grab a power drink and hoof it back to the job…keeping in mind, no matter how safe you feel keeping Indiana Jones out of your email system, at any given moment…everything inside can legally be viewed at anytime no questions asked.



So let’s say your lunch break consists of bring it from home sandwiches and last nights mashed potato surprise…rather than sit in a nearly nonexistent lunch room, the more comfortable place is your desk surfing the web and in walks the decision maker who catches you on a site that paints your face sixteen shades of red. What gives?



Anne Marie says, “Close the webpage and let the boss set the tone.” You aren’t instantly off the hook if no words are shared; they’ve taken a digital picture of the moment which requires some down time to piece together. Your momma was correct when she said, “Silence is golden.”



This is a clear case of using office time and money in an inappropriate way and manner. If nothing leaps from the walls that make up your cubical, use the experience as a learning tool in the way of never, never, even if the boss is on vacation end up on a website that invites shame.



Computers and their unique shapes of conversation land more people in the doghouse than forgetting to take out the trash or load the dishwasher. How and what we say will never be taken the same way it was meant to be delivered. A friend of nearly twenty five years recently wrote wondering why my voice was featured on two competing business commercials. Rather than pick up the cell and punch in the digits…I double clicked reply which led to not one but several digitized conversations leaving both parties wondering how a quarter century could end such a way.



A phone connection was finally made three days later with a guarantee by both creative teams that verbal communication and not email messages would keep the paths of success on the brightly lit yellow brick road.



Lesson learned…99.999% of the time even the major leagues of well documented college graduates with their million plus two plaques on the wall look at my written concepts of thought and say, “What the?”



Emails…we can’t live with them or without them. Every tick, tock, tap and thought makes its way through that manmade system and stays there well beyond your living years. What are you doing to protect your legacy? The only thing a computer can’t do is smell your feet. Wait! Give Apple and Microsoft another week…trust me, its coming.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Quick! Find me a ship to sail off to a new world!

Is it quality that wins or does honing a proper attitude come into play?



To wrap your fingers around true quality, meaning a product whose branding falls under the category of experience more than a pair of tennis shoes that don’t fall a part…doesn’t it require a quality driven winning attitude to guarantee client success? Or…is it acceptable to come across as the happiest person at work and still deliver half the job?



Joel Olsteen caught me off guard when he embarrassingly admitted, “We have become a people of mediocrity. We no longer demand the best…settling instead for third and fourth on the list.” A radio station GM once said to me, “I can’t afford to hire the best talent so I’m forced to hire the inexperienced with high hopes of teaching them the ropes before they break me.”



I now direct your attention to Kris Allen who wasn’t the greatest attraction on American Idol. The world fell for the underdog. It’s kinda like downloaded music that millions of fans continue to steal from the web…it doesn’t matter how long it takes to drop it into your MP3 player or how crunchy and munchy it sounds cruising through a pair of cheap earphones…the most important part of the journey is the opportunity to sing with your favorite song while complaining about how high concert ticket prices are.



Not only radio but movie theaters across the country are currently facing a dilemma that affects and infects the way you’re going to be entertained in the unwritten chapters of 2010 and beyond. Those involved in making movies and music want each place of delivery to hoist open their wallets and pinch a few more dollars off their company bank accounts.



Be it a new tax or an added fee to have the right to play and or perform what has been copyrighted will take from your everyday business massive amounts of quality and put it in the hands of people who find pleasure in what I call the bang it out just another gig theory.



If you ever want to read a true Hollywood romance, study the pages of written and recorded music meets radio and television. Since the birth of broadcasting, writers, performers and producers with their individualized labels have taken separate sides constantly demanding more from an industry that doesn’t steal from their image but heightens awareness.



Elvis Presley shaking his hips and the mop tops of the Beatles on Ed Sullivan changed our process of life because both radio and television worked in harmony by creating a landslide of unexpected American culture. A single shot fired by the Dixie Chicks was heard around the world and its required broadcasters to heave ho their three part harmony back onto the charts.



Elton John used a fake prefabricated sound effects library live audience on his single Benny and The Jets. Rather than capture the essence of realism, he settled for third and fourth best to create a tune that we’ve labeled a quality classic. His attitude was great but quality of the performance took a separate seat. Live music didn’t rock the music world until Peter Frampton and KISS shot through stadiums with individualized efforts but even then…live music or comedy act on a record, cassette or MP3 still didn’t fall within the cracks of life called quality.



If your entertainment outlets are forced to pay additional dollars to maintain a quality relationship with those being excessively creative…do you the consumer have the full right to challenge their copyright? At this point in the game I’d say you’re winning. Itunes and other pay per play sites love the idea that it’s not the entire compact disc you’re searching for. Kid Rock on the other hand continues to toss king sized ban my music from online fits.



Kid Rock grew up during a time of album themes, when purchasing a thin sheet of vinyl came with a purpose and or poetic feel that you could see while laying on your back in the front yard with your eyes closed. He’s dedicated his entire creative flow to the pouring out of what inspired him most and if you’re downloading a single verse from the effort, it kills him in the heart that you didn’t receive the entire motion picture.



Sadly, most acts and actors on the blizzard white screen don’t keep their feet on the ground while reaching for these stars. Jack Black, Will Ferrell and Ben Stiller should be arrested for theater robbery. Most people can’t count on one hand the number of quality driven flicks these three have participated with. What they deliver easily falls into a category that The Art of Selling calls easy forgiveness. Everybody has a bad day…bless their heart. Instead of boycotting the continued bad service we haul our tails back into that world of escape and say, “Hit me again and again and again…”



Now that Imax has entered the neighborhood theater scene with its highly touted guarantee of gifting you with a true American movie experience…how willing are you to fork out a few more pennies, nickels and quarters to see a digital picture? Chances are, you’ll settle for third and fourth best and take the little people in your life to Harry Potter on the same old boring movie in a metal canister screen.



The performance tax doesn’t guarantee quality…it just makes unhappy entertainment people more acceptable in the big business public view…proving that having a great attitude will always win. What will this do to the imperfectly printed love song that creeps into your life when you least expect it and hits you straight in the heart? If the writers and performers get their way…they’ll be happy. Suddenly life will become Sesame Street.



I don’t write this to challenge the process of creative people…I’ve been blistered by a publisher who continues to sell my book without putting a penny in my pocket. It reminds me of the story about a little boy who found a rattlesnake at the top of a mountain. He feared picking the snake up…it might bite him. “Please take me off this cold mountain,” the snake begged and pleaded. With compassion in his heart the child finally gained the confidence to free the snake of the chill and upon putting him on the soil at the base of the mountain, the slithering hisser reached up and bit into the child. “You knew what I was when you picked me up.”



Musicians and actors know of the business that surrounds their show…my constant belief is if you want to be rich and famous never do anything evil to those who made you rich and famous…fans and the long list of outlets that put your words and rhythms in the consumers eyes, ears and body.



Art isn’t a talent…it’s a gift and like all toys handed to you at Christmas…how many of them make it a full year? Oh wait…what am I talking about? There’s nothing wrong with riding a bicycle on one wheel…I see it every year at the circus. Be still DJ boy!



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Learning to define success...

Aristotle once said, “True happiness is composed of many desired ends.”



A Greek theorist, a student of Plato, a teacher of Alexander the Great, head of the royal academy of Macedon while being looked upon as being one of the founding members of western philosophy, Aristotle’s ambition to succeed was fed by several tributaries leading to and from what he called the phenomena of the natural world.



His personal well documented chapters covered 384-322 BC…within his view Aristotle took note of the enormous amount of people who became sick in the mind and heart while sacrificing everything to reach out and touch success. Once held, achievement turned to madness leaving most with nothing to call their own.



Two thousand three hundred and thirty one years later…nothings changed.



A ninety three year old woman sits staring at her grandchildren wondering which one of the three will be the first to flee from the living room to race outside to come face to face with childhood discoveries in a forest of trees, riding ten speed bicycles outside the three block rule or sharing conversation with the neighbors kids comparing each others paths in the way of hoping to hold influence and inspiration.



Ninety three years deep into her book of love and she feels guilty about witnessing the mundane and silly choices the kids elected to make by sitting in front of the television set. She called it a horrible waste of their precious time. If she was anything like my grandparents, television wasn’t a treat but rather a trick. It fooled the minds of a growing thought process creating invisible worlds leading a child’s ambition toward addiction.



Where along your chosen career did you decide the horizon was much closer then where it stood the day before? I’m talking about the morning when you popped your eyes open and quickly realized, “I only have seventeen sets of seasons left!”



Although the Dahli Lama shares in book The Art of Dying that we know of our passing two years before it falls into place…the act of bringing it to the forefront of all things considered cannot be predicted and yet the idea has inspired massive amounts of writers and poets to mastermind books or trails of philosophy based on acquiring such knowledge.



My first and second degree black belt mentor Nathan Richie teaches, “People know you for what you did last for them.”



That well delivered message from the heart proved to be true last week when a friend from Philadelphia captured my name on Google. Bryan couldn’t stop talking about doing seven to midnight radio on KOOK in Billings, Montana. In giant letters I wanted to type, “THAT WAS 1982-85.”



He spoke of writing scripts for nightly Top 5 countdowns, theater of the mind radio concerts that consisted of fake sound effects library audiences and hourly musical artist updates usually swiped from the pages of Rollingstone Magazine.



I quickly invited him to my personal web page to which he replied, “That was nice but it looks like you left the good times back home in Montana.”



People become sick in the mind and heart while sacrificing everything to reach out and touch success. Once held, achievement turns to madness leaving most with nothing to call their own.



Time to call in the doctor! Mick Ukleja takes every personal journey serious. Forgetting about the paths you’ve lined up and later crossed…what you do today affects your horizon. It’s not the rest of your life but the best of your life and it has many possible destinations.



Just like Aristotle believed, “Happiness is composed of many desired ends, not just one.”



Just as much as we expect to feel the love and joy of every new beginning, Dr. Mick puts energy and value in accepting the pleasures of being forced to take a detour. Experiencing a new arrival is ecstatic! Suddenly bumping into a friend who believes your radio career was better presented and accepted nearly thirty years ago should be just as heart warming.



At surface level it felt mundane and silly to sit in front of a computer talking about radio shows barely trapped on old cassette tapes that would probably snap the moment I put them in a machine. It quickly became a waste of my time until I realized…out of all the program directors who’ve shoved their facts and figures into designing my presentation and style, out of every jock I’ve met and created with during these thirty years, Bryan, the intern was in my KOOK studio when the chosen career fell witness to the horizon and realized it was much closer then where it stood the day before?



It was Bryan who convinced me to send an aircheck and resume to North Carolina, “There’s life outside of Montana…go find it.” To help pay for the trip, I sold the Ibanez Flying V guitar I purchased with my birthfathers inheritance money. It was Bryan who waited until I left Montana to walk into the Pawn Shop and buy it back then send it to me as a house warming gift.



Through all this self created madness we sometimes take our eyes off the true journey. It is you who moves through good, better and best…how often do you take the time to listen to a Casey Kasum Long Distance Dedication from a friend who said, “Nice but it looks like you left the good times behind.”



How do you define success?



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Monday, June 22, 2009

Get to the point...

Dear Rob,



Thank you so much for taking the time to walk within the uncut jagged curves of a poet’s inquisitive imagination. Your thoughts and views are brilliant displays of why no new sun is lifted without having the opportunity to sit down with a writing instrument…an exercise that’s required not one but nearly two decades of daily discipline.



Your biggest concern was somewhat unusual…most see flight in the visions offered, meaning all too often I speak six clouds higher than their nearest touch. My sister Susan and close friend Maggie accuse the writer in me of having some of the worst grammar mistakes they’ve ever seen.



Just like the acrylic paints that fall onto my blizzard white canvas…I keep walking.



Writing has the strength to take your imagination farther than one whose nose falls into the well edited heart felt drama of an incredibly cool vampire love story, mind challenging murder mystery or pages blessed with revamping your motivation.

A teacher recently wrote to me, “Your new book and subject matter are fine but once you’ve completed it we need to put a better landscape on your word placement so the masses will better understand the true purpose of your writing.”



I keep walking forward…slang is slang and no two people slang the same and if they do music nerds call it harmony.



Your question Rob fascinates me because it deals with an avenue of discussion faced nearly a billion times during a single thirty year radio career…too much talk. Get to the point, hit me upside the head and let it sink in.



I talk so much in 1992 Mike the program director walked into my on-air studio and slammed a dictionary in front of me, “Look up two words! Concise and brevity! Learn them! Live them! Breathe them!”



I couldn’t survive on Twitter. The freaky company that’s devised a full proof plan to expose thought provoking walkers doesn’t allow me enough space to challenge your space. I figure if you’re going to take up room on this giant blue marble, you might as well bring something to the table. While your life and style embraces short to the point two sentence earth movers…I on the other hand have been hired to ask, “Are you sure? Have you tried this? Whoa that was cool! What’s next? Do you know how you’re going to get there? Sure, a punch to the nose is a great way to slow down an attacker but did you know that doing 100 pushups a day will make your arms and mind much quicker?”



How do you pen that out using just two sentences? Suddenly I’m starring in a silent movie with Charlie Chaplin where pictures don’t require too much thought because the rest of the body is getting what it really wants…entertainment.



Wait! Wait! I can do this!



We fear of losing our jobs everyday but ignore the fears of losing our lives through alcoholism, drug abuse and texting while driving.



Cough! Cough! Somebody please get me some water! Holy cow! I need air! For goodness sakes it’s only Monday, the second official day of summer and the poet had to land this one on your single unevenly paved miniature eye airport. Give me a break! Too deep! TMI! TMI!



The most important part of a newspaper or magazine story is the first paragraph…once through it, time to line the birdcage. In the eleventh grade Mrs. Eschler constantly grinded in our thick get me out of here sculls, “Everything that follows the first paragraph is for those who want to do something about it. As a writer, it’s your job to create action.”



Nice! A little Pow! Zow! And Batman Bam!



Ronald Reagan wasn’t the greatest communicator to hold down the Oval Office…he was the forefather of the Sound Bite Generation. Technology and our need not to put importance on listening to the entire story drove his ratings through the roof. A good example was his horribly misunderstood blooper where he slipped on a pair of radio station earphones and like every person that walks into my studio words of wackiness fell from the lips of Mr. Reagan in the shape of bombing the Soviet Union. That’s the part the world heard…not the entire set up and the moments that followed.



This Sunday I turn 47…the worst mistake of my life was not taking the time to get to know my parents. I elected to run away from home at 18 and chase a career that’s gained me no ground on a map that symbolizes an inch equaling a thousand miles. If I had taken the time to listen to the stepfathers fewest of all fewer than few words…I might have been taught the greatest lesson in life, “Less is more.”



Thank you Rob for being open, upfront and honest about the writer within who seems to toss out too much thought. I’ve created a giant word dump. Whoa…a new place to play with my tiny Tonka trucks! This dump is so huge it’s a wonder the city has started taxing us. Oh great…way to go DJ boy!



arroecollins@clearchannel.com



Wait! I can’t leave you hanging! What if all you do is fear your job but never take the time to put focus on the things that could steal real air and real laughs from your life? What’s the best way to survive? I took that question straight to a Great Grandmaster of Martial Arts who softly said, “A man or woman who fears losing their job while finding no worry in what they put inside their mind, body and soul is searching. Have the courage to stand up for what you believe is right. What you hold in materialistic value today could be gone tomorrow but when you locate what truly makes you smile the personal waves leading to and from happiness won’t be consumed by false highs.”

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Humanized Miracle Grow...

During my ego driven self described heyday as a radio disc jockey, gifted to the path were the artists who make up the background of why fifty one percent of us continue to depend on radio. While standing with the singer/songwriters and performers it was my constant push to not be like the rest that allowed opportunity to pull from the music makers answers not found in Rollingstone, People or Musician magazine.



How often do you find yourself sitting around an uncovered wooden table with Timothy B Schmidt and Joe Walsh of the Eagles and in walks Ringo Starr? Shaking hands and walking back to the dressing room with Gene Simmons before being covered with makeup. Being backstage with Macy Gray during the seconds that followed her hard road to get there performance or being invited into the infamous Green Room by Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20 after his road manager felt it was his need to shove radio people to the side.



I got into these tough un-colorized corners of the world by using what I jokingly call The Obe One Kenobe approach to accessing real versus an act. If the world could see how I turn everything into an avenue of showmanship and prep I’d finally be given the single opportunity to perform on radio’s biggest stages. Until then…I keep practicing, every day, every night because once inside the vision of those helping to shape American culture…the right questions are required or the earned respect that got me there would be fed through a grinder then swiftly taken out with the rest of the trash.



Luck is the combination of preparation and opportunity. Charlie Gibson of ABC News put these words into action in 2007 when big wig decision makers announced he wouldn’t be replacing Peter Jennings. Being there for consideration can sometimes be the greatest moment of your life…a test of sorts to see how bad you want something. Through hard work and continued dedication his efforts were finally given the chance to breathe which gave him the opportunity to step in.



In Tae Kwon Do the journey to black belt is interrupted by a single stripe…you’ve proven your leadership qualities and loyalty to learn more about the art to fellow students but before anyone is invited to test for black belt…a six month waiting period must be observed…Bo-cha-dan. If living the life of a black belt is what you truly desire, you’re given half a year to fine tune the letters of the alphabet in hopes of creating a single word that belongs inside an unwritten sentence.



Success is no different. I meet and communicate with future radio talent every day with high hopes that one of them will be willing enough to step up the batters box and put me away. Joel Olsteen believes we’ve become the generation of mediocrity…the quality of performance and objects created through an act of creation are no longer expected to be the best anyone can do. So what are the real chances anyone that studies under me will experience the challenges I've faced for thirty years?



Eating at a restaurant with a 90% rating is great because there’s only a ten percent chance we’ll become sick.



There was once a day when those making music came with a college education…Hall and Oats, Tom Sholtz of Boston, Freddie Mercury of Queen and Pete Townsend of The Who didn’t pack up the touring van and hit the road until degrees were freshly printed with their names blaring off the page like a live concert at Wimbley Stadium.



Kobe Bryant proved to the world of professionalism and vigor that a college education can halt your continued growth of being recognized. In 1996 I wrote in speeches delivered to high schools that his decision to suddenly go pro invited the next two generations of students to drop out. Four NBA championship rings later I find myself locked between two thoughts: Through preparation and opportunity Kobe’s luck has turned him into this nation’s current Michael Jordon. Yet...Steph Curry from Davidson has also elected not to finish college. What message did Kobe really preach?



The most recent to pour his path of great study and often times horrid avenues of regret into the goblets of success is nearly crowned American Idol Adam Lambert who never stepped off the unexpected journeys without having black eyes and bones that ached. At twenty seven his background is caked with raw stage experiences that taught him the difference between knocking something out and brilliantly landscaping a well focused passion to be remembered tomorrow.



While backstage during those self hyped days of radio play creatively I came up with a simple way to ask, “Who the heck are you and why do you think you’re here?” Clay Aiken was the only one who had me removed from the interview. I’m ok with that because as much of a common man as he is, the years that have passed got me the answered I required…he isn’t the reincarnation of Elvis Presley.



Richard Marx called himself the Hunch Back of Notre dam. Seal has to pinch himself everyday as a way to remind himself how real all of this is. Famed artist Peter Max can perfectly draw a human face but finds it incredibly boring. Lenny Kravitz purchased the Beatles recording board because it still has a story to tell. Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane and Starship owes the majority of her success to the rise and fall of early day FM radio and to this day remains completely connected to its vibration.



Luck is the combination of preparation and opportunity.



I send these words to Sheran Hussain a senior in at Gaston Day high school whose current drive and passion in life is to take a single idea of helping to purify water for third world countries and make it known the world of science. At sixteen he’s been gifted with the knowledge to eliminate the elements that lead to blue baby disease. This fall he’s been invited to speak at MIT where he’ll compete with other college students to gain access to making this endeavor the planets next great discovery.



A young lad with a playful smile, can barely sit still in a chair but his focus on unmasking the walls that stand before him inspires the unwritten to be spoken. After taking twenty minutes of going into deep detail, speaking in a language that knocks a poet with large words and long travels off his chair Sheran returned to his kid state, “So…how can I get the word out?”



Through preparation and opportunity.



Who knows…he could be the single voice of invention President Obama is searching for when it comes to putting a thumb print on inexpensive bio fuels that send this country far away from our addiction to modern methods of gasoline and oil. Look how many prepared opportunities it took Edison to mastermind the lightbulb. Talk about good luck!



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Please...no dancing on this dance floor.

Four days shy of the summer equinox of 09 and life feels great! Wait…there’s that dull ache, maybe the stomach, sometimes the head, an itch or two, a bruise on the arms and legs…no real damage but something doesn’t seem to be smiling on the list of all things that should be correct.



Your career front feels sort of strange…almost out of whack. Memories of past chapters written unveil the faces and voices of fellow cast members who once spent Monday hours laughing about Saturday and Sunday adventures while toying with newer ideas of discovering deeper paths to chase while silently uncovering the annual mysteries summer always brings.



Whipping out the official seasonal checklist, your eyes wander down the page like a cat being introduced to the taste of sashimi tuna. While the sun beats its heat deep into the cushions of your unprotected car seats and the invisible edges of your assumed under control imagination remains focused on the proper measurements of the average day requirements to call it a success…something feels oddly different this three month go around.



Nothing sounds odder than identifying to the remnants of an echo. A picture of friends dangling from your cubical wall highlights the afternoons where Friday quitting time was usually Thursday at 3 pm. The digital shots grabbed from each individualized world gifts your search with something to hold…only to realize quick moving storms described as economic conditions forced the hands of decision makers creating an unforgettable swath of openness nearly cutting down your entire summertime forest.



More than anytime time in American history the workplace has become exactly that…a “work” place. Department head emails have calmly invited employees to turn off their radios, CD players and other methods of mental stimulation. Please do everything within your power to halt having lengthy lunch breaks and without a doubt do not talk about television shows you watched last night.



Camaraderie is near its death bed in America. Zen levels are empty. In several parts of the country, the act of accepting a coworker as a Facebook friend has cost a few employees their job. The new business front features the idea of fun as being something based on what your imagination tosses out after completing one of ten thousand tasks delivered to you daily by every department once considered separate.



Who killed workplace fun? Being part of a clique has nothing to do with it.



“Your honor…I call to the witness stand Multitasking. Evidence proves it’s 100% responsible for bringing silence to the presentation of unstoppable summertime fun, excitement and great music!”



Be it a fear of losing your job and only family income, be it a need to exceed the limits of expectation to become a leader, be it an example of far out cool work ethics that were given to you by parents who spent every second of their lives working day and night…whatever the situation…multitasking was spotted on corner of walk and don’t walk holding the smoking gun.



Leo Babauta who authored the book The Power of Less calls multitasking low on efficiency, due to the need of having to constantly switch gears for each new task then switch back again. Multitasking creates oceans of stress inviting out of control errors. Multitasking is guilty of generating this generation’s newest shape of crazy makers. Without sanity and calmness the workplace reins with terror.



Leo Babauta is currently in hot pursuit of convincing CEO’s, GM’s and other department heads to adopt the idea of single tasking.



One thought, one idea at a time. Every morning should begin with the most important project. Once complete…stop…leave the room and return in a few minutes to begin the next task.
Learn to take control of distractions. The number one cause of stress on the job isn’t the boss but emails and cell phones.
If new expectations suddenly arrive at your desk do not put energy into them…set them aside and get back to the task at hand.
During times of great urgency like maybe a sales rep’s life won’t go on unless you drop your entire process of success and give them three pats on the back so they can burp…make a note of where you are on your current task. If no path was documented your stress level will create high blood pressure when returned to.
Never stop breathing. No matter how horrible the day or brilliant it turns out to be…the golden rule is breathe. Long deep breaths keep the body, mind and soul focused. The moment you deny your lifeline oxygen…trouble sets in. In martial arts we study one method...if it takes four seconds to suck it in...it should take four seconds to push it out. Breathe not from your lungs...use your entire body by pushing air into your stomach. You'll feel fat for a brief moment but wow that natural rush of fresh oxygen is so much better than a boss screaming at you, "Why? Why? Why?"


We all know none of this works unless you have a support staff, people who are willing to see eye to eye with your efforts without stealing from the final chapter. Locating coworkers to man the support staff is difficult because it involves trust and patience. Yep, the part of everyday life your parents failed to tell you about during their heyday of keeping the family going. How can you trust and not be impatient?



Communication… But please don’t become a drama queen like me and take it too far. In 1994 I looked at a fellow coworker and softly said, “You seem to always come to me at the last minute with demands that take hours to complete. Do you know where this energy to write and produce comes from? There’s a child inside me that has a brilliant day everyday. I’d say your tardiness and lack of respect for my art is abusing my inner child. So I ask, what are your personal feelings about child abuse?”



Ouch!



He was never late again….fifteen years later I still hold the guilt for being so open. Why did it have to go that far? Single tasking in a multitasking world works. Every budget can be met if you single task. Every dream can be lived if you single task. Koby Bryant had only one job to do this past weekend…help his LA Lakers win the national championship a fourth time which has earned coach Phil Jackson his tenth NBA grown inside nineteen years.



Steal their art….and have an unforgettable hot rocking flame throwing summer!



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Tuning in while getting others to tune out...

Computers…big white towers with long grey chords that zip, zap and curve around the strangest corners, desktop, laptop, handheld, palm and under the front seat of your car because those four wheels need to keep going too.

Remember in high school when taking computer class required students to study punch cards and know more than general math? The only thing tiny during those days was a solar powered calculator. Oh look! If I put these numbers side by side and turn the electronic device upside down…it spells a word!


Computers were once the size of a city block and actors like Kurt Russell played with the future by starring in The Computer That Wore Tennis Shoes. The idea of American culture wrapping its wants and needs around something that thinks was so 2001 Space Odyssey. The Jettson’s and Star Trek featured awesome devices that could beam you up, down, around or generate food or Tribbles at the push of a button.


I wanted one of these things!


It wasn’t until the mid-1980’s that I realized giant booster rockets may push NASA scientists out and away from of our century old pollution makers but once up there…it’s ultimately the computer that keeps them moving forward. Computers operate cameras in the world of television and radio no longer plays with records or CD’s…before I speak, the computer gets to listen first.


With so much being performed by manmade devices that can easily crash…why can’t the brilliant minds of Apple and Microsoft methodize a memory collector that keeps wandering eyes from penetrating what you’re typing without making it look like you’re keeping a secret from the Mafia?


I suffer from a horrible disease called, “Stop looking over my shoulder!” In the old days, if you got too close to my stepfather Joe’s business, he’d haul off and wipe your nose completely off the mug shot.

Until Bill Gates crafted the PC, the idea of standing over someone while writing just didn’t happen. Mom would sit in the kitchen for hours typing away on that seriously old non-electric typewriter. Nobody in the family felt it was their daily mission to sneak a peak.


I changed when Tony Swearingine and a few radio station program directors walked onto my path of creative flow. I learned from one guy, “When you’re in my building and it affects what I’m trying to present to thousands of people who have the power to instantly change the dial, I will stand so close I become a second skin. Besides, if you truly were a professional you’d tune me out.”


Computers don’t make it easy for tune out or totally ignore. I expand my screen to 150% with number 18 font. A trick I learned while preparing for over 360 DARE graduation speeches where my aging eyes couldn’t be seen squinting at normal size twelve lettering. When I write, Paul Shadt on 969 The Kat can see my thoughts and he’s across the hall in a completely different room.


So what happens when other people’s visions suddenly become locked on your destination? What is the morally correct method of proper conduct? I went straight to my guru Anne Marie Sabbath whose business manners lean hard on making the obvious the obvious, “When you see someone approaching…click save and close the program.”


Wait! Talk about feeling like an idiot or someone who’s up to no good. The very second I rush to crank down the thought keeper…the message being sent is, “Ohhhhhh are you writing about me? Are you doing something that's going to hurt me? Must be top secret, curiosity always kills the cat.”


I’d love to see the numbers on our nations divorce rate based on the amount of trust completely destroyed because what’s being written has nothing to do with the one intruding.


I write books. My grammar and punctuation aren’t perfectly edited. I abide by the rules designed by Julia Cameron who says, “Your job is to write not edit. Get the words out of your head or take them silently to your coffin”


As a writer, one finds more editors on the support staff than physical minds that follow the storyline. Writing radio and television commercials is no different…this mind, body and soul helps others reach a destination of success not only for them but their clients and getting there requires not one but an entire team to stand behind me to edit, edit, edit a thirty or sixty second commercial.


To follow the measurements of play as set by Anne Marie I’m literally being unprofessional by not putting focus on tuning out the intruder. She goes on to say, “Divert the eyes of the visitor away from your screen and get them locked on you. Stand up and talk directly to them.”


I get it…give their imagination something to do other than nose around your place of mental play.


I spent nearly four years on the Barnes and Nobel writing tour discussing better methods to bring out the writer giving him or her not only an inner voice but face. The number one complaint from poets, short story creators, long form or motivation, “I instantly shut down when my spouse of family member walks into the room.”


Judgment…you don’t like it, they don’t like it and chances are your boss can’t stand it either. I honestly believe we’d be in space flying incredibly cool flying saucers today if computers screens weren’t so easy to read. But no…this constant attraction to looking over someone’s shoulder has silenced our will and way to exercise our full right to create.


I once had a horrible fear of writing in my daily journals at home so I took the books to work where a boss unlocked my desk and read them. I would’ve loved to have put a curse on the pages but remember the gold rule of Native American studies, “Black magic cannot be performed unless the curse has been endured by you first or you’ll never know what the person is going through.” Um…ok…gonna take the books back home. While jumping off a ferry on the Puget Sound near Victoria, BC the boarder patrol took my daily writing and spent an hour reading it. You’d question me too! I have long hair and look like a Montanan who happens to have a Carolina address….total terrorist here baby. My first published book sells more copies in India and Spain than America and it’s straight from my daily writing.


I don’t want to write, “Get over it!” I want you to be extremely creative on that computer screen while letting you know what's been set free no longer belongs to you the moment it becomes public. Peter Max was very firm in explaining to me, “It now rests in the hands of the world.”


arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Monday, June 15, 2009

The root to all things fun and loving....

People fascinate me…large, tall, teeny tiny, loud, shy, expressive, slow, quick to react, bouncy, snail like, sad, happy or somewhere in between…people watching is my thing. Never hidden within the limbs of an aging tree like that of an incredibly marked grey wolf whose dark salt and pepper mask hides the eyes of a mind as the world walks by…or that of an impatient blue jay constantly pushing his way through leaps and bounds of week old weeds and grass, fallen rose petals and unstoppable amounts of bird clutter.



Like a lion I sit in plain view, be it a dingy brown deeply weathered park bench, a well scented outdoor restaurant, casually eating ice cream at the nearest mall, taking glossy foot long tickets from anxious passerby’s at a world movie premiere or electing to stand in the farthest corner of the back row in martial arts, whatever the inlet, the educational waterway completely engulfs me like a Hawaiian ocean wave tubing surfers toward a incoming shoreline…



Comedian/impersonator Rich Little once said, “If you want to make everyday fun…study the lengths, widths and depths that create the shapes of other people’s lives.” Most anyone can impersonate a television, movie or political character…it takes concentration combined with ambition with several touches of intrigue and inspiration. Influenced is the minds eye which convinces the rest of the body to cut then paste the characters shoulder movements, shift in the eyes, swagger in the stroll or constant need to pull up his or her drawers.



You might know him but in his nearly eighty years of ups, downs, twists, unpredictable turns, mountain climbs, desert crossings, land speed records in a bronze pickup truck, through every record collecting skip, stumble, and fall Mr. Bob Katz has made his way through a few neighborhoods leaving what I call a mile maker on the chapters he didn’t ask anyone to write yet in his own unique characterized way he’s become part of it.



Every neighborhood features a BK. Fun loving, ready for a challenge, loves to collect hard to locate music on old 78’s and 8-tracks, builds giant brick walls to protect never before seen flowers and vines, rakes leaves and weeds into the street while parking not in his driveway but on a hill nose down because that’s the way they did it back home in the land of extremely strong Yankee accents.



BK is the man everyone loves to impersonate. He carries with him that single most valuable energy that somehow harnesses the imagination of a coworker, cousin, uncle or in BK’s case, from every school his grandchildren attended to my hood to the Republican headquarters. Once you’ve met BK you stood there wanting to impersonate his loyally determined persistence which never steers away from the man he is and has become.



BK makes people laugh, whisper and think; it’s as if you’re looking through the eyes of people you’ll never meet. Once the story is complete, he moves to the next group of listeners who set aside their sweet tea, hotdogs, BBQ sauce and wine to swim within the imagination of a single man with the courage and energy to be his own character.



Robin Williams, Mike Myers, Seth Rogan, Tracey Ullman, Tim Allen and Rosanne Barr gained fame becoming replicas of their favorite characters. One of the funniest comedy routines performed on stage is Eddie Murphy describing what it was like when his parents were going out for the night and the kids through amazingly loud and obnoxious fits. The way Eddie paints the tale of that infamous shoe coming off his mother’s foot burps up tremendous laughter nearly thirty years after it was delivered. Someone had to cough up that sort of action for him to gain access into our everyday pages to get a reaction. We all have parents that do strange things to keep kids moving forward.



BK is that man. The ten to fifteen kids on the block that leaped from size two shoes to eleven or smaller will probably one day sit with their friends pulling off that high atop his own rolling hill northern accent, “I’m so disappointed with my team right now! I can’t believe out of all the people that could’ve become my next leader…that’s who they chose! I oughta run myself but can’t! This world couldn’t stand that much change!”



“Who bought all this ice cream? Holy cow I need to go home and get a bigger bucket! Of coarse I’m going to take too much! There’s always more room for later!”



“Hilary Clinton just angers me! I don’t want to talk about it! Don’t get me started! I will fight you all day! Honey! Tell these people to get away from me because if I start talking about Hillary I’m just not going to let it go! I’m telling you this girl’s got me riled up and ready for a fight! Did you hear what she did last night? I promise I won’t talk about it but wow…it needs to be discussed!”



“I can’t believe that jerk who hit my truck was uninsured! I’ve spent my entire life pulling off a great job and raising what I think is a beautiful family and my truck is taken out by an uninsured driver! I just sat there looking at him!” “BK…when was the accident?” “Ten years ago! I hope that crazy jerk knows what its like to be the other driver when his uninsured habit collides with mine!”



“Wow! BK that new flower garden is the size of a super Wal-Mart!” “Let me tell you something! Everyday I drive up that hill I want to see accomplishment. I want to see something that makes my heart stop. If building a flowerbed the size of three houses makes me stand up proud and scream I love America then let me plant everything that’ll grow under this sky!”



BK’s lifeless body was found in that garden bed this past Saturday afternoon. Like a true Hollywood romance he took the time daily to create a world that made “him” happy leading toward a slow dance with a neighborhood, family and community that’ll last forever, making the forest to which we live within that much more special.



BK wanted to be nobody special he had a passion to be himself and through each endeavor be it seeking every opportunity to figure out how to get old albums burned to CD’s to always picking the underdog in the Super Bowl, grabbing more BBQ and potato salad than most because he’d take it home for later…his final resting place takes with him the hearts and songs of hundreds of people he challenged while sending each of us home with our bellies full of laughter…I can still hear his voice, “For crying out loud! This is the way I’ve been all my life! I am me! Did I tell you what Hillary did today! Don’t get me started! I just can’t believe that girl!”



arroecollins@clearchannel.com



In loving memory of my favorite character Bob Katz who never turned his back on his grandson. We promise to take care of David!

The root to all things fun and loving....

People fascinate me…large, tall, teeny tiny, loud, shy, expressive, slow, quick to react, bouncy, snail like, sad, happy or somewhere in between…people watching is my thing. Never hidden within the limbs of an aging tree like that of an incredibly marked grey wolf whose dark salt and pepper mask hides the eyes of a mind as the world walks by…or that of an impatient blue jay constantly pushing his way through leaps and bounds of week old weeds and grass, fallen rose petals and unstoppable amounts of bird clutter.



Like a lion I sit in plain view, be it a dingy brown deeply weathered park bench, a well scented outdoor restaurant, casually eating ice cream at the nearest mall, taking glossy foot long tickets from anxious passerby’s at a world movie premiere or electing to stand in the farthest corner of the back row in martial arts, whatever the inlet, the educational waterway completely engulfs me like a Hawaiian ocean wave tubing surfers toward a incoming shoreline…



Comedian/impersonator Rich Little once said, “If you want to make everyday fun…study the lengths, widths and depths that create the shapes of other people’s lives.” Most anyone can impersonate a television, movie or political character…it takes concentration combined with ambition with several touches of intrigue and inspiration. Influenced is the minds eye which convinces the rest of the body to cut then paste the characters shoulder movements, shift in the eyes, swagger in the stroll or constant need to pull up his or her drawers.



You might know him but in his nearly eighty years of ups, downs, twists, unpredictable turns, mountain climbs, desert crossings, land speed records in a bronze pickup truck, through every record collecting skip, stumble, and fall Mr. Bob Katz has made his way through a few neighborhoods leaving what I call a mile maker on the chapters he didn’t ask anyone to write yet in his own unique characterized way he’s become part of it.



Every neighborhood features a BK. Fun loving, ready for a challenge, loves to collect hard to locate music on old 78’s and 8-tracks, builds giant brick walls to protect never before seen flowers and vines, rakes leaves and weeds into the street while parking not in his driveway but on a hill nose down because that’s the way they did it back home in the land of extremely strong Yankee accents.



BK is the man everyone loves to impersonate. He carries with him that single most valuable energy that somehow harnesses the imagination of a coworker, cousin, uncle or in BK’s case, from every school his grandchildren attended to my hood to the Republican headquarters. Once you’ve met BK you stood there wanting to impersonate his loyally determined persistence which never steers away from the man he is and has become.



BK makes people laugh, whisper and think; it’s as if you’re looking through the eyes of people you’ll never meet. Once the story is complete, he moves to the next group of listeners who set aside their sweet tea, hotdogs, BBQ sauce and wine to swim within the imagination of a single man with the courage and energy to be his own character.



Robin Williams, Mike Myers, Seth Rogan, Tracey Ullman, Tim Allen and Rosanne Barr gained fame becoming replicas of their favorite characters. One of the funniest comedy routines performed on stage is Eddie Murphy describing what it was like when his parents were going out for the night and the kids through amazingly loud and obnoxious fits. The way Eddie paints the tale of that infamous shoe coming off his mother’s foot burps up tremendous laughter nearly thirty years after it was delivered. Someone had to cough up that sort of action for him to gain access into our everyday pages to get a reaction. We all have parents that do strange things to keep kids moving forward.



BK is that man. The ten to fifteen kids on the block that leaped from size two shoes to eleven or smaller will probably one day sit with their friends pulling off that high atop his own rolling hill northern accent, “I’m so disappointed with my team right now! I can’t believe out of all the people that could’ve become my next leader…that’s who they chose! I oughta run myself but can’t! This world couldn’t stand that much change!”



“Who bought all this ice cream? Holy cow I need to go home and get a bigger bucket! Of coarse I’m going to take too much! There’s always more room for later!”



“Hilary Clinton just angers me! I don’t want to talk about! Don’t get me started! I will fight you all day! Honey! Tell these people to get away from me because if I start talking about Hillary I’m just not going to let it go! I’m telling you this girl’s got me riled up and ready for a fight! Did you hear what she did last night? I promise I won’t talk about it but wow…it needs to be discussed!”



“I can’t believe that jerk who hit my truck was uninsured! I’ve spent my entire life pulling off a great job and raising what I think is a beautiful family and my truck is taken out by an uninsured driver! I just sat there looking at him!” “BK…when was the accident?” “Ten years ago! I hope that crazy jerk knows what its like to be the other driver when his uninsured habit collides with mine!”



“Wow! BK that new flower garden is the size of a super Wal-Mart!” “Let me tell you something! Everyday I drive up that hill I want to see accomplishment. I want to see something that makes my heart stop. If building a flowerbed the size of three houses makes me stand up proud and scream I love America then let me plant everything that’ll grow under this sky!”



BK’s lifeless body was found in that garden bed this past Saturday afternoon. Like a true Hollywood romance he took the time daily to create a world that made “him” happy leading toward a slow dance with a neighborhood, family and community that’ll last forever, making the forest to which we live within that much more special.



BK wanted to be nobody special he had a passion to be himself and through each endeavor be it seeking every opportunity to figure out how to get old albums burned to CD’s to always picking the underdog in the Super Bowl, grabbing more BBQ and potato salad than most because he’d take it home for later…his final resting place takes with him the hearts and songs of hundreds of people he challenged while sending each of us home with our bellies full of laughter…I can still hear his voice, “For crying out loud! This is the way I’ve been all my life! I am me! Did I tell you what Hillary did today! Don’t get me started! I just can’t believe that girl!”



arroecollins@clearchannel.com



In loving memory of my favorite character Bob Katz who never turned his back on his grandson. We promise to take care of David!

Friday, June 12, 2009

Shapes and shades that create every generation...

I’m amazed at the number of people currently searching for ways to slow down time. I’ll stare at the clock for hours begging to catch the government pulling off a secret CIA covert operation that renews the American public every twenty four hour period. No such luck! Each click is still the tick before the tock fully featuring sixty inside each hard to catch clock.


The boomers who learned to microwave food are in hot pursuit to loosen up the load or so I’m told. One slip of the financial industry should’ve knocked us on our seats…yeah, when was the last time you tried to score an early Friday or Saturday night dinner at a restaurant? Movie lines are wrapped around buildings forcing Hollywood to grab the money and run by putting pictures into play during Thursday midnight showings.


The marketing departments of faster cars and drinks at the bar were told ten years ago of a newer horizon to reach, “Generations X and Y will be homebodies.” That hasn’t happened either. Almost every downtown, uptown and center city in America is caked with credit cards and freshly earned dollars to stuff into pockets of American culture.


Is it because lawmakers are begging the masses to climb onto this giant Harley Davidson and kick start it until it roars like the 80’s and 90’s? How hard are the bad times if having a great time doesn’t seem to be interrupted?


Whose dollars are making the loudest holler? Baby Boomers who refuse to leave this giant space rock without a good fight? Tweener’s who remain faceless and voiceless yet carry an identification card that says, “I’m part of the group of people born too late to be a Boomer and too early to be has cool as X-er.” Where is Y and should we be wondering why?


Time is moving too quickly to suddenly see the writing on the wall.

You know what truly slows down the clock a couple of ticks then tocks? It doesn’t matter what corner you’ve pulled up to there’s something totally slow motion about making eye contact with good ole red, white and blue. To fall witness to one being raised at the birth of dawn takes time and turns it into Grandpa’s life all over again. I see my father Joe as he steps onto German soil to fight a war he didn’t start and my adopted father Dr. Ronald Mack sailing back into port after testing atom bombs that rip many things a part. During the heat of summer and the chill of freeze rain, that girl has a way of making everything nice and toasty.


What’s not being twitted and or Face Booked is Flag Day…it’s Sunday…which generation will stop to observe Old Glory? It’s not a government holiday, church will go on as planned and your favorite brunch before lunch probably won’t feature a sign in the door that reads, “We’re closed for 24 hour to observe what other nations see as being the single object that best represents our fifty states.”


The United States flag! When you see her making waves with the wind it can turn any baseball game into a hometown victory. You can walk slowly through downtown with hidden shapes of fear fed by the horrid economy creeping through your worst nightmares and in the corner of your eye you catch a simple shadow tapping on your imagination…looking up it’s the United States flag softly whispering, “I’m no member FDIC but I am 100% made USA.”


Fewer than normal homes physically put up a pole and let her soar with doves, bright red Cardinals and the occasion hawk or owl. Some neighborhoods would like to but can’t because another persons freedom of speech becomes an invasion of ones beliefs. Ouch!


In the woods that make up my hood a nice gentleman every year during the twenty four period recognized as the fourth of July sticks a nice new hearty flag in front of everyone’s house. I’ve never met the man. Would one day like to…just wanna know if he truly loves what I do…all that red, white and blue.


While standing on the ships of Charleston Daddy Joe said to me, “Don’t ever take your eye off the United States flag…it’s the only thing you can trust in the world.” Thirty seconds later he fell to his knees in tears and asked me to drive him home. Some say his war isn’t over. He's always loved those bright stripes and unforgettable fifty stars...maybe its because his day of birth was Flag Day USA.


On this flag day weekend I salute every man, woman, brother, sister, mother, father, uncle, aunt, neighbor and cousin who has taken that United States flag with them to foreign soils and into every corner of our land called America and stood proud in the name of making sure our freedom of speech and way of life are protected daily, hourly and second by second.


I salute the households who display those shades of red, white and blue everyday like my neighbor Herb…and he was born in Canada but he loves the country that adopted him The United States of America. I salute my Master in martial arts Todd Harris who has vowed to never let a student pass green belt unless they know the history and purpose of our U.S. flag.


And I salute you! Somewhere, sometime this weekend you’re going to be jogging, walking, driving, having lunch or dinner and through the great spirit and backbone of every generation be it the Boomers to Tweeners, X’ers and Y’ers…you are going to lift your head to those colors knowing everything you are today is because of the men and women who’ve put their lives on the line to make you better than great.


Put your hand over your heart and give that flag the praise it deserves. It has stood there during the roughest of storms and the calmest nights. No piece of cloth will love you more than that flag. I present to you good ole red, white and blue.


arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Andy Warhol said 15 minutes....I say 15 seconds...

I do it, my mom does it, chances are you do it too and so does your best friend when you’re not looking. Outside your four walls the squirrels, tadpoles, occasional hawk and owl have fallen witness to the latest in human evolution; the moment your favorite show breaks, the most natural thing is to reach for the remote to speed past the interruptions.



One single twenty four hour period shy of the nation going 100% digital and the broadcast industries biggest task still remains unanswered…how can locally owned and operated television stations keep viewers on their channel during commercial breaks? Viewers must know, it keeps the station on the go.

During tours of the radio station I’ll stop several times to point out the enormous amount of energy robbers it takes to heave ho a tune out to your car then remind those in the room that the radio on-air talent isn’t the star, it’s the creative advertising department who leaps through hoops to make sure the performers have enough electricity to be up and funny in the morning, at noon and on the drive home.



Without sales you wouldn’t know about Hannah Montana returning to the Carolina’s on November 24th. Wait! I just did a cheap plug! Well at least I didn't tell you the paperless tickets go on sale Saturday morning at 10 am. That's called product dropping. Television shows and movies are starting to do what's always been available for years...use the products that sponsor their art.



I love Time Warner Cable’s attempt at preserving what little dollars are left in marketing budgets…on some channels if you dive into a program too late, that’s ok…you can start from the very beginning at a small cost of losing control of fast forward. Instantly I’ve become addicted, to the point of reaching for the remote at live concerts and movie theaters. If I’m having a great time, let’s start it over!



Within this age of Tivo, DVR and brightly lit electronic roadside billboards that’ll one day slam me into an unexpected car accident; the magic behind the human spirited eight ball is this incredible surge of something that allows us to instantly tune things out. Wrapped deeply in a view of the world only you can see, feel, hear and taste, Dave Matthews was correct when spouting, “The ants keep marching.”



How do you expect to land the perfect job or further your career when the first thing you do is change the channel when commercials appear or become something you hear?



Resumes are wasted former trees. The words chosen to describe the paths you’ve chosen have been abused for decades. The ideas you present are three minute long commercials about a self who can’t stand to take six seconds to hear how Bounty is the quicker picker upper.



If you can’t stand radio and television commercials how do you expect to grow in your personal endeavors? Success is all about marketing. Landing that perfect position during an extremely rough American transition is going to take creative thinking which leads to an unforgettable presentation.



Introducing: The 15 second commercial about you! Delivered through the sound system you’ve been carrying since the day your momma looked at you and said, “My beautiful little baby.” Dad on the other hand was thinking, “Get a job!”



Author Andrea Kay is an expert on the workday business front...without a fear, no need for a doubt, she has no problem telling the American workforce that you are lazy, late and completely out of tune when communicating what really counts about you.



Every morning you should be preparing for that single most important 15 seconds of your life. There he or she is…the CEO of Big Business Success is Us, he or she is walking your way, they reach to shake your hand and lafjdklfjklsdfjfdjlasdfljsdf burp. You couldn’t come up with anything worth the weight of your dreams coming true.



Just like you…the master of success tuned out of your commercial.



There’s not a disc jockey on earth that’s going to drop a song into play mode to save your single unheard of opportunity to dance with them again. You blew it.



Nobody can predict the future, therefore you never know when opportunity is going to stand up and shake its tail feathers. You could be standing in line at the grocery store, walking into a restaurant or through synchronicity your friend tells you of an opening at that very cool pet hospital you’ve dreamed of being the head nurse at. That single shot to introduce yourself has got to be an award winning 15 second commercial about you.



Who are you? What are your strengths? What do you care about and why? Your personal characteristics are? What are your greatest challenges versus those you can easily reach? Don’t bang out a 15 second collection of fast talking words ending with, “See dealer for details.”

I invite you into a world I adopted in 1991 at a tremendously injured radio station with hardly a budget to lift the key to the door to open it…image your business. Don’t just blurt out who you are…figure out an image then become it. That station has since become a market leader going on two decades.



Andrea Kay says, “It’s ok to be technical but be real. Lay low on going into detail too fast or use a lot of jargon and gibberish.” Quick! GET ME THE REMOTE CONTROL!



Resume creating and personal one on one greetings have become lazy, vague and stale. We’ve adopted word play that someone along the way shouted, “It works! Trust me!” Then everyone started using it and without a doubt you are no different than Buck Tooth Joe with his pet garden snake Sammy Jean.



In 1946 George Orwell wrote, “You’re not going to sound real and sincere or connected with a live human when you use worn out, bloated, imprecise mumbo jumbo. Don’t describe yourself as being a person centered on change who drives results through innovative human resource solutions while constantly learning the frameworks that deliver maximum value.”



Suddenly you’ve just become the television commercial you zoom past with not a guilt trip to wallow in.



You have 15 seconds to figure out the best image:



What are you trying to say?



What words will you use to express it?



What can you say to make it crystal clear and understandable?



Is your image fresh enough to have impact?



Can you make what you want to say shorter?



What will I say that could make me avoidably ugly?



You are in the business of you. Stop banging out a commercial about you and start imaging your business. Steal my art…



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Even the best are put through a daily test....

How many times during a single collection of life’s everyday chapters do you hear a constant voice or see a vivid picture of where you need to be but can’t seem to locate the proper strings to pull and if located is it gently to the right like a cloth shade draping a window pane, sharp tug to the left as if to be loosening a rightfully tight screw or without a doubt or curve of the string it’s straight down baby?



Rollingstone Magazine’s recent interview with rock legend Eric Clapton reveals a side of the music industry dreamers and fantasy collectors swiftly walk past believing the gifts they hold won’t be poured into the molds that keep those before them from reaching what critics call that single point on the often carried worn and torn map commonly called a fan base.



Clapton has written, performed and helped shape iconic collections of musicians that have blazed through, walked around, under and over radio’s unblessed curse of having a song hook twenty five seconds into the vinyl piece or locate another place or purpose. Like Paul McCartney, Led Zeppelin, Alabama, Rascal Flatts, Springsteen, Chicago and Elvis, no week or weekend is complete without hearing at least two of what they’ve released.



Clapton hangs his head during such news calling this description a total disconnection. His personal travels versus a series of well touted magazine victories sit on opposite sides of the ocean. Through his thoughts we learn that the Mozart of our generation remains deaf to the sound he’s vowed to create.



Although Clapton gets very little credit for founding Fleetwood Mac, the pages we keep along unpredictable journeys become books of assumption to those who see and hear only music. Eric is deeply hurt by what’s been delivered. Several collaborations with Steve Winwood, a stint with BB King, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page, Roger Waters of Pink Floyd, Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Neil Young and Beatles producer George Martin still hasn’t gifted his life long ambition of writing the song he hears while 99.9% of the world is still sleeping.



Suddenly the master of six silver slivers of metal string becomes just like you and me.



In an age of karaoke, You Tube, Face Book, My Space and American Idol, a single set of fingerprints presented by incredible leadership and mass marketing still leaves the music maker wondering why he elected to dance with a song people can’t hear.



Ambition is self torture. Leaking from the eyes of the man or woman standing atop the pyramid aren’t humbled tears of joy but self dissatisfaction fed by rivers that refuse to stop flooding until the proper path is located in the way of making what we see, feel, hear and touch a reality.



President Obama’s oval office oath came with tremendous amounts of unexpected challenges. What we see on distant horizons won’t take the shape of the human compassion filled heart but rather reveal itself as major corporations in all walks and shapes of life continuing to fold, far away nations tossing giant bombs through the sky forcing China and Japan to ask why? An economy so timid to trust small things such as professional basketball and baseball teams are being sold to companies outside our fifty unforgettable states.



How many of us will pass knowing the soul of the American dream sat a single inch from our nearest touch and we knew nothing in the way of getting there?



Working closely with the marketing departments of assisted living centers, I’ve learned the new forty is eighty yet I create daily with interns who stopped dreaming at eighteen. I stare into the eyes of the Wal-Mart employee greeting guests with bright smiles and giant yellow happy face stickers. I can’t be the only one who wonders, “Why are you here? Are you hiding?”



I’m not challenged to think deeper by a restaurant wait staff sunk to their knees in personal worries or cashiers who find more importance in checking their text messaging than grabbing well earned cash from clients moving fast…the element of surprise arrives when I calmly stop the one smiling.



“Why?” I ask, “What do you find so joyful in an obvious place of disgruntled?”



I hear of second and third jobs, some holding down the fort with a sick mother and brother at home, a college education required to be paid, unexpected car and home expenses, a fear of being late for a meeting set up ten years ago.



A constantly heard daily search for something they can’t reach. Am I wrong in saying, “Gone is the American dream?”



Guitar Hero and Rock Band are plastic players in a real world. Last years top box office attractions were comic book super heroes. Credit is a card and now banks want to charge you more for carrying it. A forest of trees is a future empty parking lot. Who needs the Great Wall of China when nearly one quarter of the city is blessed with nothingness inside cinder blocked shells? An uncultivated imagination captivates nothing more than a reason to pick up and move on.



The pursuit of happiness says nothing about when and how you locate it. You pursue it to the best of your collection of thoughts and experiences then recreate the package to get back on the train. Once off the wagon again and again, dusted is the tail to your tales then quickly shot back on the trail of whatever success the origin of your dreams pursued while refusing to sleep. We begged and begged to finally be free of the educational system only to learn most people aren’t doing anything with what little they grasped.



I remember writing in my daily journals in 1996 about hidden fears of a world whose agriculture had selected the wrong color of green. What becomes of a nation when money no longer grows on trees? Mom is silent in the way of no longer speaking of the Great Depression…the unemployment rate isn’t expected to break lose from this tight noose until 2011. Gas prices are nearing $3 and everyday a major business tosses out another thousand.



Eric Clapton has vowed to keep reaching for that innocent piece of music. He laughs openly about the thought of retiring. He hurts while touring the world, once free for a year he goes crazy believing he's missed something. I invite you to continue hearing your dreams. As stupid as it sounds...if being who you want to be was easy to achieve there wouldn't be a story.

Steal Eric's art and let’s get this nation back on it’s feet.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Hand scupted butterflies...

Daringly I stepped through a wall yesterday. Courageously my fingers reached to feel the texture of a once reckless world set aside. Boldly moving forward like the new and improved now in theaters Captain Kirk and Spock…I braved the odds like Lewis and Clark scraping new western trails for President Thomas Jefferson. I sat down and watched late night news.



Two blinks deep into the first story and suddenly you picked up the true message shared…the eyes of the newscaster sang along with John Mayer, “Waiting for the world to change.”



Without hesitation and no reservation the incredibly tender sides of the tentacles connected to my imagination latched instantly onto the REM video Everybody Hurts, where hundreds if not thousands of wandering minds step away from their vehicles and slowly walk away from the everyday grind.



This morning, I sit listening to the song over and over again trying to pick up on the purpose of it being redelivered. Michael Stipes sings of the day being longer than night, and the night is yours alone. When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on. Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.



Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along.
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on.

Everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand.
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone

If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.

Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. (Repeat & fade)
(Everybody hurts. You are not alone.)





I send these lyrics to the school teacher who doesn’t sit worried free, summer might have arrived on time but your future has become a pawn in a government’s way of communicating change. I send these lyrics to bank tellers and financial advisors who put passion into everything they were told and today you spend your twenty four hours working part time in places you once escaped to but today it is your reality.



I send these lyrics to mothers and fathers whose daily challenges are fed by a sudden lack of respect for a future that doesn’t seem fitting for the tiny feet they invited into the world but somehow you’ve got to make that plastic face and smile seem comfortable while doing everything within your ability to offer the slightest guarantee that those tiny heartbeats have more reason to believe in the unwritten chapters of the books they’ll write in the years after your tomorrow.



I send these lyrics to every boss assumed in control, be it a GM, CEO or department head put into play through total default…your heart isn’t as brittle and cold as the words that describe your new found place in American history. Your lungs seem clogged, heart stops three times a day and your eyes swell just like mine while sending you this song.



I send these lyrics to the ministers of the world whose faith is the only sliver of earth billions are willing to hold. Rather than fall witness to an empty place in the hall, your heart reaches for Mrs. Johnson whose husbands sight shapes other ways to gain false idols. Through soft spoken lyrics the tiny tears she vows to hide become four hundred more pounds on your already weighted shoulders.



I send these lyrics to the dreamers and visionaries who assumed the voices they heard put them on a path of discovery only to learn the eyes staring back in the mirror aged unlike a fine wine leaving no time to return not even through a favorite song. To the healthy today and unstoppable changes of tomorrow, the patient who sits with the medical expert shrugging his grown up shoulders then saying, “Thank god for you $20 co-pay.”



I send these lyrics to your eyes to communicate a message to your fingers connected to your heart and mind with hopes that your lungs are listening so that you can feel the intake of one maybe two lungs of air which is then sent back to your heart, arms, fingers and eyes. The circle of life.



When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on.
Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.



I have no idea why I chose to write this today…except to say…somebody needs it and it’s not for me to decide. But someone will step away from their computer in the next few seconds realizing they’re not alone therefore changing the path of their current history.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Hand scupted butterflies...

Daringly I stepped through a wall yesterday. Courageously my fingers reached to feel the texture of a once reckless world set aside. Boldly moving forward like the new and improved now in theaters Captain Kirk and Spock…I braved the odds like Lewis and Clark scraping new western trails for President Thomas Jefferson. I sat down and watched late night news.



Two blinks deep into the first story and suddenly you picked up the true message shared…the eyes of the newscaster sang along with John Mayer, “Waiting for the world to change.”



Without hesitation and no reservation the incredibly tender sides of the tentacles connected to my imagination latched instantly onto the REM video Everybody Hurts, where hundreds if not thousands of wandering minds step away from their vehicles and slowly walk away from the everyday grind.



This morning, I sit listening to the song over and over again trying to pick up on the purpose of it being redelivered. Michael Stipes sings of the day being longer than night, and the night is yours alone. When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on. Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.



Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along.
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on.

Everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand.
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone

If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.

Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. (Repeat & fade)
(Everybody hurts. You are not alone.)





I send these lyrics to the school teacher who doesn’t sit worried free, summer might have arrived on time but your future has become a pawn in a government’s way of communicating change. I send these lyrics to bank tellers and financial advisors who put passion into everything they were told and today you spend your twenty four hours working part time in places you once escaped to but today it is your reality.



I send these lyrics to mothers and fathers whose daily challenges are fed by a sudden lack of respect for a future that doesn’t seem fitting for the tiny feet they invited into the world but somehow you’ve got to make that plastic face and smile seem comfortable while doing everything within your ability to offer the slightest guarantee that those tiny heartbeats have more reason to believe in the unwritten chapters of the books they’ll write in the years after your tomorrow.



I send these lyrics to every boss assumed in control, be it a GM, CEO or department head put into play through total default…your heart isn’t as brittle and cold as the words that describe your new found place in American history claim. Your lungs seem clogged, heart stops three times a day and your eyes swell just like mine while sending you this song.



I send these lyrics to the ministers of the world whose faith is the only sliver of earth billions are willing to hold. Rather than fall witness to an empty place in the hall, your heart reaches for Mrs. Johnson whose husbands sight shapes other ways to gain false idols. Through soft spoken lyrics the tiny tears she vows to hide become four hundred more pounds on your already weighted shoulders.



I send these lyrics to the dreamers and visionaries who assumed the voices they heard put them on a path of discovery only to learn the eyes staring back in the mirror aged unlike a fine wine leaving no time to return not even through a favorite song. To the healthy today and unstoppable changes of tomorrow, the patient who sits with the medical expert shrugging his grown up shoulders then saying, “Thank god for you $20 co-pay.”



I send these lyrics to your eyes to communicate a message to your fingers connected to your heart and mind with hopes that your lungs are listening so that you can feel the intake of one maybe two lungs of air which is then sent back to your heart, arms, fingers and eyes. The circle of life.



When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on.
Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.



I have no idea why I chose to write this today…except to say…somebody needs it and it’s not for me to decide. But someone will step away from their computer in the next few seconds realizing they’re not alone therefore changing the path of their current history.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Monday, June 8, 2009

It takes one to know one...

Look! It’s another Monday! There’s no need to fear! Power this, power that, power everything is here! Everywhere you go, someone’s bragging about boosting your day! Including a simple box of vitamins that claims each scientifically designed capsule inside contains the right nutritional ingredients to push you through your day.



Cha ching! Yep, we love to get up.



We aren’t the first generation to latch onto a legal rush…coffee and tea stains date back thousands of decades. Then someone said, “Too much sugar in a cereal box makes parents mad, can’t we create a soft drink that has the impact of beer and wine and make it legal for kids who are barely nine?”



During my chapters as a kid the scent of coffee from a can lit the imagination. It was like walking through a meadow of bright red roses after a rain filled spring day. One problem, Mr. Coffee wasn’t accepted in all households…Dad said, “Instant just doesn’t taste right. I don’t drink rubberized cardboard.” That meant closet coffee drinking kids were forced to be caffeinated by means of percolation. So there it sat that infamous metal or glass pot on the back burner of the stove, in the early days it scared me because it looked like it was alive. It breathed long and deep then poof! The water would shoot. Then I convinced my sci-fi self that coffee was nothing more than alien food created by machines that resembled belching androids.



My Aunt Betsy used to scream, “Stop drinking coffee! It’ll put you in an early grave!” I just didn’t understand her reasoning. Even after the flavors been sucked from the junk left in the pot, we’d toss it into a bucket and take it out to the worms used for fishing. I swear I’m messed up not because of the gallons of coffee consumed at such an early age, I’m blaming it on the rainbow trout locked in lakes and rivers who spent their entire day searching for hooks to eat because life under the sea is so boring. Once bitten by the caffeine bug, it was time to flee the stream and take a journey upward to where the mosquitoes buzzingly play.



I’d say coffee drinkers were the first to go green…the parental figures got what they needed from those beans then gently gave it back to the worms and Mother Earth. Talk about recycling!



Today’s rush is a new high…power drinks and shooters have become so popular the idea of inventing a better computer or stronger economy place somewhere in the Hot Top 200. It’s become our priority to pinpoint the drink that physically lives up to what they claim.

There’s a new kind of gas at the convenience store…forget the car, put the nozzle in me!



In the past two years we’ve been introduced to brand new explosive drinks at the bar, Chocolate Martini’s are great but please pour in some Red Bull. Nearly every checkout counter at the store features energy flavored chewing gum and back on aisle eight the green tea diet plan isn’t necessarily geared toward losing weight. Even Butterfinger got into the rush….the candy bar maker recently tested our market with a peanut butter substance that had incredible kick.



There are bright red and blue pills that guarantee, some even look like mud from the bottom of the sea. If it works, it doesn’t matter…we chase it with flavored water, soda or sun fried southern sweet tea. There are tiny bottles that exclaim, “We give you five hours with no drop off at the end!” It opened the door for another company to say, “We give you six!” And just this past weekend I located the hot green bottle that read, “All day fix.”



The problem isn’t a shortage of choice…new flavors are created everyday…each promising to pump up your volume without ripping the street from beneath your feet. The fear so many share is the good stuff once found doesn’t usually stick around. So…what was their secret ingredient? At one time these legal doses of give me all you’ve got were once visited by the extremely deadly ephedrine.



Dr. Mack gave me the shake down, “I won’t be at your funeral! Call your mom right now and tell her that I don’t even want to hear the news. I want that day to be cold and lonely.” Ouch! Then again, he should know about chemicals…he spent the majority of his life saving children all over the world who were poisoned by human carelessness.



Some knock the head off a power drink to pick up their workday; others can’t stand the taste of coffee, while a few openly admit that it gives them focus during enormous bouts with multitasking. Shots are thrown past the vocal chords before workouts, large meetings after work, family gatherings that feature siblings who’ve never learned to keep still but this year you’re completely juiced and ready to take them on.



As fun as I want this story to be is as serious as it needs to become…show me the weekend highway accident report that identifies no alcohol consumed but the body was laced with power drink paste. After three cans of power…we’ve all learned that extreme tiredness pursues forcing one to believe that any style of bobble heading is just as dangerous as drinking while drunk. What’s the difference between passing out from drinking and passing out because you ran out of a power drink?



While purchasing a cold remedy that’ll truly work, the drill sergeant behind the drug store counter wants to see your ID which is then typed into a special computer to guarantee the state you aren’t making meth in a secret place.



Mention certain power drinks and eyes light up like the day you attended your first high school kegger. Gone are not those days because the price of power is no different than gasoline…it’s up, up and away! A single can of beer is still a buck twenty five. Two Buck Chuck is three bucks which is a penny more than a large Monster.



I am not shy to admit, I don’t consume alcohol but I am a power drink connoisseur. My eyes can sniff out a six pack six blocks from the store and I know by the style of the can whose pimping and whose ripping the down from your frown. Friday night I learned of an ancient Asian mix that sends masters of the martial arts deep into their nineties. If it works, can I keep it a secret? Even worse, will I learn to abuse it?



Looking into a bathroom mirror I ask, “Why am I allowing this to consume me?” Holy cow…it would’ve been much funnier to talk about the dogs taking over my bed. I’m being forced to sleep on the floor.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Friday, June 5, 2009

Just whispering....

My third degree black belt pre-test is tonight…the mission is to not only showcase the willingness but the ability to perform at the altitude of your leaders expectations while being humbly judged from the hard ground he sits. And that’s not truly what he’ll be looking for.



Determination and dedication without facial expressions influenced by unfocused thoughts and or self delivered disappoints fed by a missed step cannot be read while the heart, body and soul are in motion.



A martial artist’s journey isn’t necessarily about being called to the performance floor...I remember writing during the budding days of Karate how each person studying the ancient art brought with them separate reasons for expanding their lives and style. A child of four sharpens his skills of communication by showing respect to his parents through measures of learning to listen before reacting. A teen finds a freedom of expression by maintaining the devout purpose of what each form symbolizes and how they’re able to embrace its creation inside the chapters of their own challenges.



If martial arts truly was about breaking bricks and developing high flying kicks, the spirit filled walk would last no longer than eight months to a year. Which might be why so many who’ve run and tripped over the unwritten shapes that make up the art excel only to green belt…its within that level that methodology and personal desire begin to create unheard songs inside a mind that’s learned to recognize not only the right but left side and together each becomes an equal during the process of growing toward the horizon.



The kicks become more difficult until you break them down. A jump turning side kick cannot seize acceptance if the basic side kick was never conquered. A simple front kick involves the knee being lifted first but no kick paints the face of mastering it until one discovers the truest feature is your hips.



Everything a martial artist learns in class can be used in everyday life. Having the confidence to stand in front of my master tonight has led to me speaking to hundreds of schools and universities. Breaking down a round house kicks teaches the imagination to look at his job position and search not only for better ways to do newer things but to make better the original idea.



A sushi chef constantly tries to perfect the initial flavor that springs to life inside his client’s pallet. If his openness to learn formulates a medley of colors the recipe for his success rests not in the bottom line numbers that keep the door open but rather how he prepares the basic California roll. No matter what the discovery…sushi is nothing more than rice, seaweed and fish. It’s your imagination through your chef’s presentation that makes it delicious.



I often wonder if the current economic conditions of this great nation are nothing more than the fallen statues of students who wanted the black belt without learning the letters of the alphabet that creates the sentence. No paragraph can be printed while being understood if the words delivered don’t feature the ingredients that make up communications. Anyone can grunt and we can make up thoughts our dogs are thinking everyday but in the end Fifi and Jeffrey were probably saying, “What a quack! I get free room and board and a good tummy rubbing and all I have to do is act cute.”



I’ve read that becoming a third degree black belt takes the human mind and spirit deeper into the travels of who, what, where, why, when and how. It’s a spiritual connectedness that resembles nothing because each journey is different. Some will see Yoda and place tremendous values in studying the trails of leaders before us while others actively become involved with their churches, schools or community service.



I vividly remember my first martial arts test…the vision wasn’t about becoming a blue belt. Sensei wouldn’t allow us to believe that way. Create a path to the most distant thought. Get on it and stay on it. As you walk thousands of large, small, thin, fat, light and heavy items will be tossed at you…its mission: kill your dreams.



While standing there with a white belt wrapped around an overweight waist, it became my vision to become Julio’s first black belt. The meanest, toughest man I’ve ever met mainly because he had the courage to say, “Your radio ego means nothing in my class.” Nice! His personality could pull in the wandering bodies but none of them mastered his great skills. Then the real world caught up to him…there’s no cha-ching in kicking. He had to get a real life and job. The private school was officially closed.



In his absence the view of the path never changed…the vow to become his first black belt shot through me like a wild fire set free on a Montana mountain side. Don’t let anyone fool you…a martial artist can walk from school to school and learn every style known to modern man but in the end he did it for one person…the first who stood before him.



My two black belts and quite possibly a third will forever belong to him. I often wonder if he knows how far his passion for the art has traveled. Proving time and time again that what we do today has impact on the next seven generations. I have passed his place of business several times but never gained the courage to walk inside. I want to remember his fire. His hard ways and constant screaming that led to one pushing their limits to higher mountains. To suddenly show up is a radio guy bragging. Sometimes you’ve got to let the wind do the communicating. Ask the lonely dandelion on the lawn…thanks to the wind, he has a community to take care of tomorrow.



Hey Sensei! Thanks for the original dream!!!! Now everybody blow on your computer screen. It’ll one day reach him like a message in a bottle floating peacefully on the open sea.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com