Published author and artist Brian Andreas writes, “When we lived in the city we used to leave the lights on to keep away the burglars. Now we leave the lights off to keep away the neighbors. My mom says it’s because there’s always a chance we’ll like the burglars.”
I laugh at lines like this because nothing fascinates me more than watching others attempt to convince a passerby how green the grass is on their side of the fence.
What works on Face Book and Twitter cannot be compared to eye to eye contact. Face time is a date with truth, if the lights are out…it’s not difficult to decide whose inside.
Take the infamous, “Hello! Good Morning!” Everybody abuses it including the checkout lady at the grocery store who barely got two hours of sleep last night because the dog wouldn’t stop barking. No day passes that I don’t chuckle at the performance because in ten minutes it’ll be my turn to hit the workday stage…so I stand there watching her to see if I can pick up on some new tricks of the happy face trade.
In 1998 my daily writing on three full lengths of paper featured only these words, “I’m in a great mood!” Over and over and over again and again. Being the author, I know for a fact I wasn’t in a great mood; I used the writing outlet to convince the pain to refrain from interfering with my day. It worked.
Here’s the thing…while growing up a punk kid on the south side of Billings, Montana, lights being out meant nothing to a kid with fresh chicken eggs in his hands. I quickly learned a hard lesson thirty seconds after unloading a 12 pack on the Roarback’s dark house. The bill payer shot from his front door like a rabbit being chased by Harry Potter’s owl. Under normal circumstances I would’ve ignored his ear piercing voice ordering me to stop but this one carried a gun. As much as I wanted to say, “It wasn’t me…the egg carton in my clutches kind of gave me away.”
What did I learn from this? Eggs eat paint. Eggs aren’t easy to wipe off windows the next morning when it’s near three below. I also took note that dark houses and or thoughts don’t always mean, “Nobody’s home.” Which is why every Halloween we whip out the Wal-Mart brand lawn chairs and greet the Trick or Treater’s in the street, to showcase an open invitation rather than a closed off assumption.
Seriously…what message are we truly sharing when we vibrantly share, “Hello! Good Morning?” If other’s can easily spot you in an act…does being a fake make you a bad person or do they look at your efforts as being no different than me writing over and over I’m in a great mood?
I have an extremely difficult time reading people. Like many, I’m also tired of being the first person to play nice. How many times do you walk down the hallway at work and no one acknowledge your presence with a stale and overused, “Yo…”
Would it be best for them to keep the lights off so we don’t attempt to knock on their door? If we do…the end result might be a long drawn out time robbing conversation that seizes control of too much energy making you late for a very important date. Therefore we’ve elected to fall in love with the burglar.
My work ethics demand an open door policy. If you’ve got a brilliant idea get it out of your system and onto my plate. The lights are on no matter how late the night. Interestingly enough, I have no clue who my real neighbors are. I depend on my wife to extend the open palm. Having a completely wide open door where anyone can drop in at any time has made me exceedingly fearful of company. I can’t tell the difference between, “I want” versus, “Hello! Good Morning!” A completely innocent block party turns me into a paranoid zombie.
Nobody has watched me write the words that become my books. The author in me is so private the appearance of anything radio is forbidden to enter the creative space. What amazes me are the number of tricks the imagination creates to make sure the on-air talent doesn’t have anything to do with the poet. It’s no different than leaving the lights on or making the house deeply dark. Arroe can't stand the sight of Arroe...now toss in the artist who paints on a canvas, the martial artist and mobile entertainer. I feel like my mother during summer vacation.
I’m far from being the only person that does this...why else would my Grandmother have a sewing room or the father figure develop what’s become The Man Cave? We’re gifted with many thoughts and personalities and sadly we sell ourselves out by allowing the stronger presence to become the burglar.
It’s taken me 48 years to give permission to the poet inside to develop the lyrics of several songs and take them into a physical recording studio to be performed by professional musicians. I can’t find the words that best explain the feeling of what its like to take something you’ve run from and give it away for others to lift it to a different level of success.
What’s made it fun are the musicians that have taken their Wal-Mart brand lawn chairs and set them out in the street and let my imagination play a little Trick or Treat.
“When we lived in the city we used to leave the lights on to keep away the burglars. Now we leave the lights off to keep away the neighbors. My mom says it’s because there’s always a chance we’ll like the burglars.”
Who are you in your neighborhood of me, myself and I?
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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