Wednesday, June 30, 2010

What is leadership but an invitation to change....

There are few words spoken on a daily basis that hit me in the way of forcing their presence beyond the surface of my skin, the act of shattering the walls designed to protect the core of a soul—cuss words “not” being one of them.

Embarrassingly, being from Montana with its ample acreage of free roaming cattle, sheep and chickens, hay bail stackers and hourly weed pickers were gifted with permission to lay out a few lines due to the indifferences with parental human figures who constantly felt a need to latch onto the naps of our necks and throw us into a world of lumber cleaning and hen house mending.

Wait! Let’s get one thing straight…I didn’t curse I cussed. There’s a huge difference; cussing is the letting go of steam and energy, often times putting words and thoughts together that would send Grammar check into a coma. Cursing is when you take angered words and use them as weapons of mass destruction. A great lesson taught by Native American elders is based on being aware of who you curse because in order to deliver it properly you must physically understand what and how you cursed, so you must live it before delivering it.

Cussing is like spitting…

I’ll never forget learning how to shoot juice between my teeth. We’d stand on the winter weather damaged concrete steps at stepfather Joe’s house aiming for anything that moved. We were boys and boys tend to bend the rules so everything from garbage flies to sparrows, chipmunks and rusted beer cans were instantly dubbed spit targets.

Once you adopt the plan to let what’s inside fly; it becomes too easy for the next set of outward pourings to pickup speed and dine in the afternoon breeze.

That doesn’t mean all adjectives, adverbs, nouns and nicknames are accepted in the ego driven waves that make up the shade to which Arroe hides. Walk into the radio station studio and say, “Bang this out…” Like clockwork the Northern Lights will quickly become an unexpected feature in the Southern regions of your modern day reality. Make sure you follow it with, “Radio is a gig.”

It’s like cutting into a chunk of meat and the fork and knife slip scratching a seriously loud screech into the plate. Taking your fingernails and grinding them deeply into a chalkboard or your television set is locked onto an infomercial dealing with bowels and you can’t find the remote control.

Another word that instantly stops me in my tracks is Tribe.

Thanks to Seth Godin’s book Tribes: We need you to lead us…the Social Networking hot word of the moment has computer Geeks, Tweets, Face Bookers, business leaders and visionaries tossing this word out like Apple reinvents IPads and IPhones.

Using the word Tribe is no different than hanging a Dream Catcher from the rearview mirror. Honestly…do you understand what you’re displaying? It purifies dreams is a candy coated way of saying, “I’ve come across this new fad.”

Being completely uncomfortable with the current use of Tribe is my problem. I now understand why Grandma Dobrenz and Bakken reached for the leather belt or long green switch from a nearby tree when using the Lords name in vain. Their gig was to bang out a few proper thoughts into my backside.

I’ve looked the word up a hundred times and in every book and website the full description of tribe is exactly what its being used for:

Any aggregate of people united by ties of descent from a common ancestor, community of customs and traditions, adherence to the same leader.
A local division of an aboriginal people.
A division of some other people
A class or type of animal, plant or article.
My friend Al grew up in Costa Rica dreaming of one day coming to the states to make it big—upon his arrival in the late 90’s his most difficult task had nothing to do with adopting to our food but instead our vocal culture, he didn’t understand why the English language has several meanings for the same word.

If high school and professional sports teams have been forced to present their mascots and names inside the limits of what is and isn’t politically correct—how does tribe make it past airport security?

During the period that followed the Civil War the United States military made its way out west to battle the original people of this great land—during the 1860’s it became illegal for Native American’s to live in the state of Colorado. They were called Tribes and were looked upon as being trespassers and outlaws. They were a nation of people called Crow, Apache, Arapaho, Cherokee, Catawba, Waxhaw, literally hundreds of bands from a nation of survivors. The term tribe was used to belittle a great people.

In Seth Gobin’s book he writes, “Tribes need leadership. Sometimes one person leads, sometimes more. People want connection and growth and something new. They want change. You can’t have a tribe without a leader and you can’t be a leader without a tribe.”

When using the word Tribe…which description does Gobin’s Tribe fall under?

Any aggregate of people united by ties of descent from a common ancestor, community of customs and traditions, adherence to the same leader.

A local division of an aboriginal people.

A division of some other people

A class or type of animal, plant or article.

Wait! The 7th description on allows Seth to properly use the word: A company, group or number of persons. Leave it to the crazy American's to settle for 7th best.

Seth calls the Grateful Dead one of the most successful Tribes in American history—not only did they earn over $100 million in record sales but Jerry Garcia attracted and lead a people that continue to remain solid in his absence. Watch a mountain of love invite spring rains and sunshine to your challenging times when you whisper 2-14-70 into the sights and sounds of another Dead head.

And so, this band of the Social Network Nation has elected to spin away from the fires heated by the elders who shaped our places of growth—it’s roots I wish to carry and in honor of the Nations before us, this band of travelers shall build large circles to create necessary energy to grow but never in the eyes of the Great Creator shall the term and or word Tribe be used when describing what it is we have and shall accomplish.

And should Seth Gobin find this on his page one day he shall not fight or retaliate because in the spirit of his openness, what we have shaped today is a Nation not a tribe that honors our ancestors by way of recognizing them as the leaders they were so that we may lead today toward the horizon called tomorrow.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Not what if...but someday....

Screenwriter’s know the fine art of unmasking—the moment a chilly air conditioned theater filled with popcorn munching, Coke sipping, chocolate craving escape from reality artists instantly become silenced by a single line. Like a bolt of lightning the quote shoots from the blizzard white canvas sautéing the edges of your half cooked life, giving your sixth sense every reason to believe the main dish has yet to be served.

In the newly released comedy/drama Knight and Day, Tom Cruise is heavily drugged for his protection, while stepping away from the manmade way of erasing time from the pages he once controlled, Cruise unhurriedly rubs the sleep from his burnt inner visions taking note of the always unforgettable Cameron Diaz walking toward him.

“What day is it?” His voice cracks the thinly scorched white sandy beach air.

“Welcome to someday!” Diaz delivers in that giggle girl way that’s made her famous.

My stepfather Joe always spoke of someday. Someday he would complete my mother’s neatly designed, deep dark grained Montana styled open aired kitchen with a giant window behind the sink so she could locate places to travel while cleaning up after the eight kids she kept under a wing.

Someday isn’t the day you rip open an airtight thick cardboard box and out pops the new Iphone with so many really cool digital features you barely remember how to call your mom standing within the frame that makes up the daydream window. Someday is when the cell phone provider realizes the difference between cheap talk and talk that’s cheap.

Someday isn’t when Toy Story III and Shrek make a final imprint on the unperfected corners of the tails we chase. Someday is when you channel surf into The Simpson’s and think, “Whoa…Bart has a gray hair.”

There isn’t a person on earth who hasn’t stepped into a vat of someday.

The problem; we demand someday to happen everyday.

ATM and Wal-Mart gift cards make it too easy to purchase spur of the moment happiness. An art gallery tried to convince me that purchasing a Peter Max original was the perfect investment, not because I love the expression but the king of American Culture was pushing 75 years in his oversaturated yet colorful paints.

We are the first generation to bump nose first into a sheet of glass. We see it, we want it. Like a lab rat we'll keep slamming into the window until one of us shatters.

It’s nearly illegal to invest in a career. College students set sail across an open sea only to learn the message in the bottle had nothing to do with a lost soul searching for his or her mate but rather someone asking for pizza to be delivered three thousand miles away.

Someday has become the parental chores we set aside. We collect favors then spend them on family members who have their own someday to reach but are too busy because the gutters are cluttered and the backyard deck weebles and wobbles and may someday fall down.

From a distant rock placed unevenly in the rays of a rising new day Barnes and Noble and Borders Books are facing a visionaries someday. Readers lead a blessed life and style knowing they can purchase and download a book, magazine and newspaper in seconds onto a Kindle, Nook or Ibook without worrying about how hot the steam is while dancing above an egg being fried on a sidewalk in Carolina.

Someday, probably sooner than you think, Hollywood won’t require movie theaters to send their pictures…blockbusters and duds, love and comedy, historic versus carefully edited to look real dramas will open instantly in the comfort of your living room making way for bathrooms to be closer to the TV and red carpets to be laid from the front door to the flat screen. Dah! The actors will never fall out of love with the carpet experience…if you want them to come over, you gotta treat them better than the best.

“Welcome to someday!”

Someday you’re going to have to explain why we’ve nearly forgotten about what terrorists did to our nation on September 11th. If it wasn’t for NBC, ABC and CBS constantly delivering award winning stories on Pearl Harbor Day…it too would be forgotten. Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg have spent millions of their own dollars preserving the memories of the men and women who sacrificed their lives in World Wars I and II.

History tends to repeat itself when someday becomes lost in a pile of single socks.

And then there was silence…

Its time to see if my stepfather has started working on my mother’s kitchen; maybe someday…

Friday, June 25, 2010

Too much or too do you dress for the future?

I hate being late. Biggest pet peeve; people who don’t understand that two hours early is six hours too late. It has nothing to do with the early bird getting the worm and everything to do with being in the right place at the right time.

Oh I’ve been late…late getting into the compact disc market. I blame that 100% on radio station Program Directors and GM’s that wanted nothing to do with giving the on-air talent enough room to slip into the wrong song or a personal favorite that didn’t fit the format.

I was extremely late getting into MP3’s and Ipod market…Bill Gates and Steve Jobs are the technical Mozart’s of our time but they know too much about marketing and make me feel horrible about not owning the latest this and the hottest new that—I wasn’t interested in a musical money pits!

I might be too early though on The Kindle. Star Trek and George Jetson have become our literary reality. Along with The Nook and Apples IPad, Kindle introduces thinkers, mental travelers and escape artists to the DVR and Netflix of reading. Two clicks and the entire book’s delivered to a lightweight thinly designed chunk of something I’d have a hard time trying to explain to someone ten years ago.

It’s biggest and best feature? When I’m too tired to let these radio eyes float through another authors adventures, I go to menu and turn on the speakers—it reads to me!

No more cardboard boxes brimming with half read paperbacks! No more dirty looks wasted on the innocent clerk at the Barnes and Noble counter charging forty bucks for a fresh from the printer hardcover. No more standing in long lines at Christmas waiting for Aunt Agnes to decide what credit card to put her stack of reading material on.

I’m pinching the future of reading!

One problem…unlike a computer that compresses a billion old and hardly listened to CD’s onto a hard drive—my dust covered collection of thought provoking ink meeting a once living tree publications can’t be transferred. You’ve got to repurchase your favorites…if they’re available.

Slowly but surely we’re moving our way toward an extremely healthy Motel 6 way of living.

Life is a weekend stay…unfocused; we constantly try to redecorate our living space. Bedroom and hallway closets, storage sheds in the backyard, attics and basements are stuffed with items that seemed great at the time but have quickly become what every family member after your stay dreads…an unmade bed of junk.

You’d never hit the nearest Wal-Mart to purchase new paintings for a Motel 6 room.

99.9% of the time, we walk into any hotel USA and Canada; if we’re lucky the luggage is tossed into drawers or the itty bitty sliver of a closet with hangers that don’t detach then race to pick up a pace on a calendar of events planned by We Do Vacations Right dot com.

Family junk from the trunk is the leading cause of brother and sister divorces. The parental figures collected so much of the latest craze that by the time siblings reach it…the items of one time importance either become decorations at the nearest landfill or a reason to break out the gloves in the seconds that follow the funeral.

My biggest dream as a child wasn’t always connected to radio disc jockey fame but to catch a glimpse of the man, woman, snake or dog chosen to open the boxes I left behind. In one of them I wanted to place a pickle. Depending on how long my stay at the Motel 6 of life is determined the condition of the pickle.

My hero in life Dr. Ronald Mack’s office featured more books than sixty six libraries. He spent an entire life collecting medical research then combining it with murder mystery and World War II history. Those office walls stand twelve feet tall and every inch of breathing room features a book cover. Nobody touches the books today, the door to the room is locked and the lights are never turned on; in a room once blessed with a vivid always demanding to learn imagination, there now sits silence.

Through my eyes I see printed, documented and published zombie-isms. The doctor is gone but not the living thoughts that still smell like fresh ink melted into the thin skin commonly called paper. Every ounce of energy he placed into each page carries no meaning and or purpose to a modern traveler, which in reality…is the way we live.

No wonder we pick then flick boogers. Its true purpose of creation means nothing to the outside shell. What we collect in life is no different. I can’t tell you how many cell phones I have shoved in drawers, “One day I’ll put them on Ebay or donate them…”and so they sit and sit waiting for the human figure to do as he said only to learn he is now dead.

It’s extremely healthy to live a Motel 6 way of life. Nobody is dropped on this planet to last forever…unless you’re Bigfoot and look what’s happened to his hairy butt, he runs from everything! The moment we catch up we’ll bug and bug him until he’s forced to give out what he’s got hidden in his closet.

Ipod’s, Kindles and Memory sticks are the missing link. One day in the future brothers, sisters and family friends will impatiently gather in a tiny room to go through the items their parents left behind—for the first time in history large garbage sacks and dumpsters won’t be required…everything they owned will be completely stored on a computer chip the size of a dill seed that fell from a pickle put in a box 53 years earlier.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Your job makes you money...what does family offer?

From John Boy Walton to Michael Jordon and deep into the pockets of history yet unborn…the drive to strive is fed by pride and like any other addiction, reaching a pivotal point in ones personal discovery and acceptance requires the setting aside of the matter and materials that truly count in the only game we’re truly expected to play….life.

We’ve all be introduced to the masterminds of loyalty, dedication, determination and the fever pitch of greater than great, better than the best and in the end they ended up being lonely and or located in the next universe because the mind, body and soul system couldn’t keep up with the onslaught of constant demands and lack of self control.

We’ve spent the last one hundred years becoming the “Stuff” monster.

People work to buy more stuff…big stuff, little stuff, way the heck out there stuff like statues that feature no arms and carpets that are hung on the wall and never walked on. Our stuff includes bikes and boxes to put the bikes in when we’re no longer in the mood to ride. We have boxes for fake Christmas trees, Halloween decorations we haven’t seen in three years and computer parts and pieces we may one day need.

$12 billion a year is spent on keeping our stuff locked up in storage buildings that’ve redesigned their presentation almost becoming skyscrapers in what used to be private neighborhoods. Reports show we spend more on storing stuff than purchasing music; not to sound like my mother but, “The money to collect stuff has to come from somewhere.”

We choose to work one, two and sometimes up to three to five different jobs while tackling every task presented at the home front main dollar maker or as I call it: My biggest client.

In the book The Art of Power…Fredrick reached outward and beyond love to locate what he assumed was peace and serenity with his impeccable addiction to constantly working. He’s no different than many we’ve individually met along the way, all that is…is his and anything along the way is part of the game but he doesn’t truly participate. Basically meaning, he missed out on the major leagues of life’s delightful events such as his son’s graduation into the sixth grade, his wife’s bowling tournament where she picked up best high game and bowler of the year.

Although he’d never admit it, Fredrick became enslaved by his work.

Donald Trump, Warren Buffet, Oprah and Bill Gates may be this generation’s most profitable players but are they happy? Not as in money happy because in reality the only thing green gives you is an oversized lawn for someone else to mow. Lost is the tremendously important relationship between human and a passing squirrel or rabbit who are paid by Mother Nature to constantly keep an eye on her problem child the adult two legged man and or woman who spends more time thinking about themselves and not how it affects other items of life.

Fame, success and wealth are the assumed happy button. Too many believe that in order to attain that rightful passage one must become aligned with financial and political power. Sacrificed is the present for the sake of the future. Sadly the human spirit isn’t built to go any deeper than skin level when accepting daily adventures.

Painting this paragraph quickly reminds me of Geraldo who bravely walked up and asked, “What are you doing to invest in your life?”

Instantly I thought, “Please not here…I’m here to work the muscles not the mind and spirit.”

Because of his belief in martial arts, the open path has taught me to invest not in banking, mutual funds and stocks that are far from being more insecure than American’s fighting to keep their jobs…but in the self that these legs carry minute by minute quickly becoming years then decades.

Invest in friendship. Put energy in the eyes looking back at you in the mirror. He or she is your friend, more importantly; they’re the closest family member you’ve got. Teach yourself to become bright without having to rely on job positions and other titles to serve as a guide through dark alleys and squared boxes that feel as if they have no corners to lean on.

The secret of happiness is to nourish love everyday.

You can chase power until the cow jumps over the moon but that doesn’t guarantee pigs fly. Power is gained only through the expense of someone else. When there’s no love or deep motivation…the heart begins to locate false happiness. What are you willing to sacrifice to catch that unforgettable buzz? Warning: Such rushes may cause unexpected hangover’s that destroy someone else’s life.

If you can’t find the time to invest in your life…find a friend who has the courage to stand up to your addiction of working and teach them your weakest moments so that when you’re down and nearly out…they’ll become your mirrored image and softly ask, “Can we please get back to living?”

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Two sides of a white picket fence...

I’m completely undecided…which day should I celebrate?

I’ve never been one to bring personal attention to the single twenty four period connected to my birth…mainly because I see it more as Mother’s day. Without her, there wouldn’t be. This is what it’s like to live with the real me…I find tremendous faith in honoring the circles we keep by simply whispering, “Thank you,” during such days designed then displayed.

Along the way, a journey of many twists, turns, up hills then down, around and into caves then shallow creeks with no bridges…I was introduced to what’s looked upon as being an “Alive” day. describes it: The date of an anniversary of a very close escape from death. People may choose to celebrate their Alive days with parties, or with personal reflection, depending on personal taste and their relationship to the events which occurred on the day they narrowly missed dying. Friends and family may also mark an Alive day with cards or gifts acknowledging their relationship with the near-deceased.

“Alive” days were first brought to the attention of millions of horizon walkers during the Vietnam War; identifying it as such has miraculously helped people deal with unexpected changes and experiences. Those who observe it believe it’s an incredible resource of positive vibrations linked to renewing a connection to being alive.

This is will be my first “Alive” day, no pat on the back necessary…I do take the time to recognize the image in the mirror. The freak has been following me since day one and even after a mess up in the plans he still refuses to leave my side. The reply is always silence…just eyes, a nose, uncombed hair and a body that won’t properly react to 100 push ups and sit ups a day.

It doesn’t matter…being alive gives you reason to celebrate the journey of an ant. I can’t imagine what it goes through crossing the driveway with bare feet on a 96 degree day. There are no beer runs, burger drop off points, IPods or cell phones to take the mind off the weight of the world sitting on its tiny shoulders…which is three sets right? I mean they’ve got six legs.

An apple tree gifted the front yard with a ton of fruit this year…still a kid inside I chowed down a few of the extremely green tart as can be’s…but never left the scene without hugging the ageless smooth bark of the apple maker, “Thank you so much for allowing me to feel like a wild child from Montana.”

I’m not so quick to race inside on rainy days. Nor do I feel a burning need to rid the planet of kudzu and poison ivy. I notice the presence of a spiders carefully designed web and the scent of a chef baring his or her soul in the kitchen of a restaurant I’ve passed ten thousand times during my 25 years in the Carolina’s.

Birthday’s make you feel old. “Alive” days introduce gratitude.

Being in love is a cool experience but what do you get the doctor who physically fixed your broken heart?

Ask anyone who skipped through life like a DVR in heat and was suddenly dropped into a pile of un-numbing drama when their “Alive” day is and was and the response will be of many with amazing storylines to go with every pill the doctor prescribed.

Favorite songs are no longer the issue, new memories are wrapped around the way pharmacists and insurance companies treated you. Sunrises are no longer a surprise; I’m often up before the first ray of light reveals a spec of dust in the wind turning each unrehearsed grip into a reason to keep reaching forward.

I’m completely decided…I shall celebrate both days. A Mother’s love shall be observed on the birthday while the image that carries my mother’s eyes and big elephant ears shall be recognized on the anniversary when he stood waiting for my return and got several days of silence instead.

Steal my art…locate your reason to celebrate every day. It makes growing weeds in the backyard one of the greatest experiences…when you allow life to exist, its amazing how many living things begin to bloom unforgettable flowers.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


The only thing you truly own is your opinion, desire and willingness to do both.

The most recent Father’s Day tornado back home in Billings, Montana seems to be carrying a serious amount of weight in the shoes that protect my feet from the hot pavement. I’ve become permanently fixed to YouTube watching videos of how a bad kiss from Mother Nature ripped through a section of town that hosted an entertainment shrine called The Metra.

My daily writing this morning featured smeared ink over the memories of catching Kiss in concert for the first time. What about the night Ted Nugent stuck his music in my ear and cranked the volume to earthquake mode? Mom’s innocent comment about a funny smelling scent in the air at a Willie Nelson show still makes me laugh.

I was there when the Metra opened introducing semi-pro hockey to a section of Montana that was starving for something more than cattle, sheep, cornfields, sugar beats and Bears and Broncs high school football. The Metra was big news to our city of barely 60,000…it was our link to the famous…after all the closest we truly had gotten was the birth of Dave McNally who played pro baseball with the Baltimore Oriels.

Marlon Brando once came to town to film Missouri Breaks. Wild Bill Cody and Calamity Jane raised hell in the 1800’s and the Yellowstone Valley proved to be a really cool hangout for Lewis and Clark.

Once The Metra went up…it seemed like the rest of the world began to catch up.

Tornados hit buildings and outhouses everyday…but something changes in your personal life when the landmark taken out is connected to the physical presentation of your current being. Who didn’t dream of riding a crazy bull with 13 inch horns for 8 seconds or being up on that larger than life stage kick starting a tune that’s become a national anthem?

I used to think rock stars instantly forgot where they’ve placed their footprint until I met up with Rick Nielson from Cheap Trick who not only knew of The Metra but spouted out the dates he and the gang had invaded our Montana ranches. The group Kiss wrote firmly on the inside sleeve of their album, “Who else would play in Billings, Montana?”

Emails and Facebook responses have poured into my computer screen like chocolate meeting a mountain of ice cream. You quickly learn that each of us has a favorite place that didn’t make it to the final dance of the celebration. The incredibly romantic bed and breakfast I spent my first night of marriage in is now a Spa. Very few of the radio stations I’ve performed with are still standing including the ever popular shell that once housed KOOK, a quick cruise down South Billings Blvd and the core of unforgettable broadcasting history sits firmly centered in the middle of a bright and rich cow pasture.

Letters have shared the romantic tales of churches where vows were peacefully delivered, outdoor concert stadium where backstage passes were never required just a heart deeply in love with the artists who pulled their bus into your town and started to jam.

Coliseums and football stadiums are imploded to make way for new heroes…I was on the air when the night lights went on for the first time at Chicago’s Wrigley Field and The Charlotte Motor Speedway. The one thing we continue to forget about, the days that leap from calendars are created to endure change.

We had just left the Summer Olympics in Atlanta when things suddenly went wrong. The Carolina Panther’s nearly won a Super Bowl but a costume malfunction kept our team from earning the rights to hosting one of the most watched closest games in NFL history.

The only thing you truly own is your opinion, desire and willingness to do both.

They’ll probably rebuild The Metra creating a new generation of fans who’ll arrive with friends and take home a lifetime of memories. Guess this is part of the growing up process…all things eventually pass…unless you’re the Coliseum in Rome, Rainbow Row in Charleston, the giant redwoods of California, a statuesque castle on the shores of Europe or a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of the bench inside the gymnasium at Riverside Jr. High.

You always hear of people wanting to locate a machine that takes you back in time…because most can’t handle going forward. Adam Sandler’s film Click was extremely too real in the way he was forced to endure the expected in an un-neighborly way. We spend way too much money as it is on items that keep us in a past we’d love to change but end up rearranging until you meet someone from high school who puts it all back in place.

The greatest thing about music…name a band and the average person can tell you exactly where they saw it performed live. Name a baseball or basketball player and the nose bleed section will be cranked up with who hit what in this inning while stuffing the basket with that ball at least 400 times.

Ticket stubs, beat up cards, uniforms, autographed pictures, 45’s and cassettes are the keys that unlock the doors to a past we impatiently designed and its during the wake of a brand new day that life sucks in a gut full of air and before it can blow it all out…you’re reminded of that special moment you said, “I’ll never forget this the rest of my life.”

For a split second you hold onto the memory as if it was your mothers hand only to fade slowly into tomorrow.

Monday, June 21, 2010

A Southern tradition...

Mother’s and Father’s day isn’t what it used to be. An always on the move America has painted the portrait of a life and style that’s become a left turn at the tracks. Parents are receiving paperless gifts like a full day of fun and comfort “without” the little people. It’s a living breathing Get Out of Jail Free Card.

Time out or time away for a half or full day…

Colorful ties, lawn equipment and fancy watches are so 1955. Backyard lunches and brunches are a cool event but look at who ends up doing all the work? I’ve been taking some notes…couldn’t help but notice the enormous amount of Moms and Dad’s doing something on their own…alone on that special day.

That “wasn’t” just Phil Mickelson playing golf yesterday—a month earlier malls, spas and movie houses were flooded with Moms enjoying a day out. An hour, two or maybe six with friends or pulling off a solo tour has quickly gained respect in the chapters titled, “I just need a break!”

Helping to push the temporary paradise into play are Grandparents who think of it as another great way to give their offspring more than what they had during the growing up phases of everyday, “Do what you want…rest, relax, tear up the streets! We’ll take the little boogers, fill em with sugar then give em back!”

Then around 4:30…everyone meets at a restaurant for the big trade.

Maybe it’s just me but here in the South families tend to mend each others fences more. Basically meaning, taking care of the kids is more of a group effort than placed upon the shoulders of two. I’m actually jealous of today’s young ones because they’re spending more time with their elders or to put it in kid terms, those less likely to tan their rear end just because someone swiped veggies from Old Lady Hilda’s garden.

Been in the south for 25 years, instantly I grew accustom to the incredibly close nit quarters of family living. In Montana, we couldn’t wait to turn eighteen then haul tail from the four walls of rules and regulations. I remember landing my first fulltime performance in radio in Lewistown right smack dab in the center of the last great recession…the only thing that kept me pushing forward and never stopping was the thought of having to move back home.

Life in the south doesn’t seem to push that button as often as one would assume. It’s only human to want to fly from the nest but what makes living in the south warm and fuzzy are the neighborhoods constructed by single family living. Five houses, one family member featured in each…and there’s rarely a time of the week where something family isn’t taking place. Sometimes it makes a few headlines in the local newspaper but all in all…things look peachy.

Which is why I love the idea that Mother’s and Father’s Days seem to be reverting back to the spirit of entire families and not just a band. In the often heard and very rarely written down chapters of Native American history…a band was created when a woman would leave her family. Her band of the blank, blank nation would move to the creek side creating a world of their own with separate rules to live by. They would become the north creek band of that particular nation. Although different bands would spend time together, the feeling of there being a deeper driven relationship wasn’t always felt. It’s not that they didn’t love each other…it was no different than me leaving my mother in 1981 to create my own family and as much as I love my mother, I’ve never returned to live by her side.

Grandparents giving their hours away to their adult children so they can endure a place of peace is a beautiful move in the southern direction of reconstructing the basics of what a true family is. We’ve made it too easy to run away from each other until someone suddenly passes then we’re stuck sitting in a room wondering, “What did they leave me?”

I recently sat down with an aging man who felt strong in his plans of leaving nothing behind except his open willingness to always be there for his kids. He said to me, “The moment my eldest son gets his hands on my tool box the other two will bicker til one begins to fight. I won’t be there to knock em upside the head and tell em to straighten up or I’ll give it all away to charity. So I’m selling the stuff on Ebay and taking short and long vacations to places I can take the Grand kids.”

I always wanted my stepfather Joe to be my Grandfather.

The man had done so much and been to almost every corner of Montana and I never had the courage to say, “Teach me.” Grandparents tend to look at the approaching horizon and just give the stuff away.

Making things a little sweeter is music…there aren’t any borderlines that shout, “This is mine and that’s yours!” Baby Boomers love Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber and come across looking as hot as asphalt on a 200 degree day when they sing right along with the music makers they’ve swiped from their constantly busy children.

I’ll never forget Dr. Ronald Mack from Wake Forest University explaining to me how important Harry Potter is to American families, “It’s the first time ever that everyone including Aunt Helga can read the same book and spend hours talking about it.”

Harry Potter is ageless. The Beatles are ageless. Miley Cyrus is getting older but damn if the Grand folks aren’t singing, “Party in the USA and Boom Boom Pow with the Black Eyed Peas!”

Happy Everyday Day! It’s time to break out Karen and Richard Carpenter singing White Christmas. Stop making holiday’s the only time you elect to eliminate the lines that separate your band from their band…as a people…we are one nation and that’s reason to celebrate.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Who was your teacher?

Is “not having success” something you’re taught? Is accepting 2nd and 3rd best part of the learning curve?

New studies show dogs are extremely willing to accept bad conditions. 100 extremely playful cute as can be fuzzy barking machines placed in a room…each are given a light electronic shock; three percent of them figure realize if you leap over the short brick wall, the shocking stops.

Those left behind accept the tiny tingle feeling no need to improve their conditions.

The study continues; 100 humans and only one elected to make a change, which pretty much says what we fear most…why should effort be placed in continued growth if what we have is survivable?

Let’s utilize the power of Google Earth and pan back the cameras of modern reality: From 100 feet out…libraries are closing, school teachers are losing their jobs, city government has nearly stopped funding park and recreation projects. Go out another 1,000 feet…state leaders can’t find money to finish highways, hunger is becoming visible to the naked eye and law enforcement forces are shrinking while crime is rising. Keep Googling…back up the camera 100,000 feet and we see the earth is bleeding in the Gulf of Mexico, massive amounts of heart attacks and sickness caused by the consumption of fast food are unveiled everyday, a horrible fear of terrorism lives beneath the shaded trees of the American dream and James Cameron made over a billion dollars on a single movie that looked, smelled and felt a lot like a Disney flick called Pocahontas.

Those left behind accept the tiny tingle feeling no need to improve the conditions.

One man’s company creates a history setting smart phone physically designed to be 4G’s faster, four times the pixels brighter with sound that’s easily convinced the human ear that 3-D exists in a music format. But science has yet to produce the cell phone battery that lasts longer than two days. The makers of magic make it too easy to whip out the chord and plug in.

Flashlights are plastic and break when you accidently drop them in the dark. We once became instantly sick when gas prices touched $2.25 a gallon but why complain if McDonald’s is offering more yummys on the dollar menu? One person jumped over the brick wall to offer peace of mind by means of cheap food while the rest took a seat believing life was ok being just plain ok and nothing more than ok.

Who was the first to teach us that “not having success” was acceptable?

Through every book of motivation and inspiration I’ve studied the answer can be found in a single vision: One mans success isn’t another mans treasure. For two point five months I’ve pulled my lazy tail out of bed at 2:30 in the morning to play radio but before anything truly took place I forced myself to write three pages of thought. I felt success at the end of those pages…would you?

Forcing my life and style to remove cheese from the top of my pizza is success. Failure is when the doctor looked at me and said, “Although you’re taking prescribed medication, I’m having a hard time understanding why your blood pressure is still running high.” Could it be that I continue to pour Monster drinks and extremely strong coffee into the system?

Do you see where I’m going with this? Are you the dog that leaps over the fence or the panting giant pawed cuddly puppy that lifts his leg up on the competition then walks over and sits next to the electronic device and says, “Hit me up again?”

As the weekend becomes our new found reality…look into the mirrors of where you’ve been and locate the pieces required to build that bridge over the brick wall. The world isn’t searching for another Bill Gates, Bono, Reagan or Ryan Seacrest…we need Betsy Ross.

Pull out the needle, string and cloth and lets sew our lives back into the flag that makes us stand up proud in any corner we stand and or appear around the world. Get your dreams over that brick wall and create some wind so the seeds will blow in the direction of inspiration and influence. Be the worker bee who picks up the pollen from a swollen flower and haul your supply back to the queen who’ll share the nourishment with those who’ll become our tomorrow.

Stop sitting there accepting these bad times as an oh well it happens moment. Digital television puts over 1,500 channel into your living room and there’s never anything on. That’s why they created the DVR system…whatever it takes to get you to stop talking about junk TV.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Employees please use side door...

Employees should never be given access to the front door.

Daytime soaps carry no weight in a world created by coworkers and those striving to be more. Who needs a laundry mat to air dirt when the lobby is looked upon as being the first place of safety before being released into a parking lot filled with every avenue of escape?

Your mission…stop reading magazines and watching TV at the dentist and doctor, put down the thick heavy books with fancy hairstyles at the boutique and grab a good dose of lobby drama.

The concept of “competition” being healthy in the workplace is splashing over the edges of the assumed tall thick cup. There’s so much energy being wasted fighting with each other that companies who’re truly competing against you are given free valuable research doing nothing more than sitting in your lobby.

Being part of a company team is no different than growing up in a house cursed with too many brothers and sisters; the parental figures can talk about getting along until they’re blue in the face but who’s listening? Employees arriving and departing for lunch or meetings through the front door almost never take note of guests.

Every breath you take someone is watching you.

Don’t call me a snoop! It’s no different than the World Wide Web and Texting, if you’re going to put your life out there we’ve got the right to watch it unfold. It becomes our business to get wrapped up in other people's business.

Instability and uncertainty causes such displays of thoughtlessness. Company policy and closed door meetings have made it too easy to become suspicious. Therefore, we’ve evolved into a monster that’s geared toward being more aware of what coworkers are doing than family members and friends.

Blame it on a lack of firm leadership. Dr. Gary Ranker explains that the worker bee forces that keep America going have been provoked to live a lifestyle energized by survival instincts—open door battles are acceptable behavior usually starting with small talk in bathrooms, inner office emails and the infamous lobby.

In order to be successful it’s completely natural to fill your cubicles with ambitious individuals who’re locked on competing and there’s no sweeter place for that journey to begin than within the four walls holding up the roof over your head. Competing against each other develops a firm foundation but to get there puts your fields of clover in the center of friendly fire.

Bickering consumes every department heads day. It takes time to sort out both sides of the story. Once progress is made the idea of wanting to get back to work seems pointless because in ten minutes another lobby drama will rear up like a hurricane on the horizon.

Dr. Gary offers this advice: Determine how your daily behavior might be contributing to the dilemma. It doesn’t matter where you stand on the totem pole, how you act and react influences coworkers. If you tend to easily lose your temper, you’re giving permission to those around you to do the same.

My weakness is holding onto things too deeply for too long. A former GM once said, “If Arroe is making noise, someone two weeks ago planted a seed that’s now starting to make its way to the surface.” Correcting the situation is like scolding a dog three days after it messed on the floor. It’s impossible to locate a level playing field when ideas, challenges and outcomes have no physical new beginning during a time when the ending has become a disruption in a lot of processes.

Through methods of motivation and positive thinking I’ve learned to be more open at the moment of arrival. Interestingly enough, that’s created even a bigger problem because now it looks like I’m not being a company player. Being honest creates assumption which mind melts into more situations of belief and by the time the real state of affairs is confronted too many opinions have already developed a walking path for all to follow creating another season of ABC’s LOST.

Dr. Ranker has three areas of behavior we can work on everyday: Stimulating competition among peers. Stop encouraging aggressive behavior. Make the competition friendly.

Guard sensitive information: Avoid topics and minimizing communication, it erodes trust creating rumors. Be clear about what you feel and share without withholding information.

Solving problems for followers: Bosses are looked to for guidance and answers—if you’re in the market of solving problems, employees will do nothing but depend on you to make their world better; teach your team how to figure it out themselves without having to take it to the lobby for visitors and potential competition to fall witness to.

Employees should never be given access to the front door.

Oh wait…did I fail to mention Face Book, Twitter and any other Social Networking connection are no different than the lobby? Thank you in advance for giving me something to read…People, Newsweek and Highlight aren’t what they used to be. Not compared to the drama driven by your heart and everything else connected to your emotions.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

We're all Masters of a martial art...

Michelangelo believed it was his purpose in life to stare into a thick chunk of extremely hard to mold marble and free the angel inside. Was it a metaphor or true insight? What did he see, feel or hear that brought oxygen to Pieta, David, Moses and The Thinker?

Such talk creates divisions in belief. Critics scream, “Art doesn’t speak from rocks. There are no hidden figures or faces hidden within a fresh canvas or untouched sheet of paper and music is an act of releasing what the minds eye and body feel at the present moment. Art is nothing more than an act of sharing.”

Such talk cracks paint…

I remember standing next to an inner city forest in 1993 and physically hearing the wind order me to rebuild its roots. Say what? What I assumed was an extremely tall, tough and everlasting collection of sticks stuck feet first in Georgia clay was in fact reaching out to a passerby—unknowingly, without my help, inside a year several of the bark covered children would fall from tremendous sickness. A once vividly alive with bright greens and heavily scented shades of wild flowers hillside would be exposed to the southern sun leaving in its footprint decades of continued decay and erosion for a generation I’d never meet.

Thirty one years of radio, art hung in galleries all over America, commercials heard from Seattle to Brazil and nothing compares to the artwork of the forest that leaned over and spoke to me that morning. Seventeen years after shaking hands with a group of spirit keepers, the white pines, elms, oaks and melted reminders of a past that can’t be changed stand two lengths above the artists nearest touch.

How many times during an average year do you leave behind an unfinished sculpture? You’ve stopped bringing work to life and or halted the fight to liberate the angel inside. While sculpting your everyday, does the mountain in front of you bare the image of something that needs to be created?

The financial crisis of 08, the unheard of earthquakes in all four corners of the world, the endless amounts of oil flooding the Gulf of Mexico, Jay Leno stealing Conan’s job—stop for one moment and poke your finger into the numbness generated by every shape of negative vibration presented to us via computer faces, flat screens the size of movie scenes and word of mouth bent so far in every direction truth no longer exists.

Our current presentation is incomplete art.

Legendary limericks were masterminded by extremely bad times in Ireland. Nursery rhymes and songs still sung today by children around the world were introduced during plights and unexplained fatal sicknesses. It doesn’t matter how politically correct you want all and many to get, the roots of a once living tree still bare the rings of the voices and faces that remain incomplete.

95% of American’s feel incomplete at work. We show up, spend eight hours gossiping about Maggie the Magpie and her very close friendship with Hairy Hank with his untucked shirt, then race home to judge the dancers and performers on So You Think You Can Dance and America’s Got Talent because it makes us feel like we’re in control.

Daily workday pressure and expectations have forced what made this nation beautiful into a state of locked up but not loaded. I’ve yet to meet the coworker or neighbor who hasn’t evolved into a citizenship governed by self consciousness—which comes across as nothing more than a slate of bedrock with no desire to ever become rich, fertile soil.

Gone are the days when people believed what they did at work was truly an art form.

Stop thinking like that! Business presentations and other mediums used to inspire and or influence movement may look and smell like a pile of work to be done but through your efforts and wiliness to express is still art and should be treated as such.

You aren’t paid to be your boss’s best friend. Your job is to stare at that giant block in the traffic crowding your highway of success and turn it into statue worth displaying in someone’s front yard.

Not everyone can be the lead singer of a Rock n Roll band but that show ain’t nothin if the person hired to protect the microphone doesn’t show up…nobody wins if the singer’s voice can’t get out. What makes Chinese food addicting isn’t the rice…it’s a complete collection of everything shoved into a single thought including your mamma’s kitchen sink and the neighbors left sock. Mmmm good!

Michelangelo believed it was his purpose in life to stare into a thick chunk of extremely hard to mold marble and free the angel inside.

Know where Michelangelo is going? We currently stand millions of miles from his physical construction of turning rocks into stunning statues…there’s a bigger story to share. We assume he enjoyed carving into once living earth. We assume he found favorable times when giving away or selling the art. We know nothing of his personal pain…we only see what’s unforgettable.

You are no different.

I’m far from being my Master’s best Tae Kwon Do student but I am the listener that tunes in when the White to Black Belt no longer finds faith in moving forward and feel like quitting. Sitting with them they’re quick to ask, “What’s wrong?” I hold no words because the art of listening requires not my voice but instead a humble willingness to set aside my king sized radio ego and help shape another person’s journey.

Think not of the final presentation of your delivery until you’ve learned to plant a tree. Inside a single blink of the eye you will hold a photograph of the artist standing next to what seemed impossible and now there’s a place for someone you'll never meet to sit in the shade during times when it feels like 300 degrees.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Time out! Hey Ref! Time out!

In any sport…when a player becomes tired, if you aren’t Michael Jordon, Kobe Bryant or Donald Trump, the coaching staff instantly yanks your trunks from the game, replacing the prints tennis shoes make with what some call the sixth man or designated hitter.

In everyday life…you’re lucky to get two weeks a year to spin away from the action. By the time the body realizes it’s supposed to be resting it’s time to go back. Getting there requires demands which must be met or upper level decision makers trade your path for better ball handlers.

Even as parents, although in laws and neighbors seem available. Ultimately there’s no bench or backup team to take over during that mid-afternoon crisis when a single moment sends dedication, loyalty and compassion into a world of depleted nothingness.

The four walls that make up your career are completely governed by personal needs to figure out how to become a bigger, better player. The average person spends more time worrying about what they don’t have rather than concentrating on the strengths of what they’ve received.

Weekends are planned five hours after they’ve already happened. Monday and Tuesday's are blessed by negative vibrations carried over by the inner self you hide who wanted nothing more than to locate fifteen minutes of rest during the twenty four hour period but because there aren’t any designated hitters to rely on, such thought evolves into another reason why your dreams and wishes become weaker, eventually becoming nothing more than something you wanted to do back when you were younger.

I work harder today than I did at 21. The last thing I’ve ever been is someone’s wasted investment. The future has always been worth chasing. Every crack in the sidewalk is where the Mad Hatter lives forcing me to believe I’m consistently late for a very important date, then one morning I woke up and the crows feet spelled out, “You’re 48.”

Without designated hitters or sixth players available to help turn the simplest thoughts into reality…how does success squiggle its way through the veins of probability?

This is where my mother usually interrupts the conversation with dreaded Grim Reaper stories about Agnes down the street and Uncle Barney with his used to be fuzzy dog named Burp.

Our escapes from the game are through other people’s ways of sharing.

“Did you hear?”

“Can you believe?”

Living vicariously through them is our freedom from everyday pressures—Face Book, Twitter and constant cell phone conversations buy you a break but it doesn’t pull you from the game. Human drama reeks. It would be more relaxing to spend seven days at the city dump where you don’t have to think of something to say after every chunk of someone’s tossed out trash lands on your bare feet.

As incredibly giving as he is, former Charlotte Hornet Del Curry who picked up the NBA’s 6th Man of the Year Award during the 93/94 season probably won’t be knocking on your cubical wall today volunteering his efforts so you can take some time off.

If you need a break, it's time to take charge and it begins with gaining access to one of the seven human requirements of survival: the need to feel like you belong. Office cliques, neighborhood circles and family reunions are the breeding ground for the same old game but at a different park.

Now toss in those nagging worries about finances, making the kids, boss and spouse happy, the car needing new tires and a complete engine makeover, fundraisers that require new leadership, taking the trash out because someone put tuna fish juice in it, your favorite radio station playing back to back songs that have nothing to do with your like factor and the dog finally bringing up the tiny chunks of grass he’s been gnawing on for two days.

Don’t even think about looking under or behind the sofa!

Being a martial artist used to be my designated hitter—it was carefully designed to be my hiding place with tall walls of safety until everyday grew into a newer reason to be better than what I was yesterday and having to live up to those days when you couldn’t be anything more than a fresh from the cooker white belt.

Humbling is when you notice your first step in life is barely three quarters of an inch farther down the path from where you currently stand.

Not wanting to add more pressure but nobody’s got your back. Nobody knows when you’re ready to step out of the game. Jordon and Kobe had Coach Phil Jackson to rip them from the pages. Out they’d go for 25 or so seconds. That much solitude proved to be priceless.

What’s keeping you from your dreams becoming a reality? What if you stopped to rest? Maybe it’s time to send in a backup squad to do nothing more than maintain the origin of the plan then once you’ve returned you can bring the trophy home.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Game makers and proud of it!

The 2010 FIFA World Cup Soccer Tournament has grabbed the four corners of the world by the nap of the neck and carried it to South Africa. It’s as if the Gulf oil spill has been put on hold and everything is alright again on planet Earth.

No need to worry about super banking institutions charging you 27% for the use of their credit cards and forget about keeping a watchful eye on the ever changing weather systems that invite floods and hail the size of golf balls…anything like that happens, the makers of local news will just run a scroll at the bottom or top of the screen.

The only language spoken in the past 72 hours is soccer.

98% of Carolina’s have no clue that Chick-Fil-A has shattered their extremely protective outer shell and created a delicious hot and spicy chicken sandwich. Forget about Old Navy selling men’s Polo shirts for eight bucks. What about gas prices falling below $2.65 a gallon? None of it is big enough to talk about.

Once every four years…the world hears the soccer call. And within it’s birthing shadow rests a little ditty about The United States getting all tangled up with a 1-1 tie with England…the folks with incredibly cool accents aren’t taking it too lightly…Sarah Ferguson collecting illegal dollars to talk to the Prince is nothing compared to their goalie letting that ball bounce into the net!

Soccer is the word and will be until the king’s of the world field are crowned. American’s will fork out giant trucks filled with bucks for colorful jerseys, unforgettable flags, endless supplies of beer and really, really big flat screen TV’s but few will truly put out the energy to physically turn this sport into what the rest of the world has made it…a phenomena.

Is it because we’ve already got too much? We’re in the midst of a seriously cool pitching season in baseball. Kobe and the Lakers are in the finals again. Housing sales may be up but the fear of losing our jobs is the highest in history. The average monthly water bill is so high it means sacrificing the summer vacation.

Maybe it’s just me but this vividly wild and constantly up to date imagination I carry into every newly designed twenty four hour period cannot name or identify a single player on team United States. I couldn’t buy them a Dairy Queen Dilly Bar if I wanted to. Got no clue!

According to Google, Clint Dempsey joined Brian McBride as the only player to score in two FIFA World Cups as the U.S. Men’s National Team came from behind to tie U.S.England. But who are Landon Donovan and Tim Howard? They’re Team USA right? Or are they Team Edward or Jacob?

Sure it’s making me look like an idiot! I can’t even name the top dogs on the Professional Bowlers Tour and when did they start hosting tournaments outside in the hot sun under palm trees and more beer, flags and really, really big flat screen TV’s?

Who has the average American become? As long as the bills are paid…does it really matter? The way we live and choose to become is a replica of a very famous quote: A game is the hearts creation of a challenge in which one tests ones self.

We do it at work, while driving down long boring highways, sitting on the sofa in front of the tube while the little people test your patience during another extremely hot boring summer vacation day. If there’s one thing American’s are brilliant at, it’s masterminding the makings of a new game.

The British may have given us American Idol but we own Family Feud, The Price is Right and Oprah!

Soccer is the sport middle school kid’s play when they aren’t big enough to suit up in a football uniform or run faster than a rabbit in track. I remember having to make the choice at Riverside Jr. High…soccer or archery? To this day I fail to understand the rules which include the length of a game and why you can’t check a player like hockey and or get beyond a tie. It’s like college football not having a national championship—you’d get more fans if there was a winner and giant box filled with losers.

Nobody likes to lose but man we can identify with those who do. This is why people refuse to seek medical help until a cold or flu has not only built condo’s in your lungs but is offering free rent to any passerby whose first name begins with any letter between A and Z.

Sick? Not me! I have this beat. The empty gas tank light is on…no sweat; we can go another ten miles. The new IPhone 4 will be released at the end of June. No! Apple thinks I need it now! I must have! Paul McCartney tickets were reportedly going on sale this past Saturday…not true, for the right price, you could get lower level seats a week ahead of those feverishly typing into the keyboard at 10am.

A game is the hearts creation of a challenge in which one tests ones self.

We’ll go another four; eight and quite possibly twelve years and soccer still won’t be more popular than Beckham coming to the states…once here, it was…ok so now what? Wayne Gretzky felt the same pressure when he left Canada. Look how long it’s taken NBC to put hockey on primetime.

Why isn’t men’s and women’s fast pitch softball on the tube? Ever tried to get into a park after 5pm? By the time it gets to the Summer Olympics it’s buried deep into the late night hours. Trying to score a great seat at the Avatar premiere should’ve been broadcast around the world. Anytime a big movie opens, nobody gets more competitive than a moviegoer demanding their space in the place.

Soccer in America? Not now... Look how long it took us to catch up with the Beatles…we were extremely late and Justin Timberlake had to leave the country to gain fame in Germany before getting some attention in this country.

Too much to do...don't clog up the path. No time to figure out the knots.

Friday, June 11, 2010

The greatest graduation gift...

It’s Graduation weekend 2010…the 48 hour notice to sink or swim; show up, show off and showcase the chapters of a nameless book handed to you at birth then filled with twelve painstaking years of stealing the art from teachers and community leaders who’ve dedicated their paths to creating a difference on the horizons you’re guaranteed to chase.

The front door of your tiny fuzzy cocoon is standing wide open and your Dad isn’t going to shout from the back room, “What? Do you think we live in a barn?” Just like your first step taken 14 to 15 years earlier, the parental figures sit opposite your dreams with warm invitations to climb out, dry off those damp wings and catch a passing breeze.

Like the itty bitty teeny weenie spiders creatively designed at the end of Charlotte’s Web, you’re now part of a million reasons why this weekend sail across the unpredictable seas of everyday life should inspire everyone including couples or singles that have or won’t have children one day taking the same steps.

One of you will continue to develop inner peace and solitude for patients diagnosed with breast cancer. Another will be given the clearance to give Mr. and Mrs. Johnson a home loan helping to lift the economy with better sales numbers. Expeditions will include multitudes of career opportunities and choices from restaurant managers to car dealers who don’t have to scream in their radio commercials.

We look forward to meeting the people, place or thing who’ll be handed the rights to paste together the next best music, television or computer format. More low priced electric cars will appear on roads that don’t require foreign fuels to keep smooth. Public school systems will close creating paths for major businesses to develop a system that sends their employees out into the world by way of becoming private teachers who’ll make home visits like doctors once did.

I invite you not to be afraid of the future.

Everything the world has today was industrialized to make lives easier and better. If a fear of failure had taken a swim with Bill Gates, Apple wouldn’t have been challenged to make Mac’s more approachable for all people. I can’t imagine going about life without the service of ATM cards, online banking and pay at the pump gas stations.

Television newscasts, gloss covered magazine articles and well educated business owners have spent the past six months tearing your new found place in history apart. There aren’t summer jobs, there won’t be numbers waiting for you after college, eating fast food then washing it down with a triple sized power drink will continue give twenty year olds premature heart attacks and cancer.

Believe in your tomorrow by participating in your today.

Physically taking care of the moment to which you currently hold is a single brick on a foundation that has the full blessing to stand in the days after all that is natural is taken away. Your legacy is meant to inspire, influence and bring light to the generations that’ll be invited to the game after the coach has hung your jersey above the highest nose bleed seats.

What you do today is the one time yellow yolk waiting to send its baby soft beak through a granite wall. Once cracked, the evidence of there being a tomorrow shoots your roots into the tiny hole and out into a universe that’s waited extremely patiently for you to get here.

Sometime in the next 48 hours and every day thereafter stand in front of the image in the mirror and congratulate him or her for enduring the very struggles you have. You’ve received gifts, pats on the back, words of encouragement and a chunk of paper that says you’ve kept true to the rules and graduated… Sadly, the image you see even when you don’t want to recognize them gets nothing. It doesn’t require materialistic value to be what it truly is…your best friend.

I am a firm believer that nothing is brought into this world without someone first walking into a bedroom or bathroom and calmly asking, the mirrored image “So what do you think?”

That person will never tell you to bring damage to your dreams. The image may cry with you but in the end it stands up the very second you do and that should be inspiration enough to look over its shoulder and catch a glimpse of the horizon you can touch if given a second or third chance.

It will age with you because it doesn’t want you to feel alone when your hair begins to change and you can’t figure out how to slow down the hands of time. Assumption makes you feel like the image argues with you…each time you stop believing, it’s actually saying, “But I believe in you.”

And when you locate that day when you shamefully can’t stand the way the image looks, smells and feels…spend a few more moments within the unprotected eyes of the image inside…those curves, colors and lines once belonged to your mother, father, grand parents and those before them—reach out to touch it knowing without them none of us would be gifted with the presence of your everyday.

Be you by liking and loving you first. I thank you in advance for all the great things you’re about to create. Don’t blink too quickly…it’ll suddenly be your 30 year class reunion with nothing to wear.

Thursday, June 10, 2010


What did we do at work before emails? A time when the only person spotted on the low buzzing green screen machine was nerd Kevin with ink stains on his shirt pocket. Not even the boss was locked to his or her cluttered desk, pasted to a Droid or Blackberry or cuddling up to an Apple IPad.

Please don’t say, “Oh those were the good times.”

More work wasn’t being done or GM super hero Gary B. wouldn’t have been constantly covered by the scent of copy machine dust created by 60 white sheets of once living reminders of life after being a tree. Neatly stacked, they looked the same, hand typed papers boldly ordering people to stop lobby-gagging. (People having face to face non-business conversations in the lobby belonging to the company)

When I see someone in the hall today its like, “Whoa…you still work here?”

I’m completely guilty, there can be no success in a day without ample amounts of texting, emailing and whatever else we do to share brain waves without having to spend time in the lobby coupling with a team player whose golf game has taken a sudden turn for the better or their kids are beginning to sprout wings and are ready to fly from momma’s nest.

I sat in a four hour meeting on Tuesday begging the Radio Gods, “Please put it in an email…I promise to read every last word!”

How can we get over this addiction to un-social methods of networking? You can’t go cold turkey. That’s why cable and phone companies charge astronomical rates for a product that earns them an annual 400% profit. At least they’re not connected to an oil pipe that’s been leaking in the Gulf of Mexico for over a month.

I had to take this growing concern to a professional; Mr. Leo Babauta who penned out the book The Power of Less. He says, “The only way to stop is to get control of the length of your emails. Say what needs to be said then hit send.”

But! But! I write less than five words! Then sit back and get my tail kicked by long form writers and thinkers who sharply demand richer, thicker, deeper processes of communication. Guess it’s not proper to type onto the face of a screen, “Cool. Perfect. Great. Whatever… and I know you didn’t just write that.”

Leo says seven sentences are enough. Using the art of being more concise makes you less addicted to having to say more. Get to the point. Set the limits and be loyal to the reasons why you’re doing it.

The goal is to stop being someone’s high. Julia Cameron calls them a wet blanket. I’ve always looked at such word adventures as being the bridge over sympathy and empathy…I’ll throw you a rope but don’t expect me to jump into the hole and push your booty swing toward the heavens to get you out. There’s never anybody around to hoist my blow hole back to reality.

So let’s practice writing shorter email responses:

Hi Arroe, can’t believe how fast the week has gone, can you, will you, needed by yesterday, but I’ll accept it in ten minutes.

The Arroe way to respond…Neat!

Whoa…wait a minute! My cool, calm, martial arts inner peaceful way of responding pretty much tells the author of the original email that it’s perfectly fine to be lazy. It’s moments like this that you don’t need seven sentences from me. I’m not a friendly writer. If you think I’ve got great inflection as a disc jockey…test my skills as a poet where every thought has twelve different ways you can take it.

Dear Arroe, there’s no rain in the forecast, it’ll be 95 degrees. Hope you left water out for the birds.

The Arroe response: Cool.

I’m a jerk! Easily you can see the final sentence about the birds was skipped or I would’ve sent comments about my birds Ernie, Addy and the doves. But that would have been computerized lobby-gagging! I’m starting to have flashbacks! Gary said no!

It’s obvious my emails don’t express what I think…unless the button has been pushed. If you catch me doing situps, pushups or breathing in patterns only a Monk could understand…that’s my method of attempting to digest a plan to respond in a cool, neat, great, far out, honkin hot manner that simply says, “Um…where were you at 2:15 this morning when I was getting up?”

See…now that was mean!

My emails need booger jokes. How many boogers does it take to clog a nose? Depends on how many fingers you have stuffed up there. Ha!

Now I’m a reject actor from the cast of Porky’s.

If I elect not to respond makes me even a bigger poop head. This is why we’re addicted to this junk in the trunk. My lips don’t have to move and I’m a classically trained dirty name. Need more booger jokes!

Is there more salt in a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup or snot block?

What? I’m trying to write fewer words! The addiction is almost over…soon you’ll have nothing to do with my emails. I know! I’ll spend all day looking for funny attachments to send totally taking out your computer with unheard of viruses like Matilda, Winky the Stinky and Belchin Bologna goop.

Is this what my parents went through when the Bell Company introduced the rotary phone to kitchens across America? They new we’d become addicted! Maybe we should direct deposit our paychecks right into their accounts.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

It's ok to stink if you believe in the moment...

Every once in a while the pages I keep are gifted with the opportunity to sit in the same room with a group of top name communicators that affect and drive a million lives not only daily but by the hour.

After thirty one years of the biz you’d think I’d stop being a radio geek. Yep, this is my Glee club! I’m a card carrying pocket protector wearing nerd who turned his constant need to talk in science and math class into a journey toward meeting and becoming part of those who turn everyday thoughts into motion.

Insiders constantly describe speaker talkers as being one-of-a-kind’s who live in a world of their own and during that process through the magic of Disney, Lucas and a massive amount of broadcasting pioneers several years and chapters before us…you’re given a key that opens the door to a morning, noon or night filled with great music and fun.

Broadcasters aren’t a different breed, peel away the screen that separates a listener from that voice or laugh and sitting in front of you is Johnny Joe Average—he or she lives in the same city, drinks the same water, stops at the same traffic lights and chances are is the person you pointed your finger at while walking away from the Chinese buffet with a serious amount fresh crab legs.

Outside these four well padded walls radio people might come across as poorly developed actors but aren’t we all? It’s always been my dream to visit 100 different office environments to study the workday pattern of employees doing nothing more than trying to make it through another day before being bombarded by hordes of wants and demands from what used to be the most important job—family.

Businesses won’t let me in…or is it people?

We’ve become the tortured generation…there’s so much life to be lived and barely ten of us are willing to trust the moment. I need to take out the word “us” because I totally fail in the department of being part of that collection of writers and performers.

Trusting the moment is “living it” without inviting judgment.

No radio break is delivered without asking, “How did that sound?” No canvas is painted then hung in a gallery without me asking, “How does that look? How did people react?” I don’t go anywhere without fearing first and it has nothing to do with being accepted. I don’t trust in the moment.

Completely fascinated by big city skylines and the lights they shoot toward the heavens…no twist and turn in the highway is driven without me wondering if the designers of modern day pyramids pushed themselves away from high-tech and asked, “Do you think someone will like it?”

I’ve always believed “not believing” is the breading ground of a perfectionist.

Perfectionists are never happy. They try and try and try only to settle.

Micro-management is nothing more than a perfectionist who couldn’t do the job so through the rules of delegation they hire people to do it for them only to learn they can’t live up to the bosses question, “How does that sound, look or smell?”

Multi-tasking is the common connection perfectionists share…what you aren’t happy with is easily forgotten with the presence of something different to do. Somewhere during the 8 to 18 hour day it’s inevitable that you’ll locate something you’ll like about yourself. If not…tomorrow is a new day.

There’s nothing sweeter than an addiction to success and like a gambler, achievement can’t be reached with a palm filled with chips…required are pockets and plastic bags. It’s never about what you lose during your workday because it can’t be compared to everything you’ve gained.

Every once in a while the pages I keep are gifted with the opportunity to sit in the same room with a group of top name communicators that affect and drive a million plus lives not only daily but by the hour. Big names, big dreams, biggest bucket of luck until someone says, “Heard your radio show.”

I’ve yet to meet the Broadcaster who takes “trusting in the moment” to the level of performance required in the halls of self acceptance. Which makes talk starters that much more real to listeners; what we see we share, what we feel was probably already felt by you, what you take in or throw out was witnessed by a radio person doing nothing more than trying to stop that deadening silence delivered when they can’t find an answer to, “What can I do to become better?”

See…we’re no different than your place of employment. We just didn’t get to hear about it, until the creation of Face Book, Twitter and texting.

We’ve been gifted with every reason to live in the moment then broadcast it. Some days we find others who can relate while other 24 hour periods go about their way like a lonely little puff of a cloud searches for a storm to become part of before it disappears in the land of the forgotten.

Trust in the moment. Do one thing today that feels good and make sure no one steals from it. It’s going to be the toughest thing you’ve done in years. We’re completely addicted to the idea that those who make up the circles we keep care as much we do…

In radio, when a jock spits sputters and stumbles through a live break, it totally kills the performer. How could I? I suck! Go back to Billings, Montana you loser! Interestingly enough, on the opposite side of those radio speakers is a listener thinking, “Thank god I’m not the only one who has a tough time talking.”

So today…I’m not wearing socks. There’s got to be others who have stinky feet! You aren’t alone! Be proud of what your nose is doing for you. Thanks for helping me love my moment.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Becoming one...

One look at Ronald Reagan’s resume and something called the Presidency of the United States tends to overshadow the long and winding invisible rooting system that made up the firm sturdy branches leading him toward an office nicknamed Oval.

It wasn’t dollars and common sense that sent the former California Governor to Washington, historians instantly labeled Mr. Reagan the Great Communicator—something he defines with a simple thought, “If you talk to everybody, you talk to nobody, but if you talk to one person, you talk to everybody.”

I know exactly where that was dropped into his bucket of success. Deeply dug into the official radio playbook all performers on the twin speaker stage bump into a Program Director that sternly rubs your nose in a single flavor of, “Make every thought about one person, talk to them, not at them, be part of their life without expecting them to become part of yours.”

Ronnie took those skills to Hollywood where he masterfully crafted the next level of great communication skills—eye contact.

But radio doesn’t come with pictures… How could someone on a microphone develop a talent to look directly into a listener’s eyes: Page two of the playbook introduces thought provokers and performers into the chapters of placing a picture of someone in front of them…practice talking to that person. Look into their eyes; envision their reaction to your presentation. Share thoughts don’t read words.

Every business, family and all walks of life depend on communication to be the idea grand maker of a positive or productive end result.

Purchased a pair of jeans over the weekend from a well known bargain priced national chain—upon paying for the merchandise the employee, making no eye contact handed me the receipt and clothes followed with a giant, “Thanks for coming in. Have a great weekend!”

No one-on-one. Loved the spirit and the adventure of trying to connect but lost in the message was belief.

It’s like the fast food restaurant that takes your order; clearly a man warmly greeted you with a smile…once at the pickup window—the man is now Monica and the good feeling experienced minutes earlier is gone because the person taking your money doesn’t seem to be happy about putting in a weekend shift.

Author Lou Solomon invites you to study the way children take in the world—their eyes are wide open. As we grow, our minds create an inner world of multi level thought—in time we tend to trust less which forces us to spend more time within than without.

During this method of reinventing America here’s your opportunity to be a leader by way of electing to put focus on the eyes other people and not allowing your message to resemble a pinball game darting between this person, that player then squirrel!

In an old episode of Lassie, a man came to town claiming the big fluffy beautiful collie was his and he wanted her to begin starring in dog shows again. Once there, the original owner couldn’t figure out why his dog refused to obey commands. No eye contact…he allowed his voice to make decisions without taking the time to look Lassie in the eyes.

Look at the way Mom’s keep kids in line an entire room away…she shoots the look!

Lou Solomon believes we should constantly work on creating personal closeness. That’s the way you get people to stop and pay attention. The new goal should be to connect through conversation spirited with interest in the person present and by developing eye to eye contact.

How does the current keyword Face Book or Twitter fit in? Some friends have five or six hundred pictures featured on their pages or you could be the voice over radio talent who was told during a vocal production workshop that every picture should be taken off because people see what you look like can affect if you’re hired or fired.

Look at how many teachers and other employees have lost their places of performance because company department heads were invited into their on-line world. What are we truly talking about and to whom?

On the web, at work, church, home or somewhere running around the neighborhood try talking to one person; treat your links on Face Book like…..friends! The best part of your day shouldn’t be Folgers in a cup but the opportunity to bridge.

Your hands are trained to bring food to your body. You can’t live without nourishment—those ten fingers and their prints are the morning radio show during the average broadcast day. Getting people to you are the other day parts…such as your eyes, voice, imagination, your creative way of writing, talking and your openness to let there be two sides of the conversation.

If you talk to everybody, you talk to nobody, but if you talk to one person, you talk to everybody……….President Ronald Reagan.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Selling out versus being happy

I don’t read novels, fairytales or books based on vampires, up and coming warlocks and witches or love stories so powerful they begin to affect late night dreams. I’m part of the flock that Barnes and Nobel, Boarders and Joseph Beth handle with true tenderness, compassionate love and honest care—the wanderers who’ve turned Warren Buffet’s adventures into heavenly praised guides and lines that an outsider might see as being more mighty than the big book itself.

Anthony Robbins says jump and 98.7% of his readers turn gravity into something they can climb, walk around or dig a tunnel under.

You don’t need John C Maxwell or former Philadelphia 76er’s owner Pat Croce to tell you that a successful life is based on how much focus you slam into the channels of effort. How many people do you know whose career and productive lives resemble a drug or gambling addict—a willing and able mind and body numb to the idea of introducing injury to themselves and those around them all in the name of touching, if but only for a second a sliver of success?

The majority locate such air holes inside books of business and motivation. Each are creatively crafted to play off self doubt, fear of failure and a need to be greedy without coming across that you’ve swiped from the planet what the 80’s band Tears for Fears used to claim that everybody rule of the world.

Who and what pours fuel into the tanks of accomplishment?

Wouldn’t you have to know what accomplishment is first?

The owner of my favorite Chinese restaurant seems to unbelievably successful. His employees are constantly connected to three different telephones taking orders while he and four others stand at the counter greeting customers with great big smiles and quick delicious and flavorful rice, chicken and shrimp.

I asked him how it felt to be successful—he sat quickly and sharply replied, “Why would you assume I’ve made it big in business. I spend way too much time at work. I can’t keep a full staff, constantly hiring and the electric bill refuses to give me a break. Where in the average day do you see success in my business?”

The owner of a Greek restaurant is moving his mother from his homeland because he can no longer find the time or finances to visit her. The owner of several car dealerships looks at me with total stress in his eyes admitting that his biggest dream is to sell things off and get back to a simple life. A brilliant guitarist and producer whose been part of several new beginnings is beginning to allow an impossible measurement of success to seep into his aging fingers claiming its no longer fun nor profitable to dedicate so much energy to a career that will never reach his personal potential.

Why was my stepfather happy about being a welder? He was never embarrassed to admit that pasted chunks of junk together. One generation later, I find it extremely difficult to discuss what I do. I’m completely embarrassed by its presentation. It’s not the glamorous side of the radio biz that everybody assumes comes with a microphone and endless amounts of Lady Gaga and The Black Eyed Peas…I do the commercials.

To which people react with,“Ohhhhh I never hear them…I tune out…”

Exactly…hey did you know radio remains 100% free because of me? Hello? Come back! I can show you how to turn 80 seconds of talk, talk, talk into 30 seconds of I scored a great deal…did you see the size of that sale, sale sale?

Research shows the average working person wants instant success. One look at America’s Got Talent and So You Think You Can Dance and you’re introduced to the tears of faith loving performers who wanted to be recognized for their efforts by way of capturing what they see success as being.

Award winning actor Ben Kingsley wanted to be a rock star…his talent caught the attention of Beatles manager Brian Epstein who took the budding star straight to John Lennon—his response was mumbles, which Kingsley took as a message to get classically trained…once in school Ben fell in love with acting leaving behind his drive to write and perform music.

The 90’s boy band ‘N Sync was forced to leave America to find fans—they spent four years in Germany developing a following which went un-noticed until one day the Backstreet Boys stood up Disney—rather than leave fans dry, executives trusted a group of screaming girls and put on the German band with American roots…creating a force that continues by way of Justin Timberlake becoming one of the most influential performers of the new millennium.

I don’t read novels, fairytales or books based on vampires, up and coming warlocks and witches or love stories so powerful they begin to affect late night dreams. Real life carries with it every reason to believe that what you want to be, what you’re going to be and how you got into being are completely separate walks of life.

Is there anyone who wants to be simply happy?

Who and what pours fuel into the tanks of happiness?

Wouldn’t you have to know what happiness is first?

This is why I paint. Love blending colors on a canvas. Mont Blanc ink slipped between the rules that govern acrylics with a pinch of White Out creates a texture that cracks the essence of perfection.

Legendary artist Peter Max blanketed our 45 minute conversation with every reason why he couldn’t stand being a well educated artist…it was boring, so he let go and became happy masterminding thick, rich releases that have inspired four decades of rainbow chasing color collectors. Paul Stanley of Kiss, Evil Knievil, actress Jane Seymore, Ron Wood of the Rolling Stones and a mountain of other overworked, sold souls have located happiness by letting go.

That doesn’t say I quit. That’s far from telling people you aren’t the best. Letting go creates air to breathe. It makes the real you visible to the other image standing in the mirror. Letting go could very well be heaven on earth…because there’s no feeling better than the end result of something you created.

Your only job in life is to be you not give it away to a company whose only mission is to use you for their benefit then fire you.

Stand up…walk through that granite mountain and be you. If you think it sucks…then be the best at it because for some reason people who suck seem to be making it big in the world today. That’s not being negative…Jonha Hill and Russell Brand are scoring major amounts of money being anything but Hollywood legend like.

Open your eyes to you being you!

Friday, June 4, 2010

Does technique control your destiny?

My Jr. High chorus teacher Mr. Anderson once barked, “Music isn’t something you learn from a book. You live it by breathing life into the lyrics the artist has elected to share with you. If technique is your desired performance, please leave this class and don’t come back…awareness carries the true expression.”


Can someone who’s unique fulfill their role inside a world where technique is God? Technique has nothing to do with catching a unique rabbit? The best way to achieve accomplishment is you neek up on it… Awareness molds champions.

From the outside the word technique looks bold, daring and confident. Sadly, get too close you’ll be introduced to overbearing. Technique carries weight, those who hold it’s Yoda like powers become the heavy weight kings of bragging holding down important positions of decision making turning every horizon into lopsided presentations of purpose without reasons to believe those following should continue. You can’t learn how to downhill ski from a book.

Nobody wins a Tae Kwon Do or other Mixed Martial Arts tournament without proper technique. Spend a few more minutes looking at the entire picture and within seconds you’ll begin to take note of mechanics. Inside blocks followed by front kick, land it, double punch, side kick, blah, blah, blah. I feel like we’re watching Kate Gosselin on Dancing with the Stars. Having a great hairstyle doesn’t win you a beauty contest.

I’ve fought Ivan Torres nearly 20 times—half my size, his technique the sharpest I’ve seen since meeting Grand Master Jung. Ivan nearly ripped my nose out of its place not because his round house kick is fed by rivers of proper technique but his ambition to study the entire picture through measures that are completely loyal to awareness creating a path to follow my bad habits, once the nose became open…the blood began to spurt.

What makes an employee, student or competitor unforgettable isn’t perfectly designed technique but their willingness to breathe life into the lyrics the artist elected to share with them. Bill Gates’ passion wasn’t to become the worlds richest man…he found value in creating a computer that non-nerds with giant pocket protectors could easily learn then better their life.

Apple’s introduction of the IPad entertains stockholders and Wall Street gamblers who have no clue who the client is or they would’ve made the computer fully capable of opening more than one application at a time. The IPhone should’ve been connected to the project! They’re using technique as the money making opportunity tool. Outside of the IPod, what’s been Apples next best thing? Happy investors.

How can we turn our chapters around and start performing like real rock stars? Rollingstone Magazine recently published a reader’s response to The Black Eyed Peas being named one of the most influential bands on earth. The fan of the pages wrote, “How can you call them a band when none of them play instruments…its all created in a recording studio by a club disc jockey.”

Author Lou Solomon believes its time to stop fitting in. Your daily goal should be set on living in your own skin. Your knowledge is extremely important but experience, insight and the stories created while climbing the ladder teaches others to become better players in a Corporate American world where you’ve got the bosses permission to be lazy because we’ll soon replace you with someone lazier.

As popular as Larry David is with Seinfeld and Curb your Enthusiasm, history will one day call him the cheapest date in the entertainment business. He finds no value in creating scripts—the scenes are set then you perform. If you’ve been attached to his past few seasons it’s easy to tell the difference between great actors and those who are nothing without the aid of someone putting the words in their mouth.

If I were to sit down with Adam Lambert and ask him to write a song on the spot…he’d exceed the limits. Bon Jovi, Bob Dylan, Usher, Nelly and Trace Adkins are no different. Put the microphone on Kanye West, Rihanna, Fergie and Carrie Underwood they'll scream for their bodyguards and tour managers to rid their world of the crazy man in front of them.

Through technique they are major money makers and shakers but can you see, feel, taste and be influenced to share the experience with someone using their art as a tool? My white guy booty can bounce with the best of them during Boom Boom Pow and I still can’t get enough of Party in the USA from Miss Miley Cyrus. But which one truly has staying power?

Watching Miley is a learning experience because her roots are sheltered by a connection to Disney…her evolution into superstardom and acceptance with all people rather than kids and young adults is nothing more than the rebirth of Little Ricky Nelson from Ozzy and Harriet. She’s using technique as a format to which she falls back on when knowledge, experience and insight are sitting in class preparing themselves for a much wiser place to breathe.

How does Charlie the car mechanic step away from technique? What about Juan the college student and busboy Mike from the family restaurant barely hanging on? Rather than watch Hells Kitchen, study Gordon Ramsey. Instead of watching old video’s of past American Idol contestants take the time to learn Simon Cowell’s path. Don’t read John C Maxwell, Anthony Robbins and the other 400,000 motivational books now 20% off at your favorite book store…study those books like your life depends on it. Every sentence holds the fuel that could lift you up and over this dull life and style you’ve adopted and blamed it on everything but choice.

People ask me all the time how I’ve survived 31 years of constantly changing radio…my answer has never bent…I don’t work in radio. I’m in the people business and business is always great.

Now sit up straight and do your own thing. I believe in you…