Tuesday, May 31, 2011

It's ok to call it quits...

Well…it’s happened again! Spring has instantly become summer. I should’ve known something was up when the damp morning air stopped cooling the fast approaching late evening breeze.

If only I had paid more attention to weathered apple tree that leans outward from the rest of the forest; it’s been dropping bright green parachutes with a sliver of red onto the floor where my puppies having been playing for days.

Like children they stand below the limbs of the fruit flavored wind catcher softly asking, “May I please have another?”

The rest of us do our best to catch up…always too much to do with no excuse for why we do what we do except buckets of blame delivered to bosses and co-workers that appear to roller skate their way through the average summer workday without daring to be different and like every year it appears they have more fun and success than the deeply dedicated and loyal.

So I ask that you voluntarily stop. Pour your passions of being free into the dreams not connected to Corporate America and get back to living or you’re going to be the lone apple tree with no fruit to share with the fuzzy barkers below.

Through a puppies eyes we learn so much about discovery. Tails that shake, wobble, spin quickly almost too fast in circles that create giggles, wiggles, and reasons to accidently on purpose drop popsicles and cotton candy sticks onto the always happy to receive sweet things for puppies path.

You don’t have to be anybody but you. If burping the alphabet is a backyard summer treat with only you in the audience then let one rip. Where are the four leaf clover hounds that would spend an entire hot humid summer afternoon crafting out ways to better play with leaves of three not associated with poison ivy?

Minding your manners has made you a follower. Leaders are born when you look at life and let your fingers do the talking.

Stop making other people money and get happy!

Give up cable TV; it’s 500 channels of info-mericials and repeats. Addiction begins with smartphones…if being on go is your flow, you’ll go a lot further when you teach yourself to stop keeping up with the Jones. Be free of texting and instant World Wide Web access with a flip phone dated 1997.

Buy an ugly car! Ugly clothes and a really ugly bicycle to show the world that being in the bike lane doesn’t mean being forced to look like a wanna-be Olympic athlete. When you buy ugly you set the new standard.

Oprah’s gone! She’s living life before the storms we’re constantly warned of come blowing into town ripping from the once protected tree trunk the leaves of many then the arms that reached to paint the wandering clouds that looked like dogs high above the horizons midnight kiss.

Make the Summer of 2011 the single most important three months of the entire year…give yourself permission to breathe. Unmask your beast and get back to living. Do something that’s going to change your life; because right now you’re pretty fricken boring. Get up, go to work, drive home and complain about everything except the person in control of the feet below your belly.

Yep I’m being ugly… when you buy ugly you set the new standard. The new look is a happy you.

While camping over the Memorial Day Weekend, I was instantly drawn to the methods of modern day madness while watching a Grandfather trying with his deepest love and compassion to communicate to an extremely spoiled child. Every attempt was failure. Not once, not twice but for three days the golden halo Grandparents earn during their chapters of giving live away…not even their flesh and blood respected what they were sharing. The man was deeply hurt. He returned to the unlit campfire to whittle a stick, his left hand unknowing of my eyes snapping mental images of the reaction…one tear, two.

I wanted so bad to cross the camp line and quickly dash into his ambition but my big ole adult butt wouldn’t fit into the child’s chair that rolls…I chose instead to secretly sit in my distant place of wolf watching and located the music he liked by playing my radio a little louder, a little louder then poof…his foot began to tap to the rhythm of our greatest influence.

The only thing we’ve taught our kids is to want more without having to give up an inch. Show them something new…ugly. The most impressive trees on a mountainside are never the big tall and mighty but the chunks of wood that have ugly as sin knots in them that resemble faces or warts. The moment you come up on one…it’s like wow! This tree has seen it all! Been through hell and come back to change the world.

Seriously where has your career truly gotten you? And how long do you think that flat screen TV is gonna stay lit up? Everything we buy today is made to break. Bill Gates is a genius because he mastered the plan of taking plastic and giving it a brain.

Failure isn’t when you let go it’s when you let your career have total control.


Thursday, May 26, 2011

Oprah will never leave us if you play the Oprah Game

Twenty five years of Oprah and the next step could be rehab.

You’ve heard of or have already dealt with Empty Nest Syndrome? EOS is the unexplained nobody understands silent empty! The talk show host’s final performance has become more viral than a video on You Tube.

Empty Oprah Syndrome has introduced daily viewers to a new shade of the blues; cranky, no juice to put in eight hours of work, a dry feeling in the instantly pick me up department and several times you land on Channel 9 here in Charlotte hoping your girl is pulling off a fast one like rock stars and Michael Jordan that say they’re retiring but never do.

Oh it’s not over! I can’t believe the Stock Market hasn’t plummeted sending gas prices above five bucks! Tack on Mary Hart leaving Entertainment Tonight, Katy Couric departing from the CBS Evening News and American Idol, the Biggest Loser and Celebrity Apprentice wrapping up the season.

Anyone wanna talk about bosses today?

Did I mention ABC has pulled the plug on One Life to Live and Days of Our Lives?

Doesn’t seem like much until you look at the entire picture; television is our hourly high, weekend buzz, evening after work fix, legal drug and although it’s completely illegal for us to drive and watch TV there are billions of SUV’s with flat screens in the backseat.

For God’s sake we’re being forced to go outside and find something new to do!

So how do you get over Empty Nest Syndrome? While you surf what little cable television has to offer I find myself still walking into my daughter’s former room to catch a vibe of what used to be. I refuse to paint over the places she used as an expression piece. The rock band stickers on the windows are still there. The stuffed animals have been neatly placed in a box to which I can get to at any time. Then it happens, her kids spend the weekend and wham! Looking into their tiny eyes I see Jenny all over again and again.

Please let’s talk about how evil bosses are!

To be empty doesn’t mean you are without but rather free from…

No more Oprah means a new beginning of exploring; locating new shows to call your own or taking what you learned from her seven billion hours of broadcast and becoming part of the community. Look at the members of the media she put focus on Dr. Oz, Dr. Phil, Suzy Orman, Tyler Perry and more. Study their path and you’ll discover that each of them are deeply dug into the roots of common people’s lives and work everyday on trying to bring peace to all rather than just a self that’s never satisfied.

Now you wanna talk about bosses don’t you? Can’t deal with this positive Arroe stuff…

I never watched Seinfeld, Mash, Bob Barker or Bill Cosby…I chose instead to better understand their commitment to the public that supported them. Once within those pages I found their true life and style to be far more entertaining than handwritten drama on legal drug number one…television.

I know…that requires a little elbow grease and with TV you just need a thumb and index finger to hit the DVR during the commercials. Give me my Oprah high!

We loved it when she tore up the screen with earth shattering interviews with Hollywood’s elite. Bawled our eyes out beyond being dry when reality struck a chord in a reality your parents never talked about; Late Night giants like Letterman, Jon Stewart and Jay Leno were never as politically incorrect as Oprah…if she saw fit, she didn’t hold back Oprah laid out the truth like a true Broadcasting genius.

Will there be another? Nope. Just like there’ll never be another Walter Cronkite, John Wayne, Lennon, Dylan and pizza pizza guy for Little Caesars.

Tina Turner said it best, “We don’t need another hero.”

Grab the strings and guide the un-Oprah generation to their next level of success. Look at the real talent and her true message and make it part of your destination. Rather than wait for life to happen…or the next big daytime talker to influence your need to buy more books…do the do and make your self the leader.

The passing of Oprah means its time for you to take over the family decisions. Now you know The Secret. True Oprah fans know what I’m talking about. Now put it to use for the better.

I will always believe in you first…


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Ryan Seacrest wins another American Idol...

The American Idol finals are tonight…neither Scotty nor Lauren win. Vocal and performance coach Jimmy Iovine takes home one third of the title. Like the Roman’s that once packed the stone covered seats at the coliseum, people were instantly drawn to the once fierce lion Simon who’s crude, rude and daring approach to reality fed a chapter of American history that no longer wanted to be politically correct.

Jimmy upped the seriousness of the music game by bringing four decades of on the road and in the studio know-how to their inexperience. John Lennon, Stevie Nicks, Tom Petty, he engineered Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run and straight into the soul of 90’s style Hip Hop.

Patrick Goldstein from Warner Brother’s claims Jimmy can do anything without making someone feel unhappy.”

Honestly…outside of Haley taking a big chance on the unknown Lady Gaga song where in the season did he go wrong? He didn’t! He totally parked the baseball over the centerfield wall when he invited Lauren to sing her final tune about mothers.

Take ten minutes and Google his comments to the budding stars; spewed from his lungs were lessons that can used in the total rebuilding circumference of everyday business. Showmanship is the key to higher levels of success and how you present it makes you the star to invest in or the real reason why the client won’t return calls.

Music is business and business is good when you allow your path to be laced with dynamics that make you a leader and that begins with vocally connecting with rather than just playing a game played out by close friends that convinced you to give it a shot…

You need energy to win not pats on the back.

Winner number two is Rock n Roll Hall of Famer Steven Tyler from Aerosmith who walked onto a stage that shoulda, coulda been a massive atomic bomb dropped on a world of metal music that doesn’t like sell outs.

I never stopped believing in Steven because I’ve been backstage, falling witness to how he handles fans. He’s a marketing genius in the department of handshakes and eye to eye contact. His massive appeal is based on putting those who buy music first and this season anyone who thought they stood a chance still walked away believing in fifth and sixth chances because the harmony maker from the East Coast knows music comes from the soul and with the right amount of love and honey…even the evil Queen Bee will wait in long lines to become your best friend.

Champion number three; Ryan Seacrest…every generation has a Dick Clark and this radio morning show host is quickly becoming that guy whose picture will be plastered all over the pages of thick books of music history.

The moment Simon scowled and took his fame to another place to play anybody else would’ve walked beside the king of mean. This became Ryan’s year to hold together what little was left and shall end the season knowing we still want more.

James Brown was once coined the hardest working man in show business…being from Georgia there had to be a moment when Seacrest and James met and in that passing breeze fate planted a seed in Ryan’s palm and one day he’ll be recognized for being the radio jock that reignited American Pop Music.

Scotty and Lauren will do fine in the days after American Idol. After tonight like all things linked to fads and fashions their names and song titles will be nothing more than backyard picnic table talk based on, “Who came after Carrie Underwood?”


Tuesday, May 24, 2011

What if we took the time to honor?

Memorial Day Weekend; the official kickoff of a brand new summer blanketed with high school graduations, camp for kids, big boats, tiny kayaks, celebrations at Carowinds theme park, sticky melted cotton candy glued to your fingers like double sided tape, spilled beer, burnt to a crisp BBQ with the scent of sauerkraut drifting over the fence from the new neighbors yard.

Three days of all out kick booty drop until you puke excitement that wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for a group of Southern ladies caught decorating the gravesites of fallen men and women that served this nation during the Civil War.

Northerner’s on the other hand will fight you for this claim to fame saying President Johnson in 1966 declared Waterloo, NY the official birthplace of Memorial Day Weekend. It’s easy to see why; the state of New York was the first to layout the annual groundwork and by 1890 the majority of all northern states had turned the final weekend of May as a place of celebrating their dedication and loyalty.

And the South being the strongest sector of our collected people with its desire and passion do things its own way and with separate design had other plans; Memorial Day in Texas was on January 19th, Alabama, Florida, Georgia and Mississippi set aside April 26th; South Carolina was May 10th followed by Louisiana and Tennessee on June 3rd.

The red Poppy flower has played a major role in all gatherings; although the beautiful bloom with its seeds of distant travels has evolved into an illegal drug…a single stroke from Moina Michael’s writing instrument inspired a nation to display the unforgettable bud:

We cherish too, the Poppy red that grows on fields where valor led. It seems to signal to the skies that blood of heroes never dies.

Moina is said to have been the first to wear the red Poppy later selling flowers to her friends which included a young lady from France who introduced the idea to the Franco-American Children’s League. By 1922 the VFW adopted the vision creating what’s called the Buddy Poppy Program that has raised millions of dollars for disabled and needy veterans.

By now I’ve probably lost your attention; you’ve tossed aside your reasons for stopping in and have begun a new Google search for a website that feeds your need for better natural highs. And it’s this very reason why in December of 2000 the National Moment Remembrance was introduced as a way to keep a growing America in touch with its fading history.

Memorial Day Weekend! No bosses or coworkers with unexpected interruptions, there are giant sales at Wal-Mart, Target, Ford, Lowes and Home Depot and damn if someone won’t wake up at 7am on Saturday to cut their grass because you don’t want to be the lazy a** that doesn’t look good at the block party.

While growing up my stepfather calmly reminded the boys he vowed to protect, “In this country war is great business. If you are called know in your heart I’ll never leave your mother’s side. I want you to serve this nation and it begins with honoring those who stood there before you.”

I didn’t know how serious his words were until the day we stood on the aircraft carrier at Patriots Point in Charleston and the image of every man he fought with in Germany came back to him full force knocking him to his knees. Eyes swollen, heart heavier than a setting sun, his hands shook from every question that challenged why he was one of the lucky men that got to come home. Turning to my mother he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I thought I was stronger than this…”



Saying thank you isn’t enough…Memorial Day should be everyday in a land where freedom still doesn’t grow on trees, its earned by warriors that never stop believing that America is the greatest nation on earth.


Monday, May 23, 2011

Dad used to say, "Sickness starts in the head." So does success!

I haven’t hidden my agenda; in fact I’ve been extremely vocal…make it a point everyday to locate whatever means possible to rid the body and its system of medications that can be connected to television commercials featuring fast talking announcers that say, “Taking this pill could lead to blah, blah and blah and may cause bingo dingo and ringo.”

One heart doctor rolled his chair back, took a couple of notes, removed his plastic framed rich people glasses and replied, “So in essence you’re committing suicide.”

Have you ever had a campfire that would never burn itself out? It didn’t matter how many buckets of water you dumped on the hot limbs a flicker of energy would reignite a continuation.

Going all out natural seems too easy; if Wal-Mart, CVS and Target sell it…it’s got to be safe right? That’s not true! Mixing natural herbs with manmade escape routes cannot materialize until you’ve received permission or a pat on the back from a doctor.

In December of last year a well known cholesterol breaker went all out diva destroying muscles and tissues beyond normal repair. After looking at everything I toss onto my path morning noon and night one medical professional scared the hell out of me when he calmly said, “Thank god we found out what you’re tossing into your body because my worst fear was you had cancer.”

Today I spend more time in doctor’s offices than I do dreaming, measuring how much degeneration is still taking place. Push ups, sit ups, running, jogging and eating right have helped to ease the numbers but the pain of carrying this frame can be compared to my sister Jamie who has MS.

During my studies a Native American Medicine Man once said, “Doctors practice medicine they don’t heal the human. Rest heals man, man does not heal man. My elders once mixed natural ingredients to do nothing more than allow the body to rest.”

A leading natural meal replacement company known for changing the mind, body and soul caught my attention last week when their online video stated, “Medicines help relieve suffering from sickness…its our mission statement to help prevent sickness.”

Look around you…who in your office or home is currently a lifeless goat because normal allergies have evolved into sinus infections, bronchitis and in some cases other dangerous reactions that have led to hospital time? What’s the first thing we grab? Not a cure but rather relief. The idea of preventing allergies from reaching a deeper level of sickness costs money and right now we need all shapes of money to be readily available for the gas tank.

Printed on the pages of the book Powers Within are the words faith and cure. It’s not the medicine that cures so much as the patient’s faith in the doctor and medicine. Both are clumsy substitutes for the natural faith in one’s own self power.
Oh oh…this is where I get in serious amounts of trouble. Someone tells me they’re under the weather and instantly I shout, “Get to work! Don’t sit down! Don’t get lazy! Push your fist through the wall!”

Your body does what your heart sets out to accomplish. It’s like when you’re lucky enough to get too much sleep…how does the system react? It wants more! The day is never better, you feel like dragging you’re a** all day. That’s what the book is talking about when it speaks of having natural faith and control over one’s self power.

While kayaking…do you really think my arms are screaming, “Let’s conquer these rapids like an Olympic champion?”

No! My focus is on the end result…accomplishment.

Sickness is ramped up because this generation refuses to let go. Too many times we’re convinced that victory at work, home or at the park has to be of masterpiece value. We set unheard of goals on our self and others, buy big cars and oversized trucks, expensive video games and cell phones, take vacations at places that feature a mouse paying whatever they want just to use the bathroom. And yet…we steal music from the web. You don’t have to download it…you get it free from You Tube and Pandora. We spend so much time wanting the best only to cheat the system by stealing from other creators.

Ouch! I feel like I just stepped on a nail.

Am I the only person that suffers a major guilt trip break down while catching shows without advertising on ABC and NBC.com? I didn’t vote once on American Idol but I was upset when James was kicked off! I wanted Donald Trump to gain the power to walk through Congress and say, “You’re fired…” But would I have really voted for him on the true day of decision making?

Powers Within writes, “Self power is subliminal and subconscient.”

Having a bad day at work? Kids totally taking out your willingness to be happy? Too many bills piling up? Can’t convince anyone in the house not even yourself to stop hording things you don’t need? Does the boss treat you like a monkey in the basement of a wooden ship and it’s your mission to row? I said row! Row!

It’s not just the pollen that’s making you sick, weak and unwilling to grow forward. Wal-Mart doesn’t sell bottles of self confidence. How many people do you know that would be willing to drop what they’re doing and load up a covered wagon to cross a giant open field to new a place called home?

One of greatest stories I’ve ever read is that of the Crow Nation spending one hundred years on a walk that nearly wiped up their entire existence but through self power the nation of leaders and incredible horse handlers reached their destination of peace in the greasy lands of Montana.

When you stop chasing dreams you’ve given your mind body and soul permission to say, “My job is done…its time to let go.”

I will always believe in you first…


Thursday, May 19, 2011

I Heart Radio this summer...its time to resurface your kitchen filled with memories.

Just when you think all the great songs have been written and the biggest and best stage performances are tucked away in weather torn cardboard boxes outside the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland; the cell phone app I Heart Radio slips a sip of common sense back into place by introducing you to a few bars of harmony the car radio forgot to play.

John Mayer’s Gravity…

I guessed, assumed, thought without truly thinking that People, US Weekly, Rollingstone, Entertainment Tonight and Ryan Seacrest on American Top 40 had dumped all there was about John Mayer on us until the still hot ashes from a burning soul picked up enough oxygen to ignite a small fire in my imagination.

Music is our meat and like great hunters no warrior walks into the birth of a new morning without requiring a fresh breath of rhythms, beats and tones perfectly ripe for your ears to pick.

I Heart Radio carries an echo the future will no longer be concerned with; an age when dropping diamond tipped needle on a sliver of vinyl tore up your father’s desire to seek a corner of the world blessed with peace and quiet but the music pressed into that oil slick was never loud enough to reach the deepest darkest whispers that kept you awake at night...so you kept it cranked.

Dreams from Fleetwood Mac isn’t the best cut on Rumors; show me the middle aged man that didn’t voluntarily get wrapped tightly in The Chain or Gold Dust Woman while staring at true to life photographs of the most beautiful woman in America Stevie Nicks.

Thirty two years of day to day play it until it burns out broadcasting and I still fall to my badly scared knees melted by the unexpected presence of quality songwriting produced by open minded mentors of music that foresaw the destination of lyrics touching the edge of fifty plus years and beyond.

The Ipod connects our ultimate earth moving, mood swinging favorites like the bright green and orange plastic spools did in our bedrooms, except now we don’t have to pick our lazy butts up off the bed to walk over to the stereo to slide another ten 45’s onto the maker of beats.

The problem with the digital age has nothing to do with how easily accessible the tunes are but how much we’ve forgotten about the rhyming and timing once carefully positioned between Baby I love Your Way and Show Me The Way from Frampton.

My midlife crisis project is having the blessed opportunity to record my poetry in music form with real musicians on a mission, directors with a vision to seek higher ground and producers with enough space in their head to legally call them insane until you take four minutes and listen to their art.

Alan constantly tells me, “We’re going back to the old days…each piece is part of a story. I want to make listeners hate themselves for not listening to the entire reason why these seventeen songs flew out of you. We don’t need the Ipod generation to find your songs. The growing need in this country is a music outlet that gives back to the person that wants to escape for an hour without having to live in a past they can’t change.”

Gravity from John Mayer paints the path of solitude for the soul that’s crammed fourteen hours of work into an eight hour day but you’re only getting paid for six of it.

Why is The Eagles Greatest Hits the biggest selling collection of tunes on earth? Because every song is worth holding.

It doesn’t matter how many video’s Beyonce debuts on American Idol; today’s music is based on looping drums and guitars and it’s up to the vocalist to fill in the blanks. Gene Simmons of KISS isn’t shy to admit that few of us truly have a love for music…we’re searching for an instant escape. He calls it legalized prostitution.

What if you spent the summer of 2011 with I Heart Radio, would the balance between your left foot and right be more equal?

Constantly we complain about change without physically doing anything but adding more work to our plate. Bob Dylan isn’t the greatest poet of all time; stop Googling radio's top twenty. Today’s un-radio airplays bubbling loosely on Itunes next to the one you really want to buy sits in a pool of sweat wanting to swim through your farthest thoughts in the way deep cuts on side B mesmerized even the best jocks in high school.

Billy Corgan from The Smashing Pumpkins is a genius in the way he’s taken an approach to our aspirations to feed vibrations into our veins; he doesn’t need a record company; he only needs Social Networking to spin its magic through text messaging and Face Booking…the word is heard of a new song which you can download free…then he makes his money playing it live.

A starving artist isn’t someone that can’t sell their pieces; look deeper into the eyes of truth; starving begins when the drive to breathe is taken over by an ego addicted to making a living. The origin of the artist’s vision didn’t cost them a dingy old beat up 1922 penny…just time, which will be lost at their passing…then the family is stuck wondering what they hell their going to do with all the pieces they elected to keep hidden from the world to display.

I Heart Radio is music’s gallery…its free for the taking.


Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Is chocolate the victory or the pound you'll gain?

The tiniest things tend to put a curve in my spine; like when someone says, “Anything is possible.”

No…everything is possible.

In the new Pirates of the Caribbean seven pistols are laid out in front of Jack Sparrow; Black Beard orders him to choose any two…

Anything is possible means any one of the seven pistols has two bullets. Everything is possible means all seven are loaded.

How do you start your workday?

There used to be a time when parents would pound into the thickness of the skull, “Choose your words wisely.” What you say and how it’s presented does infect the act of moving forward."

99.9% of the time we forget the one common thing we carry into every conversation; you.

Not anything but everything shared is picked up and tossed back into your body.

A group of researchers approached me two years to help conduct a test on whether the body sends out signals before it goes into cardiac arrest; the only requirement was to step on a scale everyday and night then take a short survey. In the beginning it was fun being part of something that could one day help save lives. Two years later the moment I step on the scale the words come out, “You fat a**…you freak, you lazy creep, how can you get back to living if you can’t, can’t, can’t?”

None of those thoughts are thrown at anyone but myself…anything is possible means every once in a while I might be affected. Everything is possible says every time I mentally abuse myself…I’m damaging.

The professional nutritionist and weight trainer have vividly displayed their dislike in me participating in this test believing this is how depression and anorexia begin; when you can’t live up to the numbers society and or researchers expect you to reach disappointment takes its unsafe place in the chapters you assumed were protected.

Spending thirty seconds cutting yourself down or showing disgust in your performance grows to eight hours then six weeks, a year and it’s no longer a private issue but everyone not just any one is invited to the party. (Note: I’ve not reached that point because I write everyday and documenting everything not just anything teaches the mind and heart to pay close attention to all changes then seek leadership.)

Even that is a nasty game to play; it’s like living with the boss nonstop. In the 1980’s every radio show was harshly ripped to shreds because it was my passion to make it to the major markets Chicago, LA, Seattle only to learn after 32 years of self abuse the best I can do was never good enough for the original roots. It’s not that I didn’t get the chance to play hardball in the best fields; each time the opportunity was presented I didn’t have the confidence to step up to the next level of performance. I didn’t believe in myself enough to achieve higher success.

Think I’m alone? Look around you. There are superstars not in any office but every office that have convinced themselves and those around them that they can’t because they’ve chosen to stop trusting the body that brought them to the dance.

With a lingering recession personal drives and hardcore decisions to reach success has become something we once wanted… We’re tired! Exhausted! Burned out! So we’ve chosen to sit back and let life happen.

Anything’s possible is based on how much you put into your everyday; it may or may not become a moment of something paying off. What if your choice was to get more involved with the end result by reorganizing the words you think then deliver? What you say makes or breaks not any performance but every performance.

Sick to your stomach yet? And that’s how easy it is to take your mind off the game.

Everything is possible is when proper attention and determination succeed beyond an empty palm. Can you attain victory everyday? Yes…when you shorten the list. I’ve stopped wanting to be the big jock in the extremely large cities and realized the importance of an incredible tool; at Clear Channel, modern technology has connected every market in this nation allowing creative people to be heard in the major leagues of the biz. At no time in my 32 years could these vocals be heard in San Francisco and Minot, North Dakota without a damn good agency or agent. Thanks to a company that gets it…quality from every corner of the country is reaching areas that once featured the same ten voices over and over again.

I won trophies constantly in bowling as a kid. What caught my eye or ignited my heart to win more weren’t the big tall colorful chunks of metal but every moment of victory that collected dust. Tiny championship trophies that inspire you to conquer the world shouldn’t be measured by ego but rather by a willingness to keep reaching for more.

Anything is possible isn’t everything. Winning is a choice. If you aren’t winning you’re losing. Biting into an incredibly juicy Granny Smith apple that instantly turns your puckered lips upward and your eyes ignite like you’ve just been bit by a vampire is an incredible victory after a hard a** day at work or in the gym. Getting your hands on the remote control where you can pause it at anytime to grab more wine is a championship worth cherishing.

Everything is possible when you believe it…


Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Putting a jerk in time out without calling them out...

The left side versus the right; no matter which way you turn one side or the other is going to think the opposite is a jerk. Be careful…

Time Magazine recently posted a story based on how being a jerk can physically shorten your life and we’re not talking about how Ryan Seacrest keeps fans of American Idol on the edge of their seat when jousting us into a ten minute commercial break.

Being a jerk stirs up the bodies system creating illness.

Adding fuel to an already stoked fire is another report from The Psychological Science in the Public Interest that belts out a vocal chord stating becoming a jerk usually starts in school inside the corners blessed with the best jocks and the prettiest girls. Glee club members are more likely to enjoy a longer life than those associated with reasons to constantly offer judgment.

The American Journal of Medicine feels they need to be heard by exposing how Type A people are hard drivers that face fierce competition and strict deadlines…which can lead to being called a jerk once, twice or four thousand times.

Wait! The parties not over yet! The Journal continues to explain that Type D personalities who lack confidence are more prone to being irritable leading their feet and moods swings to unheard levels of jerk-ism. Lack of proper health knowledge and reasons to seek help are key building parts in making ones self happy therefore the expression shared is down right dirty jerky.

You can be a jerk to yourself, a family member, friend, coworker or the mail delivery person that tends to waste a lot of your time because each journey toward the box leads the average wanderer to more bills they can’t afford and extremely colorful garbage bound junk mail.

We’ve all been jerks! Mood swings are protection devices that can’t be purchased at Wal-Mart. Anger isn’t the solution it’s only a symptom. Different things trigger jerk fits that can often lead to out of control rage or split decisions that affect not only your life but several innocent bystanders.

There are five different ways to help cool off the jerk in you. First…admit you aren’t perfect. If you’ve had a recent jerk moment; recall the experience and ask yourself an extremely truthful question: how could you have handled the situation better?

I once bragged of being a perfectionist; someone who’s passion for bringing things to life exceeds a normal acceptable amount. In the Artist Way from Julia Cameron she spears the beast in the heart when she writes, “Perfectionists are never happy. They end up wasting time convincing themselves that it can be done better but end up settling for second and third best.”

#2. Place yourself in the shoes of those you just went off on. Try to understand what’s been delivered by asking yourself how you would’ve reacted if you had been them. I wouldn’t want to argue with me because the dirtiest tool in my box is the power of inflection. There’s no reason to ever raise your voice when you’ve studied Casey Kasum your entire life. A lot can be said inside seven seconds that ends up hurting someone for many decades. Get control of your willingness to be a weapon of silent destruction.

3. Try a little compassion and understanding. What’s expected of you at work might be ten fold of a different department. If you’ve got people out on the street during this recession that should’ve been called a depression trying to make connections…their journey is an hourly nightmare. We’re all pioneers in the rebuilding of America so hold open the door for a fellow walker. You don’t have to fake happiness…just be happy. Eventually it will wear off on them when you’re not around nor will they ever thank you for being positive but who cares? The main point is…you weren’t the water in their jerk stream. You were the sun trying to dry up the drops.

4. Practice, practice, practice…stop whipping out quick emails and Face Book responses and read your messages over and over and get a second and third opinion before blasting your way through a door they’ve already opened. Everybody has a bad day and there are times I look up at the Heavens and think, “Dude! Come on! Even Charlie Sheen catches a break every now and then!”

5. When you feel a moment of jerk-ness coming on…do five things, anything just make it five. I do push ups, then sit ups, I’ll Google a famous artist and look at their work or hit You Tube and listen to a childhood favorite song from KISS or Stairway to Heaven, The Eagles or a complete unknown trying to pull off a good performance. Do five things…just don’t give yourself permission to be a jerk.

Nobody has the right to invade the chapters you write. Jerks are like earthquakes, hurricanes and unexpected floods on the Mississippi…they’ll never help clean up what they just created. Never take on a jerk…my way of handling a total killer of time and space is to smile while they’re going off. I’ll be the dude with the full tank energy unwilling to pull over to pick them up when their engines are out of gas. That sounds like I’m a jerk! Not really…it’s a signal that a line in the sand has been crossed and it’s up to you to decide how to handle the situation. I laugh a child's giggle because this is how I fight in Tae Kwon Do...the person across from me doesn't see fire in my eyes...I smile then toss in a laugh to loosen up their desire to knock me out. I've only been knocked out once and never want to experience it again.

The difference between sympathy and empathy? Sympathy is when you jump in the hole and hoist their tail back to happiness while they walk away without helping you back to your feet. Empathy is when you throw them a rope and tell them to figure it out. That’s not being a jerk…that’s being protective of your mind, body and soul.

I will always believe in you first…


Monday, May 16, 2011

Grow a set of new rules

Its not that I’m a snoop or have a burning desire to catch tossed out passing phrases from people I’ll never see again; we’ve either evolved into an extremely vocal crowd of wandering gadget collectors or I hear dead people.

Nothing inspires me more than a set of unperfected lips that failed to abide by the keep it to yourself rules and swiftly let fly all that was inside. Why should we waste so much time in states of assumption if people are incredibly willing to give you what you think they’re thinking?

If more time was spent paying attention to what other’s are throwing out the next great invention might be connected to your name.

Jim Delligatti kept his ears clean as a medical machine making sure he was constantly up to date with his clients demands; they wanted more burger, bigger flavor, an experience that complimented rather than took from their busy life and schedule. The company Jim worked for was extremely strict and very determined to never step off a path of success until the day Mr. Delligatti added another sliver of bread and meat to the already extremely popular sandwich; we’re talking two all beef patties special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions on a sesame seed bun.

Being a snoop or catcher of vocal vibrations bouncing off walls decorated with happy faces and bright colors gave way for Jim to invent the Big Mac.

The first microwave oven was introduced to the world when Percy Spencer accidently took his thoughts about improving radar technology and melted a chocolate bar.

Stepping outside the bun isn’t a new millennium or a post recession act of courage; the power to deliver requires nothing more than chance meeting reality.

Thomas Edison tried over 1,000 times to make light work inside a glass bulb. Samuel L Clemmons (Mark Twain) tore up the guidelines of grammar and proper punctuation to become one of this nations most inspiring storytellers. When asked about writing his autobiography the reaction was to abruptly interrupt the interviewer, “What I write is about my life…why would you want anything more?”

Once finally convinced the pages were to be released 100 years after his passing giving writers and publishers in 2011 the opportunity to live life through his eyes in ways of better understanding how to pick up after everything feels like its been dropped off.

The journey to get there is almost never as simple as picking up a writing instrument, guitar, chicken wing, football or acting lesson; and yet more today than anytime in history we’ve been gifted with an equal playing field.

Corporate Pyramids are passĂ©…the worker bee’s have nothing to lose because everything’s already been taken away. Time being time and a lot is required in an age where trust isn’t so readily available…the new goal is to locate leverage.

Mission statements based on do as I do not as I say are quickly being replaced by open door standards based on trying new things.

Seth Godin helps paint the new portrait of a much different landscape; the idea of chasing dreams up a company ladder doesn’t fit well in the recently laid out walls of a new business nation.”

Innovation and leaders who understand the reason for change have resurfaced the city streets of getting known and loved without totally whacking out other people’s energies to feed your personal bank account.

On the other side of the mirror; major corporations have grocery store shelves to fill and millions of cars to get off the assembly line onto car lots oversaturated with the some of the hardest working sales reps on earth. Nobody is out to rip you off…this nation has had the life sucked out of it; 98% of the workforce is locked in survivor mode with no air left in its lungs to reach up to the weather wood on the stage and pull off an encore performance.

The little guy business is listening where as big business can still afford valuable research based on what people demanded six months ago. I love taking phone surveys not because I enjoy sharing information but it gives me a clear shot at talking to someone who accepted a job because they are trying to survive. I ask to further my education on how a real America is keeping its life together versus what People Magazine describes.

I find pleasure in playing the stupid childhood game 20 questions. By the time they get off the phone I have enough information to write ten blogs and do seventy five radio breaks. Through modern technology I’m able to share a thought on the radio based on what I experienced or heard, a listener instantly responds on Face Book, Twitter or email and within seconds I connect right back creating a relationship. I may never get the chance to be the on-air jock I dreamed of becoming as a child but damn if I’m not going to continue taking Broadcasting to the next level which is through Social Media. No bosses to tell me to brag about another four in a row without interuption...wait I just talked!

Seth Godin admits growth and success are now inextricably linked to breaking the old rules.

Like prayer…sometimes you gotta stop texting and fricken listen. That’s how you get ahead in a world consumed by too much BS about nothing.

I will always believe in you first…


Thursday, May 12, 2011

How to succeed in a world where bosses expect you to fail....

November 1979…Billings Senior High School; a mentally but not necessarily physically young punk kid with barely a page of street smarts tucked loosely in his back pocket held onto a few aspirations, to be a top scoring hockey junky for the Bighorns, a loud as can be beat pounding rock star like Steven Tyler and Gene Simmons or the Big Sky Country’s version of an out of control Wolfman Jack on transistor and bedside clock radio’s.

“It’s not going to happen…” The Current Events teacher spilled out onto the plate of reality. “I can’t see you being anything more than a busboy at the Muzzle Loader CafĂ©.”

“Wait a second!” The student angrily interrupted. “I lay out three extremely important paths of choice and the best you can come up with is someone stuck erasing what Montana families of ten or more with messy kids deliver?”

“The highest grade you have is a D plus! You have three F’s… You’re Creative Writing teacher calls you a nightmare because the idea of following rules requires an act of congress. You aren’t going to make it out of here unless you drop out like your brother.”

Goethe once said, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”

Henrik Ibsen wrote, “The strongest man in the world is he who stands most alone.”

Gandhi inspired millions when releasing, “Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”

A quote from Lao Tzu, “While loving someone or something deeply you shall be given courage.”

And now you know why I quit the garage band, hung up the hockey skates, threw away my wishes to meet girls in accounting class and bravely took on the Creative Writing instructor exclaiming, “Being different in the way I play with words is my accent and you’d never tell a Texan to speed up a long drawn out drawl!”

She must have put a wicked spell on me because where am I? In the South! Plus I find tremendous pleasure in teaching! Cough! Gag! Curse! But I graduated with a B plus and the rest A's. I can’t be proud of that…because I know where the low grades came from…it was too easy to give up and it took a Government teacher with ba**s to put the left foot in front of the right.

You don’t need a radio disc jockey to tell you that strength is a virtue and talent is the gift. We’ve all known someone who’s incredibly talented but feature no physical or mental strength. Becoming a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do had nothing to do with how well I kicked, punched and tried to tear up the mat. I was the freak that became spiritually connected to the deepest levels of mental travel vowing to better understand the art of how a little wind and water changes everything.

Those on the outside believe belts are handed out to anyone willing to fork out the right amount of monthly money. I’m here to tell you that just ain’t happening. If that was the case Master Harris should’ve given me my 3rd degree belt in the moments after my July 21, 2009 heart attack; eight fricken classes shy of the big test and a much higher power whispered, “You haven’t learned s***.”

Strength is a virtue and talent is the gift.

The 1980’s and 90’s American attitude was, “We’re the best! Nobody can beat us! We’re so damn big and strong that we’re going to give jobs away to other countries who think they can out smart, out perform and double the delivery speed this nation has spent decades perfecting.” How’s that workin for ya?

Richard Andrew King writes in his book The Black Belt Book of Life; the Secrets of a Martial Arts Master, “The Wall….through their sweat, blood, tears, hopes and dreams they have come—seeking, striving to reach a pinnacle only few have conquered; seeking to rise above the mediocre and mundane to stand apart in triumph. But the wall, standing as an edifice to courage, determination and the substance of a relentless spirit, has broken all but just a few—the few who could not be broken; the few who can truly claim to be named a Black Belt.”

Picked up on a Katy Couric CBS News story last night; the number of free spirits who’ve shoved their middle fingers high into the Corporate American air and said, “I can do this without you.” And just like that lazy bump in the middle of a gravel road at Billings Senior they’ve opened their ruffled feathers and learned the flight of the wind.

No day passes that you won’t be challenged. If life wasn’t supposed to be a test we’d all be winners on American Idol and The Voice. No matter how stinky your armpits are; it should be your daily challenge to exercise your indomitable will.

When I signed on to this journey in June of 62 nobody stood at the front door of the womb shouting, “You won’t be part of the Baby Boomer Generation nor will you qualify for Gen X and Y. You’ll be part of the people that’ll be in between and that means no radio station will figure out what your favorite songs are therefore learn to love all things including Hip Hop and the B-52’s.”

The Beatles did nothing for me but George Harrison proved you can make a lot of waves without Lennon and McCartney at your side.

Strength is a virtue and talent is the gift.

If someone tells you your writing and speaking habits suck…congratulations! For a brief moment you had an honest to God listener! Let it out! Everything you dream or your inner voice will get as stinky as your arm pits…that’s it…put your nose down there and take a whiff…the next step has to start somewhere. Never forget the smell of failure.


Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Happiness isn't a job!

Hours after being hit by a middle of the night thunder cracker that rocked fifty thousand free of electricity, those lucky enough to wake up on time found themselves slowly traipsing toward a freshly vacuumed world nicely redesigned by nature taking a theatrical walk.

Without a wasteful thought burped up in the center of a lazily displayed sentence not a sole will make their way to work today without thinking about how that explosive display of something we can’t control is going to leave marks on your daily expectations.

Hark! I hear thy 9 to 5 angels blaring their voices in unison!

“I’m tired…”

“I stayed up all night with the dogs and kids...can you do this for me?”

“I’m not going to be able to come to work. It feels like the flu.”

“I’m running late because we had no electricity.”

Whip out your writing instruments and pen out a letter to the nature editor because excuses don’t fly with me. What? You’re a jerk! Yep…and its all based on a single thought: Dare to be happy.

We drink coffee to feel happy. We slam tiny jugs of go juice called 5 Hours which ran into a ton of competition from 6 and 7 Hours. I was just introduced to a really cool hit the other day quietly named Insane. Locating your footsteps at the mall during lunch and before dinner is an incredible way to get happy.

Stop looking at the reflection in the computer screen and face the future knowing most friends, coworkers and family figures absolutely without a doubt refuse to allow themselves to be happy, enthusiastic, light hearted, inspired and or relaxed.

The number one reason is based on fear…the fear of what happy looks like to other people.

Whoa! Hold on now! Coworkers who look relaxed are instantly branded lazy. Employees that constantly grow a positive flow aren’t invited to Taco Parties because as I’ve heard a hundred times, “I’m not in the mood for you today…your upbeat energy is too much for me to handle this early.”

Dare to be happy.

I didn’t say dare to be a Disney character or pretend you’re Bradley Cooper in Hangover II. The act doesn’t have to be a stage show at all…be you but in a happy suit. Wait…I almost puked myself.

According to Dr. Richard Carlson, “Happy people don’t lack motivation. A little bit of happiness in your day sharpens your listening skills while adding a positive curve to learning how to do your job faster and better.”

Unhappy people are rigid, stressed out, locate misery in every corner and end up complaining all eight working hours about not getting the chance to grow in the company. Unhappy people feel victimized making sure people know they can’t be solution oriented when constantly under fire.

Ok freak! How can a negative person become energized? Dare yourself to be happy. Setbacks and failures become things you laugh at rather than carry it on your back already broken by yesterday’s lack of interest.

Dr. Carlson believes being level headed gives birth to a positive change and it happens immediately.

At the birth of the recession the idea of finding work was unfavorably under attack by forces I couldn't control but never, never and I mean never did I let it poison my heart. Make your fricken bed! Start the journey off with a nicely made bed so you have something to look forward to.

In martial arts Master Harris constantly drove winning is a choice into our thick out of control ego driven skulls. Words are words which usually mean nothing on the morning after an extremely loud late night banger of a storm that fed your ambition every reason to believe the bones you haul around serve no purpose.

Yeah…try and use that line on a Wal-Mart Greeter…there are days when the person standing at the door completely lifts what little I had to a level of better performance which means I eat less and the weight stays off my chest.

Dare to be happy because winning is a choice. And if too much of my positive energy sends you over the edge; I’m completely ok with that…I’ve been to hell and I’m not going back.

I’ll always believe in you first…


Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Creating reality that moves chickens...

Being a writer doesn’t come with guarantees; not even a sheet of paper to toss words out like candy at a Thanksgiving Day Parade. Yet like cackling chickens in beat up weathered hen houses everything resembles clutter until a passerby gets too close to the fences separating shared conversation from the real world inviting everything to stop.

Have you ever walked into a chicken gathering? The rooster is usually the first to take note of the unannounced visitation. Within seconds the cluck, cluck, clackity cluck, clucking becomes an instant bawk stare, bawk bawk…pace the dirt stained floor of the house, bawk, stare.

Growing up in Montana jeans and colorful KISS T-shirts much of my chores were spent studying the path of the egg maker. As much as one might learn from the calm protective mannerisms of the hen fluffed out in bin number sixteen; it was usually the runner that inspired me the most…she who constantly located secret places to stack her creations so the human child couldn’t place them in metal buckets.

She was onto me…a chameleon decked out in white feathers sporting a dull red comb; easily coming across as the typical seen one chicken you’ve seen them all. But that’s not true if you take the time to study everything around you. Runners get extremely nervous when the human enters areas of assumed covert operations. They begin to walk with tempo knowing something they cherish dearly is about to be invaded.

I never took a runner’s eggs. Dad would get red faced and furious calling my act of cowardly ways as being an open door for snakes, rats and raccoons to step inside an inner city farmer’s Wafflehouse after midnight and take on the sunny side up egg-travaganza.

No morning sunrise can glide across the open sky until the human approach to living is given sound.

It’s when you walk into an already born conversation that you qualify to take with you the methods of communication your circle of friends and family use to make sure the next set of twenty four hours delivered have reason to be remembered.

The everyday human hen house is brimming with out of control writers of all types without having to label or tag the concept as being the stick figure stuck holding a pen in one hand while the other lazily balances the pages perfectly so you don’t skip out of the lines.

There are so many different styles of writing; pictures from a past make a great place to begin but it’s completely unhealthy to live there. Sonic booms blessed with incredibly cool ideas rock your desire to make a difference at work only to come face to face with decision makers nibbling on secret agendas that won’t include you until they introduce change.

But does this runner invite rats, snakes and raccoons? As a writer you can take cartoon characters and turn them into storylines that become e-books, reasons to blog and or chapters for a long or short story.

If only you trusted your eyes more you’d be a much better writer.

Julia Cameron calls it painting the room. Bring life to your expression by exposing the growing crack in the wall near the ceiling while uncovering the scent of last nights dinner refusing to leave the house and yet its gentle kiss in the morning makes way for the positive actions and reactions to what played out before calling it quits so late in the evening.

Writing can also be rapping. Between 1985 and 1990 the thought of being a poet with a pen was an embarrassing journey so I elected to do what is now called Slamming…taking words and putting them out in the open by way of expressing deeply the message so that those in attendance didn’t waste their time trying to figure out what the artist meant. While Hip Hop and Gangsta were slowly coming onto the scene there I was in the studio banging the beats in a way most musicians never touched because being a rock star meant you either sounded like Steven Tyler and Ashford and Simpson or you disrespecting Bob Dylan.

For the first time in nearly ten years I went back to those dusty cassette tapes like a chicken farmer returns to his hen house. There they were packed with just as much egg making energy as the day they were created except this time I laughed because no matter how hard you try to change the presence of your future steps…what you assumed was great no longer lives up to your current expectations. That’s the writer in me talking.

Writers may come across weird and drawn in so creative people tend to stay free of judgment. Radio people usually don’t understand anything beyond microphones and the speakers that connect listeners to their world. To be writing with rhythm and rhyme orchestrated a stage presence that thoroughly kept me from DJ circles laced with free concert tickets and talk about a Led Zep reunion, Bon Jovi being a real rock band and the freakishly hard drive behind a new song from Phil Collins called Su Susudio.

How you speak and what you discuss, text, email and put out there for others to read or listen to makes you a writer. Rather than be the runner that hides your eggs, learn to be the big ole fluffy hen with Rock n Roll stripes down your back that sits in bin number fourteen and cackles like no tomorrow the very second one of those eggs becomes a part of everybody’s reality.

The problem with today’s business world is we’ve lost the natural born leaders that once coached writers, painters, incredible thinker’s and do it all costs…today we do by way of surviving and in the end we’re nothing more than chickens hiding from everyday life in the shell of a worn out tire tossed into a hen house that’s never prepared for an unannounced rat, snake or raccoon to enter.

What will you write today?

I will always believe in you first…


Monday, May 9, 2011

A new way to raise money for teachers!

I’m not one hundred percent unless the path below my feet delivers messages that were meant to reach up grab my toes and trip a constantly wandering imagination.

Being open to such cartoon characterizations is like working the media field dressed up in movie critic clothes; it can never be your goal only to watch what you assume is good, great or better than...

While pacing through Stanley County the writer in me took note of the incredibly large number of street names printed on thin green signs stuck feet first into the rolling hills of some of this nations most beautiful countryside; I was in the middle of nowhere yet the picture painted told the tale of my two feet being somewhere.

Most streets led to a dead end while others carried gravel from the larger than life mailbox visited once maybe twice a week to the front door of the Southern style that’s decorated the lay of this land well before our chapters were set free in the passing breeze called modern times.

There were so many streets! It reminded me of a day in May 1994 when I introduced my wife to the cattle fields I grew up on in Ranchester, Wyoming; it was calving season and she felt this burning desire to free the numbered orange tags from their perky little ears and personally name all 1,250 new head. After about thirty or so big, bright and sexy calf eyes later…her desire had swiftly turned to, “Show me the bull that made all this happen.”

The tiniest things continue to fascinate what I’ve always written off as being the typical little boy adventure; from once invisible streams that called out to me to build a twig dam to frogs, lizards and spiders greeting me at the door wondering how much longer it’ll be before radio turns me loose so I can spend more time playing in the trees.

For 911 to work in Stanley County, North Carolina…street names are required on dirt covered back roads, long a** drive ways that take you to a barn, chicken coup or a swimming pool designed to look like a backyard pond. The goal is to create a connection between all the little places humans love to hide with the emergency vehicles that may one day be required.

We’ve changed the lay of this land so much in the past ten years that even the locals are getting lost.

While sitting with a Medicine Man in 1998, he shared with me the way his nation once traveled showcasing rocks, split tree trunks, creeks with four boulders and hill tops much balder than an eagle as being their mile markers. A simple plant such as a Yucca, Fern, Wild Rose or Queens Lace would speak to those searching; allowing them to find safe passage during times when highways were trails over mountain passes…get it…I took the high way to the lake so that we could fish.

As much as we love our GPS systems I’ve yet to meet the soul that puts 100% of their trust in its way of leading us toward a proper destination. I laugh heartedly when I hear stories about innocent vacationers getting lost in places the Bermuda Triangle fears. I being one of them this past Saturday while searching for a road called Snickers.

How could I forget a name like that? There’s no better combination of peanuts and chocolate! I wholeheartedly believed I was ahead of the game until the highway no longer resembled what the GPS was singing. Thank God I sport a funky watch that constantly measures the rhythms of my heart…while the numbers wanted rise completely ripping a part an incredible day…it served as a reminder for me to remember; just breathe…only to remember all things in Stanley County come with names…especially driveways.

Now I’m jealous! Why does Stanley County get to name everything but we city slickers are stuck with raunchy number? I want a name for my driveway! I want a larger than life sign with glow in the dark lettering that exposes to the world that this itty bitty slab of concrete blessed with extremely high city county and state taxes is where I live.

Which brings me to the most difficult question of the week; if given permission to be just like Stanley County…what would name your driveway?

Oooops…hold on there are rules to the Stanley County game. According to Larry and Kim from Bella Gardens you’re given three empty spaces to suggest a name…kinda like having a personalized tag for your car. He was told the county always takes the first name on the list only to learn they went with the third.

So! If the Mecklenburg County and the City of Charlotte were to become Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez cool and up to date like Stanley County and let’s say they charged 30 bucks a year then give it to the teachers…would you change the name of your driveway?

What three names would you send in?

My Mom would spout, "Such nonsense will give families reason to pick another fight."

As much as I’d love for my itty bitty teeny weenie little sliver of the Carolinas to be named The Poet’s Forest…my wife would drop kick and tie me down so I didn’t get to the mailbox with the list. She’d want something named after her grandchildren or He Never Mows the Lawn or Creative Nightmare.

That’s ok…another great reason to build onto the driveway…a quick turn before it hits the garage! Now I get two street names! Forget watering the lawn! Get out there and make your driveway look hotter than the neighbors.

Then Wilson from Fox 18 would have to do a television ratings story based on the hottest names people are using for their driveway: Monkey Grass, My Rose Garden Paradise, Mike’s Yard, Stay Out and Mine!

Please give me a road sign for my driveway! But only if 100% of the profit goes to teachers.


Thursday, May 5, 2011

You've heard of the Christmas that almost wasn't? Guess what?

Mother’s Day weekend: A single twenty four hour period where we honor one half of the songwriting team that penned out the lyrics of the song baring your name. She’s the keeper of late night kisses on the forehead, the master planner of instant dinners created on the cuff, the vocabulary corrector when being young means learning new dirty words and she’s the hand you held when nothing else felt right in the palms you kept clenched while trying to runaway from a brutal world.

Where is Casey Kasum when you need him? One look at reality and we could all use a Long Distance Dedication to heat up our hidden emotions. Tell me you haven’t taken note of the tremendous amount of openly displayed without guilt but rather pleasure of seriously ice cold actions, reactions and deliveries from family, friends and coworkers.

Having two hundred names attached to your page on Face Book doesn’t make you friendly…but rather choosey. One friend told me, “To be on my page I better have had dinner with you or shared some sort of working relationship.”

So what’s this got to do with Mother’s Day? As each year passes fewer Mother’s are feeling the love. The second Sunday in May is quickly becoming just another day. We’ve been allowed to be so incredibly free to express our sounds that simple moments of discomfort have driven wedges between people that are supposed to be bound together for life. Kinda like vampires.

Websites breathing honest feelings sink into the eyes of a passerby showcasing reasons why the writer no longer felt a need to love their Mother. I’m not saying its wrong; but would you give candy to a baby at 11:00 at night? To error is human, to be a follower is human nature. Face Book isn’t leadership; it’s a new frontier of accepted cults.

The only reason why half the nation is furious with the Presidents decision to not release the final pictures of Bin Laden is because as our leader he’s saying, “No you can’t!”

Someone writes about not loving their Mother and it’s amazing how many followers are instantly attached to the apron strings connected to the message. Why don’t you love your Mom? Because we can… ouch!

I come from a family that’s been pulled a part so many times there’s not a member in the bunch that could locate the word love even on dictionary.com. But if you stare at a forest fire long enough eventually you’ll see reasons to believe in the continuation of the original song. Seconds after a swollen tree stumbles to the forested floor, its heart reaches to plant in the soil an array of seeds assumed gone forever but being the Mother of the circle that fed the roots of survival, the music in the center of the rings making up its history took from its soul a reason to believe in tomorrow.

Four ways to reignite some family love into the dark chapters that resembled sun warped compact disc’s or an Ipod who’s battery flat out sucks and doesn’t pump up the volume unless someone is yelling about something other than offering a helpful hand or support.

It’s time to forget and forgive the past. **** or get off the pot. So you had a bad couple of pages in the book of love. Indifference is what shapes the windows to the soul that leads the rest of you to believe love exists in a world chilled by lack of respect.

I laugh a lot. A program director accused me of being fake and or nervous when in fact I laugh so I don’t have to carry the weight of misunderstanding. The hourly goal should be to rise above the petty arguments created by someone’s opinion or poor choice of direction.

Some people’s Mom’s over saturate their children’s lives and I have a Mom that said, “Go live life!” She never calls me! Not because she hates me or doesn’t approve of the radio career that took her son 2,000 miles away from home; all Mom’s want the best for their children.

Be a family leader and strengthen your family ties. My real father had several families and God love Jamie and Susan for busting their rears for reaching into places the parental figures wouldn’t talk about so the non-loving way would stop. Get to know your Mother again…I bet she has new hobbies, surfs the web while your Dad's watching rodeo’s on Classic ESPN and might actually have an eye on actor Bradley Cooper…I’ve never come across the sentence in a do it all book that states Mom’s can’t be friends.

I can see the emails now, “You’re a jerk! You have no clue what I’ve been through! I came from a life of blank! Blank! Blank! I will never have another relationship with my Mother again!”

Wow…let me close my writing book; we’re ending our blogging session 59 minutes early today. You don’t need me…you’ve already got life figured out and in all honesty I’m not interested in the time you’re wasting in a personal pursuit to make a point that could easily be resolved.

Mother’s day is a single twenty four hour period with the average cell phone call lasting no longer than ten minutes. If peace is what you seek then you must learn to walk in peace. Plan your day and stick to the layout of the path. Send an email, branch out to a Tweet or send a single flower of any color to the front door without a name being attached.

Like vampires Mom’s are connected to their children in ways we can’t explain. If she sends it back; holy cow she didn’t like the color or scent. If you give up then you’ve taught someone how easy it is to let go in a world already blessed with too many quitters.

Mother’s Day is Sunday…be you without interrupting someone else’s journey.

I’ll always believe in you first…


Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The first step after you've cleaned your Spring...

Five Wounds; a strong warrior from the Nez Perce nation once shared, “Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”

People don’t know how to react when I say, “It is my dream, my fantasy to pick up my house and pour it into a giant dumpster for no reason other than to free myself from collected stuff.”

But which house has more to haul away? The one built of wood and windows created by many men with hammers and roofing shingles or the single living space held together by a weathered imagination set free to run into the same face in mirror called self?

I cheated during this game by allowing these ten fingers to paint daily words onto pages; therefore I’m not forced into uncontrolled spirit sweat fighting to remember what living was like because no moment has passed that I haven’t documented. Being just as playful as I was during the kid chapters; heartedly I laugh when I sit with my daughters two children and threaten to turn their wedding day into moments where the old guy is going to rip from the waterproof boxes the chapters he had written during their terrible twos and pouty bouts when being with Mom and Dad seemed more important than exploring Charleston, a rundown nearly invisible lake with giant bugs the size of Christmas and the nearest McDonalds that always has incredible French Fries.

While cleaning out my Grandma Dobrenz’s home in Sheridan, Wyoming I swore boxes brimming with nothingness and bookshelves with chapters nobody beyond them would read wouldn’t become part of my collected dust. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I still have shirtless, no muscles or chest hairs to be found Rock n Roll photos of my wanna-be high school garage band. What I find interesting are the enormous amount of mental images I still have plastered in my thought process versus a physical snap shot taken by just anybody that stopped by because loud music is just cool when you’re a teen.

“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”

Nightly I bend at the knees when Katie Couric shares stories on CBS about survivors locating simple things after being brutally attacked by Japan’s tsunami, the unheard of wreckage in the south caused by the worst string of tornadoes in forty years and the never ending reminder of what September 11, 2001 did to all of us. While materialistic carries value for your eyes, fingers and something to smell…it’s what we hold inside that termites can’t reach but reality has no problem destroying.

I don’t remember there being a class in high school that exposed late teens and budding college roomies to figure out how to seek better shelter. We made Baked Alaska in cooking not how to build a fire without matches. That’s what Boy Scouts do not rock stars. My loss…

No matter what house you choose, if you could pick it up and pour everything out…what would you be willing to let go of? Actually I’d be more afraid of what I’d find. The stuff you assumed was long beyond your current step or the one time weight that nearly took you out and damn if you didn’t just put it back on your shoulders.

How many times have you located a pill bottle and thought; I wonder if this stuff still works? Every now and then I’ll sift through my shoved into a very dark corner art work created over a decade ago and without a doubt I find pleasure in lightly rubbing my fingers across a peaked color knowing why I didn’t smooth it out. A leaf from a tree that was placed in a baggie then crushed by a larger than life book or the boutonniere my son in law war on his wedding day in Los Angeles when I sat in the back row sketching everything witnessed but I’ve never gained the confidence to share any of it with him.

I shove my stuff into my heart then give it permission to be worn on my sleeve.

“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”

Does this mean we can’t get rid of what no longer carries the scent of a one time favorite perfume or cologne? When Jethro Tull came to Billings, Montana in the late 70’s they tossed a humungous air filled ball into the crowd…it took no time for that baby to explode…I still have a piece of it. Leif Garrett signed a dollar bill for me. I have an Ace Frehley of KISS guitar pick…a picture of me at 17 with my face cut and leg wrapped after being beat up badly while playing hockey.

If this is the stuff I collect on the outside…what’s being covered with dust in the opposite direction?

“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”

I hold true to the self I’ve become when I admit that one of my worst mistakes was sending a giant card to ABC Watermark in Los Angeles applying for Casey Kasum’s job on American Top 40. As close as I got is nothing compared to how far I am from wanting to be what I truly set out to become. Therefore I’ve settled…and I’m not the only one.

“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”

Picture postcards never fade not even in the sun and the words written on the back carry just as much impact as they did the moment your eyes convinced your heart they were meant to be read. As much as you take in everyday is the amount you should release on the other side; instead we add to it by creating shortcuts to better feelings and acceptance. My good friend Todd once said to me, “I’m glad you never discovered the incredible high drugs give to people because if you had…you’d be dead.”

“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”

What’s in your house?


Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Straight from my Mother's lips...

Just like Madonna, The Beatles, Bill Clinton and the VW Bugs; all things reinvented can only achieve success if properly marketed at the right place at the right time.

From Diane Sawyer to Katy Couric, NBC’s Brian Williams and countless of sleepless reporters positioned on local and national fronts; this weeks hot button is a statement my mother used billions of times when I’d lose something of value, “It’s probably hidden in plain sight.”

Hidden in plain sight…no dining in caves or playing racquet ball on the walls of an arcade in the center of Alkida; Osama Bin Laden was free to be. Is anybody shocked? Look at the years and months before September 11, 2001…those involved drove on our streets, ate in our favorite restaurants and probably watched as Donald Trump got richer and richer.

Hidden in plain sight…your car keys, the blue, black or brown sock, lighter fluid for the grill, the hammer or screw driver; no day passes that we aren’t searching for something. Like your career; finding success on the jagged edge of a recession that won’t go away is no different than sending the military out to find a killer.

Sweat, dedication, loyalty and determination means nothing to American business owners and the stockholders they have clinging to their weak knees. The nation has become so oversaturated with the present that accountants have forgotten that a vision of the future is required to make to the doors of tomorrow open. So they create shortcuts that become too costly forcing decision makers to sit in a pair of $1,000 shoes at their $40,000 desk on $80,000 carpets and say two words, “Cut back.”

Maybe, just maybe the answer to locating success without shipping it overseas is hidden in plain sight.

A great read is The Invisible Gorilla and Other ways Our Intuitions Deceive Us.

People think I’m a freak for endlessly seeking the entire layout of all things connected. I’ve been labeled paranoid as well as horrified of the future before it arrives and yet very few understand that I’m doing nothing more than playing a game taught to my child self by the cast and crew of Sesame Street: One of these things is not like the other things.

The Invisible Gorilla is the man woman or young adult that stood in front of you at the convenience store and you didn’t see them put the candy bar in their pocket or reach around the power pills and sexual enhancers and pull a few coins from the donation bucket. When asked what they looked like or what they were wearing, the imagination takes over giving no one a full view of the show you had a front row seat to.

NASA pulled off a airlines study where they experimented with what commercial pilots see while flying giant 727’s. Pilots aren’t just anybody’s…they’re some of the most experienced people on the planet having flown for the United States Air Force or have put in thousands of hours of flight time for other operations. The pilots were put in simulators to test their landing skills during times of bad weather, slippery runways or conditions of an unexpected nature. Over and over the pilots performed the tests to the point of near perfection and then NASA took it to a different level, during a strong thunderstorm with horrid winds and damaging lightning the scientists inserted an another airplane on the runway; they didn’t see it. It was hidden in plain sight.

Because of these tests changes are continuously made to save lives. Between 2004 and 2007 the FAA reported 1,353 runway incursions in the United States, only one of them resulted in a collision.

A police officer was sent to prison because he couldn’t prove to those investigating an on-the-ground chase that he wasn’t the person behind the smoking gun. His mind couldn’t generate the picture of what took place therefore the evidence was against him until he was able to locate lawyers who trusted his story sending them back out to the streets to locate the truth.

Hidden in plain sight…the stepfather figure used to yell at me, “You wouldn’t know where your head was if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders!”

I must not be the only one; look at us today with cell phones connected to websites, bank accounts, business emails and clients that never stop demanding, digital notebooks, IPods crammed with every song that rocks our world and gas guzzling vehicles that better come with half the stuff we’ve got readily available at home plus a new car smell. Who has the time to watch what’s taking place in the corners of our eyes.

Why are there so many invisible gorillas in our current chapters? According to my eye doctor it’s because the shape of the human eye is moving through an evolution. Everything we own, read and invite into our pleasures is on a flat screen; we were born to hunt and inside a real world things that are round don’t fit into the rectangle hole.

She loves the idea that we’re glued to our cell phones and Kindles because it increases our reasons to visit the eye doctor. The invisible gorilla here…we’re teaching ourselves the fine art of no longer paying attention to round balls coming at us across a home plate that could lead us to scoring major points.

Hidden in plain sight…wait wait! I’m using the wrong word. No wonder we’ve become blind in parking lots and fail to see accidents on freeways so we cause another then another. The only sight the majority of us know is spelled “site.” What website is that again?

Never forget the golden rule of security; those who are aware of the paths they walk know when one of these things is not like the others. Being a second degree black belt means nothing to a criminal; they come with no rules and will fight until there’s nothing left to give. Therefore your only requirement is to never put yourself in a position of danger and if a single object doesn’t fit with the entire scene it’s not your mission to become Rambo but rather find every reason to quickly leave. Constantly search for the invisible gorilla knowing how easy it is to hide in plain sight.


Monday, May 2, 2011

Don't just sit there! Do something!

Did you know the average human year isn’t what you were taught in school; fifty two weeks or twelve months? Unless it’s leap year the truest shape of our annual path around the galaxy is 365.242199 days in length.

And how many of those point 242199’s has your boss made you work? If you collect enough of them doesn’t that qualify you for some serious overtime pay or better insurance?

I’d love to be the fly on a wall, “Sir…I read on a blog today that we’ve put in an extra .242199 amount of time…I’m thinking you owe me 11.645338 cents.”

It’s television ratings time, I’m shocked Channel Three, Nine and NBC 6 haven’t used these shocking facts to uncover the names of employees who are still owed money, “Tonight at five; companies could go belly up because backlogs show they haven’t paid their share of the point 242199 extra day people have worked.”

It doesn’t seem like much until you mix it in with some good dirt; walk around any McDonald’s parking lot and you’re bound to find another penny or quite possibly a dime to go with those 11.645338 cents in your pocket. We are living the good times!

But who’s willing to take the step to cover their financial butt?

Don’t forget willingness is nothing more than desire. I call it junk talk; wishful thinking, a passing thought or a wow that would be cool moment often heard around campfires, backyard BBQ’s, standing in the long lines at Carowinds, sitting at a red light uptown or on my Uncle Willie’s farm in Ranchester, Wyoming where the hired help sit and discuss the days plans at 5am while throwing down incredibly greasy bacon, hotter than life eggs and toasts that’s been stacked higher than the chimney across the room.

What we constantly forget aren’t the happiest of times but rather how to grow an idea and or willingness into a physical fire breathing I did this reality. Willingness is a mosquito that lands on your arm but never finds the time to suck your blood.

Effort makes your moment into a success story.

Yes its true “will” comes from a deeper being or higher reality but what lacks knowing and or knowledge fails to escape the surface of your colorful eyes.

Oh my god that was even too deep for me! But true!

My entire life I had the willingness, desire, passion and way to write books and deliver them to readers in far away countries but because I allowed myself the right to hold a wishful thought higher than creating a path of effort all six books now published sat in boxes completely hidden from a potential passerby.

I made it my inside joke; when I turn 65 every book idea jotted down inside these daily writings will one day become books sent out to dance on the steps of a wandering imagination. I had a heart attack at 47...what if I never make to 65?

True power, a performance worth holding, an event be it a wedding, graduation, leaving your dusty old pain in the rear job to putting the last brick in the foundation of a walkway leading to your flower garden; true power cannot exist until you’ve reached beyond the stages of willingness.

How can you do this? Millions of people go to work everyday believing their only hope isn’t to have a roof over their head but an insurance card in their pocket. There’s got to be a better place to dream! Knowledge is the shell that teaches the rest of you that it’s ok to let go.

I’ll never forget Master Harris calmly reminding his black belts, “On test day; I’m going to work you harder than any time in your life. You will be challenged to quit. I will put you in situations that confuse your mind body and soul so much your only desire will be to sit down and if you elect to do that I’ll make you hold a brick over your head until the test is over. With effort there will be success. Effort will put you on the black belt path. As difficult as it may seem always remember my right hand is firmly wrapped around the belt you wear and I will not let you fall off the mountain.”

People get into martial arts to kick, punch and slam by way of knocking down intruders you’ll probably never meet. We get really really good at protecting our tough little selves wishfully thinking that one day we’ll be Masters only to learn such desires melt like ice cream unless you gain the knowledge of a real world and allow it to be shaped on your black belt path; which in essence could be your banking job, stock person position at a grocery store, answering the phones or checking people out at the gas station on the corner.

Breaking bricks seems so manly until you put the vision to use during a day when coworkers have consumed so much of your time the thought of breathing steals from the company’s path of wants and needs. Moving through the mountain takes effort. Thinking about it is nothing more than baby bruises on your fingers because you elected to pull your hand back before destroying the clay.

It’s a new week; work it like you mean it. Put in an extra point 242199 days full of knowledge and effort and for the first time you might touch the edge of holy hole in the wall Batman…this is great!

Anyone on this giant blue marble in the sky can bowl a perfect 300 game but it isn’t going to happen by just showing up…

Be conscious of yourself and all things you’ve invited to the circles you’ve drawn in the sand. By being aware of where you put your “will” helps to create knowledge required to make it real. I laugh hard when people tell me they once wanted to be a radio disc jockey; with their attempt at sounding radio, a voice that’s been roughed up by arguments with the images in the mirror I hear a sound that’s completely out of tune but rather than chase them away the laugh becomes a serious look, “So…what stopped you? If today was our last day on earth would you be the jock that wouldn’t go to work or the Broadcaster that would guarantee his listeners a safe passage?”

Do you really think NBC’s Brian William’s wanted his Sunday night to be interrupted when President Obama elected to share with the world the news about Osama Bin Laden? His black belt path says no moment passes that he doesn’t wait for the call to set desire aside to complete his journey toward a horizon generated by his trust in effort.

Effort turns dreams, desires and wishful thoughts into paths that will one day inspire people you’ll never meet.

I’ll always believe in you first…