Friday, September 30, 2011

The Daily Blog I Never Wanted to Continue....

Not because its Breast Cancer Awareness Month but because Breast Cancer awareness is everyday. Especially when you think those close to you have won the war and the attacker's retreat only to come back stronger.

Dear God, what am I feeling: Zondra's story.

We laugh, we cry and playfully bend stories to better suit the shoes we fill. We walk, we run, chase, dodge and when we least expect it the feet that have carried us into the unwritten chapters kept trip, stumble then fall. Quickly reaching to grab hold of any object to pull, lift or shove aside the body begins to speak, “Not today. Please not today.”

A bathroom mirror is trained to lie. It’s almost too easy to convince a reflection that it is what it isn’t. Slowly each eye scans the surface of your skin wondering while fearing the depths of what’s happening. The assumed trembles in the tips of your fingers so often ignored, the unexplained tiredness the same, bedtime at 8:40 the norm; an agreement with the system of self asking for nothing more than the opportunity to rest.

The journey becomes a challenge in places high school never taught.

Shared are the commands to pick your self up and dust off the butt of a one time slick pair of now faded and weathered jeans.

The voices in your heart have now taken over, “Get up! Get back in the game! Play like you mean it! Give it everything you’ve got!”

Held in the corners of the smiles that paste positive reactions together outside the shell carried are the softly spoken whispers, “Not today. Please not today. Dear God, tell me what I’m feeling.”

Life plays mystery like a master. Each time you’re forced to guess gives life new reasons to change.

Bank accounts can be low, favorite football teams can have losing seasons; grocery prices can reach new car levels but nothing compares to the value of air when it escapes your body the moment the doctor says, “You have breast cancer.”

As a writer I’m not being truthful to you if I continue to ignore the stories, the empowerment of personal survival that’s met the face of the beast and continues to find purpose in battles that nearly steal your name. Through encouragement and trust the creative side of this daily dedication of pouring ink on the continuation of a living tree I’ve tried to convince so many to place their journey into journals to help teach.

Then God whispered to me, “I asked you to do it not them…”

And so I heard the word…

I introduce to you Zondra; one of the most optimistic, highly spirited, deeply devoted to her school and community human creations I’ve met in thirty two years of radio broadcast. A champion, a physically visible master of sharing, caring and selfless leader; the missing lyric to everybody’s favorite song becomes whole the moment she walks through the door.

Before a writer sets out to words in motion we’re taught to build a beginning, middle and end. Know the path before emotion sets in. Become the character hidden within the parenthesis. Feel not what your reader cannot therefore you must speak in a language taken directly from the street.

I do not know the outcome of Zondra’s story. It makes me extremely angry to think the artist I am with giant canvas’s on walls of so many could deliver a portrait of incredible peace, one that she hasn’t begged for but holds on the other side of the fence keeping her from touching a horizon we’re all destined to chase.

In the days, weeks, months and I pray years from this page forward it’s within the purposes I keep to share with you the willingness of her gentle, “Yes…” A single word shared when asked, “In the name of saving lives can I please share your journey?”


Tuesday January 25, 2011

We've read the same story's and have been taught about the affects of breast cancer. I must be a cat with nine lives because eight of my closest friends have been diagnosed. October is always set aside as breast cancer awareness month. It's my dedication and loyalty to those I've lost to make it every day.

This story is real. No blinders, no marketing managers reaching for politically correct presentations. This is the life of a teacher that students look up to everyday and through every storm she hasn't let anything stand in the way of teaching.

Forty eight hours from surgery; a prayer service titled Healing and Wholeness is planned for tomorrow evening. If your body has the ability to create thunder I feel the vibrations everywhere including my fingers.

If Zondra is nervous or scared she doesn’t show it. A couple of times a day she has alone time to lie down and rest under a warm blanket. I often wonder what she thinks, allows her imagination to design, plans out or releases into the universe for a passerby to pick up and help her carry.

Fellow teachers continue to share what little money they make to help Zondra with the high price of medication. Ask any of them why…a union of faith and support takes the shape of light stealing from the cold a shadows curse.

I will be at the prayer vigil listening to the heart felt compassion from a community of leaders and supporters. Two questions play over and over in my mind: what sort of peace does she find while covered under the warmth of the blanket hidden away from a world of constant change? What does she feel knowing in two days hope can become her new place of happiness?

I wait for her reply…

While under my blanket I sometimes think about what I should be or wish I was doing. I am a person who is always on the go but since chemo I am not able to move and go about as I would like for example this year is the first time since my daughter was in preschool that I have missed open house and she is now in 11th grade. I was really upset. I thought the world would end; my daughter assured me it wouldn’t. I also thought my church was going to fall down because I was not there for a WHOLE week LOL (I am usually there multiple times a week). Other times I welcome the peace and quiet, because people actually let me sleep and get the rest I need. They are not calling, texting, and saying ma, auntie, Zondra can you please………….

That didn’t happen until now.

In two days I will be going into surgery and leaving this old place of breast cancer behind and starting a new chapter of healing. It’s exciting and scary at the same time part of me will be gone and the healing process long, but I will have a bright new beginning. I am overjoyed by the fact that my surgery will help others because I am participating in research that will try to understand breast cancer more. I look forward to seeing what the future holds.

January 26, 2011: The interview on the night before surgery

The night before breast cancer surgery plays games with assumption when you’ve never been part of a circle of love.

Zondra’s mother races around the church to make sure there’s enough chairs available for guests offering their warmth and compassion. She speaks in quick overtones about how she wishes her daughter of 31 would talk more about resting rather than running back to work or getting back involved with the church, “She needs to understand the doctor wants six weeks of rest. I don’t understand how we’re going to get her to slow down.”

School teachers begin to arrive one by one followed by principals and other community involved leaders; there are hugs, questions filled with fear and yet no one has let go of hope and faith.

Maybe because we know Zondra wouldn’t want it that way. An extremely positive outlook not only on the present but how such a stumble through life can be turned into a tool to help educate people she’ll never meet.

One such person, the friend of a friend who through chance or fate crossed paths with Zondra; she’s a breast cancer survivor. She talks of the surgery openly, no fear, no embarrassment, a constant, “Praise God and thank you God,” comes from nearly every paragraph. She begins to laugh when she speaks of the medicines that have helped her calling shopping in thrift stores the greatest pill there is.

The closer we move toward 7:30 the room becomes flooded with guests not expected; Zondra’s eyes become wide as love slips into the corners of a soul that has only questioned during times when chemo nearly had her too weak to lift that unforgettable smile.

Her minister speaks out, “You can’t stop Zondra! Sickness couldn’t keep her away. She would lie down on the sofa outside this room and ask me to keep the door open so the message could find her heart.”

Her mother locates the courage to stand before the collection of open palms and hearts, "I found out about Zondra's cancer through a note she left on the back of a Walmart reciept." Which made each of us wonder about our own stories and what if's? Where would the strength come from to be able to inform those I love if changes came with a face called there's a chance?

Back at work, a charter school set in the center of downtown fellow teachers have lined up at the board on the wall selecting times available to pick up Zondra’s children, to make sure dinner has been prepared and to do whatever else is required to make sure her life carries with it no worries and in Zondra’s case no reason to break the doctors six week resting rule.

I’ll never forget watching Zondra’s mother during a time of open prayer; she shook uncontrollably, fists clinched, face buried in the shoulder of the one God chose to lead the ministry. Whispering words I’ll never know, she found peace allowing the birth of new beginnings to blossom rather than giving permission to anger to paint pictures in places they weren't welcome.

I didn’t sleep last night knowing Zondra didn’t either. Six in the morning would arrive too quickly and the world of medicine was prepared to help lift the shadow off Zondra’s cloudy day.

10:52 am is where I stand at the present moment and no word has arrived. Life isn’t a DSL connection to the internet nor can the art of healing be sent through a UPS overnight package.

Hope and faith…

4:37 pm: Word from those closest, "They got it."

January 29, 2011

Texting is a beautiful tool; got word late last night that Zondra is home. The one place her mother and friends feared most. Why? Zondra has more energy than me. Her personal embodiment of positve energy requires places to be displayed and if not given life, movement is given permission to unwrap.

I still laugh at the way I reacted to my heart attack; heart surgery on Tuesday back to work Monday. If people are shaped by the same molds, my fear for Zondra is her inability to let go.

A Native American Medicine Man taught me, "Western Medicine Doctors practice medicine. They can't cure you nor can I...what we offer are substances that bring peace to the body so it can heal."

This story is far from over...not until someone tells the poet in my fingertips that all has been cleared and Zondra's breast cancer is truly over. I'd be lieing if I didn't admit to holding onto fear; they said my very good friend Theresa was in full recovery; we celebrated with dance; honored with family love and togetherness then without warning the phone rang when none of us were expecting a good day to suddenly twist.

I'm thinking, praying and helping to deliver positive vibrations from the universe but the most haunting part of the breast cancer journey are the invisible portraits of everything's going to be peachy keen and then... Its the part of life I've constantly questioned leading me deeper into spiritual studies. It's the part of breast cancer you don't read about during the 31 days of October. This is why I'm dedicated to sharing the true face of this horrid disease. I pray every second that Zondra is perfect. Her positive view make it so much easier for her family and friends to find peace.

Right goal is to guarantee that she find it too. She needs to rest for the six weeks the doctor requires so the true healing can silence every fear I hold as a friend. Getting mad isn't the answer. Understanding the several levels exposed is the quest then sharing each dip, trip and unfocused reminder with anyone willing to listen to the truths that surround the silence so many women are feeling.

Wednesday February 2, 2011

The measurement of time is constantly changing; for some it might be a song, three city blocks, a Wednesday night in front of American Idol or the heart beats connected to the passing minutes where the pain isn’t as bad as it was yesterday.

A week after breast cancer surgery I was invited to Zondra’s house not knowing what to expect; I didn’t know what “time” might have done to her.

Wednesday February 9, 2011

A medically trained professional sternly told me on Christmas Eve 2010 that the body has a way of letting you know when it’s had enough and ultimately there’s nothing I can do to fight it because in the end it will always win. Staring into the doctors eyes I accepted his challenge by sending a valuable message to the body that’s carried my dreams for forty eight years, “You should’ve picked someone else to be your mind and soul because I’m not quitting.”

I continue to see that same vibration of embodiment in the spirit of Zondra two weeks after the world of medicine reached onto her path and took from her part of the luggage.

I’ve met the root of her endless attraction to developing a positive outlook; Zondra’s mother is like shaking hands with God. A gift of trust, faith, healing and leadership has placed her feet on the backstreets of this nation that only get talked about on late night newscasts and yet she hasn’t stopped touching those areas of silence that need love most.

Her outlook, vision and decision to remain attracted to the higher creations doesn’t go anywhere near anger, disgust or failure, “I was put here for a reason and I will do what I am told until I’m no longer needed and I am far from that.”

Zondra watches the two of us talk about spiritual leaders as if they’re our neighbor, Joel Olsteen being the one who shines brightest in her smile, “I heard you speak the other day at Zondra’s prayer meeting; I thought Joel was standing in the same room.”

“Oh yeah? You should see me at a wedding ceremony,” I laughed back…

Zondra opened the door for me to document the real face of breast cancer and through it someone higher has added a teacher to my family. I love listening to people talk. Inside these chapters, roads where dreams can be connected to drug abuse, gang violence, hatred and fear; Zondra and her family continue to symbolize what Buddhist Monk Thick Nhat Hahn teaches, “Love is why we were born…”

Two weeks since the surgery and tonight is the first time I felt something different…the microphone unknowingly turning off during a deep question might be a higher decision maker’s way of saying, “Not now…”

Zondra and I spoke softly about how she keeps from being bored and what its like to be trapped in a home while her imagination is placed in a world of escape in distant places only she can see. Tonight I felt a tear crack her voice; the laugh she’s known for faded as she explained the difficulties of having the energy to reach beyond expectation but the body refuses to abide by the rules of listening to what its been commanded to perform.

Her story about the first round of stitches coming out and how horribly bad it hurt gripped my heart; her nervous laugh no medicine for the fear I now felt. She got a picture of everything…there was silence…for her imagination train had pulled into a station of disbelief for the body that carried her for thirty one years no longer looked or felt the same.

Monday February 21, 2011

The minds eye is too quick to forget. When things become out of sight human connection begins its journey toward becoming unimportant. This is why I’ve dedicated my life to the art of attracting then re-attracting.

Four weeks after Zondra’s surgery her positive presence is still missing from the school where she teaches. I had hoped heavily on her making an appearance at Friday nights Valentine’s Dance. The students would have flipped with excitement which might serve as the reason why the distance continues. The doctor said six weeks.

Today I reached out wanting to record another interview. No answer. I refuse to rest while believing she’s resting.

Her silence has forced me to dig deeper into the chapters already written by actresses who’ve battled this disease; Jaclyn Smith of Charlie’s Angels fame one the most haunting, “It’s the news nobody wants to hear. I remember going home and telling my husband to get it off me! Just get it off!”

Although Zondra granted me permission to step into the private levels of struggles she would face, it’s this silence I want to write about most. She isn’t the first but through her disconnections we can all learn how to walk stronger.

I miss hearing the laugh; a burst of energy that shoots from the corners of an imagination locked on always being first in line for something great to say. I know of the doctor’s visit last week but know nothing of what was spoken behind the doors closed to cut off the world still moving forward.

My wife and granddaughter Mia were with Zondra; it’s so important that the seven year old is able to see the unexpected changes delivered at times when having fun should’ve been taking place but a different ending was designed. Mia was with me at the heart specialist carefully staring at the nurses and doctor studying every page of the reports my ticker was sending. These are the lessons untaught in school and kept far away from the canals that feed the journey soon to be called reality.

I’m told Zondra’s eyes lit up when she saw Mia. Hidden behind a mask, smiles were shared but not germs. The student and the teacher meeting in ways that poets can’t write about because there aren’t enough descriptive words created that best paint the portrait of compassion led by affectively being involved.

Come on phone ring! I want to hear your voice! Biting the edges of these writing fingers…it’s difficult to keep assumption from falling onto a page not already written on.

Tuesday February 22, 2011

A reconnection is made...the interview

Wedesday March 2, 2011

Week number five…to the average person time moves too quickly. Months feel like seconds, years can be lived out inside an hour. For someone with breast cancer the view of the world is flipped; time isn’t something you’ve lost but rather you can’t get enough of.

I caught up with Zondra in her car. She’s been given permission to step back into a more normal life and style only to realize it’s still not enough compared to the freedoms she once had. She laughs about driving being more of a gift rather than something we do automatically. So is the way her body moves as its being taught how to relocate motion in an area once taken for granted.

Her voice remains chipper but being in tune with vocals and how we use them to push our way through conversations I can hear restlessness. She wants to get back to living. She’s ready to take the reins of the shell called Zondra and guide it back onto the path of everyday occurrences and begin the journey of making new memories to stuff inside invisible pages of later chapters and horizons.

Her efforts remind me deeply of the poetry that fell from my fingertips during my most recent challenges:

All the darkness I assumed would be

Has painted pictures I can’t see

I always wanted to know what it would be like

Only to learn its me against me

Im not chasing rainbows

Im not walking in circles

I wanna get back…to living

I wanna get back…oh so back…to living…

I’ve walked 10,000 chapters in self created books

Beat the odds by breaking the rules

I’ve worked a lot of games to make love with the wind

Only to learn Im not my best friend

Im not chasing rainbows

Im not walking in circles

I wanna get back…to living

I wanna get back…oh so back…to living…

A thousand hearts to hold

A million smiles to feed

You came along for the ride

I’m not chasing rainbows

Not walking in circles…

I’m here because I’m alive…

Written by Arroe Collins

October 2009

More to come...

And that's how the story ended...doctors were excited about helping Zondra find a place in her life no longer threatened.

Today September 30, 2011 I've learned the cancer is back much stronger than its last visit. As a loving friend you want to scream at the passing clouds. As a writer you never walk into a paragraph knowing a new chapter silently waits in places you least expect and because I refuse to allow readers to be blind sided by an act we can't control...the origin of why she wants to share the story must continue to rise above the flooded valleys.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

You don't want success. Stop lieing to yourself!

Is locating success truly the calling? Are we born to do nothing more than put a thumb print on the avenues that shape the inside lining of someone’s pocket? What’s wrong with being the white stitching that generates interest in the physical fashion?

How do you become the selected one?

Author John Mason tells the tale of a spiritual guru that chose to point followers to their intended destinations rather than verbally communicate. One by one they’d shoot toward the horizon only to return badly bruised, cut up, splattered and without confidence.

Demanding to be treated differently one follower shouted, “No more pointing! Where will I find success?”

Softly, peacefully and without fear the spiritual guru turned to his student and gently shared, “Success is that way. Just a little after the splat.”

Over-achiever versus non-achiever:

You don’t have to sell your soul in 2011…in the name of having insurance, cell phones and HBO it’s given away every morning at eight. The preacher man won’t talk about that will he or she? The religious term saving someone needs to grow a new pair of wings strong enough to fly over this new depth of a sink or swim performance. The higher power is the image of success.

What keeps travelers from maintaining the garden?

Since 1994 my personal endeavor has been to easily pick from a crowd of faceless wanderers the perfectionist from the student that grows by way of synchronicity. If all you have to offer is dissatisfaction in the level of art you invite to the chapters we write; you aren’t someone worth investing in.

A perfectionist is never happy. Eventually they settle for third to fifth best when more success could’ve been attained by trusting the core of the original source.

Legendary Indy racer Rick Mears believes that to finish first, first you must finish.

If having a fat bank account connected to an unforgettably beautiful house is the highest of your peaks met then conquered; congratulations! If days that become night are spent cuddled up to a wishful thought to one day walk into Belks to buy a $290 bottle of cologne or a sweet smelling cream that guarantees to rejuvenate the wrinkles from your face; congratulations!

Success has no shape. Like a chameleon its colors serve only one purpose…survival.

I spent the latter part of the 1970’s believing life after high school would be angelic if what I loved most took me to every city the Pro-Bowler’s tour traveled. While some went the way of football, basketball or track…my strength was rolling a ball down a single lane of traffic. Kicked out of the AJBC for tackling the men's league by 15 the mission was to score like my hero Earl Anthony. Only to learn, the successful people I surrounded myself with forgot my age. The golden rule of league bowling; do not bring your wife or girlfriend to the center of your attention. Toss in a budding radio career at Country 910 KOYN and I carried with me two major distractions.

The harder I tried to keep my bowling average over 200 the angrier I became. Every ball thrown had to hit the pocket. I had developed a perfectionist’s way of life which infected everything. I became the kid that kicked the ball return. I developed a winning attitude fed by a need to win all the time or the beast would bare its teeth. I was asked to leave.

Over-achiever versus non-achiever:

John Mason introduces us to a diamond cutter; a master of the rock. Through patience the hard chunk of earth is given new air to breathe whereas if you or I chopped at it…two hits and poof the rock is split in two bringing no value to a bride to be.

I love Joel Hause’s quote, “Determine to be something in the world and you will be something.”

He didn’t say, “Locate success.” He didn’t say, “Sell out what you passion for most.” He didn’t say, “Become the very best and nothing less.”

It took me 32 years of Broadcasting to realize why I love radio: Every time I pop open the microphone it’s a blank canvas that’s fully capable of being displayed in places you least expect. Combine that with our new found connection to Social Media and being a Broadcaster carries with it a new purpose…except this time I’m not going to give away my soul or vow until I die to make it perfectly perfect. This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been. Love me, hate me, disconnect me from Face Book or Twitter; burp, cough, trip, stumble, blow my snotty nose all over your shirt…it’s not the success I’m looking for.

I just want to write…that’s it nothing more nothing less. Some days it might touch, influence or suck so bad that stink has a new meaning…but it doesn’t matter…I wrote and writing is how I breathe. From it comes everything else.

There is success after the splat.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Shut your office door and let go...

You can’t fight the feeling! Domo Arigoto Mr. Roboto…You Give Love a Bad Name…She’s Got Betty Davis Eyes. Holy Hollywood Batman! Movies that made waves during the adventuresome days of ignoring parents and flicking quarters into the gas tank just so you could cruise downtown at midnight keep coming!

The popcorn munching Kevin Bacon 80’s classic Footloose isn’t cramped on style as it prepares to pump up the volume this weekend!

It’s the flick with a totally reshaped cast and soundtrack that’ll stick to the roof of your Karaoke mouth.

Again, nobody wants to buck the system…the small town ordinance clearly proclaims those under the age of 18 are prohibited from dancing in public. Until the new kid on the block discovers that such prohibitions aren’t part of the mechanics of the human mind, body and soul. Dancing is a way to communicate; it expresses celebration, gratitude, the embodiment of emotion shoved into twists, dips and shapes that resemble everything from animals to spinning tops.

There’s a “Ren McCormack” in every school… It’s not a rebel attitude but rather a distinct need to lead people to better places.

Show me a map of the Carolina’s and we’ll spend the next three weeks deeply discussing my twenty year dedication to igniting high school dance floors on Friday and Saturday nights. In every room stands the soloist…their movement a musical instrument. Christmas performances put on by the band and orchestra would incorporate more imagination if principals and PTA voters would include the human need to dance.

Businesses locked up by this raging recession might find an open window of success if college trained leaders understood the art of the human mind.


I invite you to step into the shoes worn by Ren McCormack. Make a moment happen. Take a musical note and let it float. Let your body react the way it was designed to receive.

Why does it matter?

The Daily reports that light to moderate physical activity like dancing gets your heart pumping, blood flowing and burns calories. The signal sent to your brain and heart is you’re having fun. Music not coffee or power drinks provide the boost required to having a better day.

Herb, my Rock Star neighbor finds me to be the odd ball of the hood gang…because openly I discuss that today’s modern sound blessed with Lady GaGa, Usher, Jay Z, Ke$ha, Rihanna, Justin Timberlake, Flo Rida, Big and Rich, Blake Shelton, Carrie Underwood and Nicki Minaj will far exceed where the R&B beats and Elvis and the Beatles rhythms took young adults in the 50’s and 60’s.

Although getting through the Bump and Grind movement of the mid-90’s earned me a ton of flack from teachers and parents that accepted Michael Jackson’s crotch groping, the decision to dance that close wasn’t tolerated and pretty much led to the gymnasium lights constantly being on. Toss in Nirvana’s Grunge and Mosh Pit gatherings tore up anybodies reasons for wanting to celebrate in the name of dance. Yet it was ok for decision makers to argue with their television screens on Sunday afternoons when NFL and NBA players didn’t huddle the way a winning team should but how dare students feel the need to do the same.

Water under the bridge…

As an adult stop shaming your need to be free; dancing in the front seat of your car shouldn’t be the only floor made available to the other side of your personality.

The Group E.U. pulled off a daring stunt when releasing the song Da Butt. How dare that man sing about Betty having a big ole butt! What about Sir Mix-a-lot’s Baby Got Back? I laugh a child’s giggle when watching people react to their favorite songs easily convinced that it’s not the lyrics postered to our memory makers but the bass beats, hidden guitar strings combined with an undertone drone that shakes up body’s system until it begins to crack then poof you’re dancing.

Crank That from Soulja Boy. Thanks to Youtube students all over the world generated tremendous amounts of energy to create a dance that didn’t resemble the Electric Slide, Cha Cha Slide, Cupid Shuffle, Mississippi Slide or the Boot Scootin Boogie. The Crank That dance is brilliant to watch but never, never, never catch yourself listening to the lyrics. Same goes for the Beach Classic 60 Minute Man.

Television’s attitude clearly states: So you think you can dance…

Why wait for the stars? Be you doing the floor your own special way. If someone catches you…laugh it off. I’d rather be

labeled the freak then earn the honor of being just another face in the crowd.

Now challenge yourself to participate with a Flash Dance. They’re all over Face Book!

I love it when you drop the act and finally become you…

Tuesday, September 27, 2011


I’m a little confused…

After spending the weekend at a campground designed for dogs and their human pets …an unexpected passerby would’ve quickly realized how building a relationship served as an important piece of the communication offered to each side of leadership rather than a pimped out role of domination.

When a dog hears a command to sit, lay, spin or walk he or she receives a treat; the four legged fuzzy responds with an amazing tail wagging, a bright unforgettable smile with a connected willingness to do it again.

120 ticks then tocks deep into the class and the vision caught between my eyes fed not the moment but how such a reward system would benefit Corporate America.

The term: Just be lucky you have a job has worn out the environment.

We keep getting weaker in the wallet and we’re gonna be lucky to have a country.

I’m tired of hearing how Gen X-er’s and those after find no importance in loyalty, dedication, determination and the spirit of working to achieve higher levels of success. They know what’s required to get a Game Boy and Nintendo, fast food and a weekend movie. Why should they have to work for it when Boomer’s and Tweener’s wanted to be different by setting aside their parents constant command and demand for discipline and respect for, “Use your words… Go find your favorite place to think about what you’ve done and when you’re ready come back and be with us.”

As a pre-teen that would’ve rocked my world! You mean I could’ve swiped a record from JC Penny’s without getting a strap across my a**? I would’ve raced up to my bedroom to be instantly connected to the internet, have cable television and a cell phone to text messages! I love America!

Then comes high school graduation, gotta get a job and suddenly the requirements of generating the mental mechanisms that inspire, influence and offer guidance to participate with change affects everyone on the team and there’s no place to race toward to think about my wrong doing. Only to hear, “That’s ok…this new generation is a little bit different.”

I’m not angry! I’m doing something about it. I don’t say no to a high school or college class that invites me over to speak. We can’t change the present but taking the time to invest in the future re-attracts the attention to the fine details required to rejuvenate a sleeping bear.

Think of it as Paying Forward. What you spend today in an effort of influencing a group of students that come from a weak foundation shall enhance the presence of our world performance.

Next month I’ve been invited to participate with a middle school music class. My first question was, “Can I bring my writing instruments to show the students the importance of how song lyrics come from places you can’t see?”

Students aren’t being taught how to write only how to compress. Jazz comes from the soul. Hip Hop arrived from the streets. Country is a lifestyle and Rock n Roll is every boys dream.

If you can’t teach an old dog new tricks why are we expecting young adults to follow rules at work?

Building bridges toward the next generation requires a dirt path which starts out as a single foot print. Be a leader and let tomorrow’s teachers steal your art. I’ve yet to meet the student that doesn’t want to learn. Those that fall asleep during my lectures are quickly shaken back to life by the presence of something that was supposed to fade ten years into the radio biz…passion.

Challenge your boss to set you free for an hour…if they say no…I’ve gotta ask; are they someone you truly want to be working for? What’s the reward?

It’s time to stop accepting bad treatment at work. A dog that sits, spins, walks then lies down with the command of an empty palm is a tortured soul. Why is it ok for local television stations to air commercials about mistreated dogs but you never see them paste stories together about Corporate American conditions?

Make a move toward the future by participating with its growth

Thursday, September 22, 2011

David Soul once sang Don't Give Up On Us...someone wasn't listening.

Ralph Kramden never skipped a Honeymooner’s episode where he didn’t find something wrong with his job. George Jetson’s Spacely Sprockets complaints were relentless. Ted Mosby could be a brilliant architect but on How I Met Your Mother he’s had to settle for a university professor’s position of leadership.

Get where I’m going here?

Thanks to television we hate our jobs. We’ve been trained for decades to locate bad taste then spill it on the circles we make.

In his book Tribes; We Need You To Lead author Seth Godin reminds us of the darker days of Corporate America when Kodak forced their employees to work in dark rooms. Letters to department heads sat in stacks of unread junk mail. The thought of working side by side with a coworker meant selling out; having personal endeavors released into the public gave permission to the strongest on the team to lay claim to what you could’ve made a success.

As horrible, gut wrenchingly painful as today’s unheard of inhumane treatment seems to come across Godin explains,

“Business owners and managers need leaders. People that don’t fear standing up to make noise; men and women heretics that engage by making change a positive step forward.”

Fearing the loss of your job is completely 1974…by now you should be physically conditioned that six days, six weeks, ten months or a year is acceptable business behavior.

According to Godin American workers shouldn’t just tell their story but thrive on it being told.

Why has Google become the top search engine in the world?

Because two unknown computer geeks from Stanford University believed helping other students easily locate information was an endeavor that would bring an end to the days of microfiche and ripped up newspapers and magazines shoved into a cardboard box.

Sergey Brin and Larry Page didn’t change a college campus they influenced the world to dig a little deeper.

Today the United States Government has publically accused Google of shattering our nation’s monopoly laws; which is pretty much a law makers way of saying, “This is what happens when you don’t send me re-election money or do nothing to promote the rich that put me in office. You gotta pay for what you didn’t do.”

My dream is to one day invent a device that makes having the flu less painful. For decades we’ve nearly broke our backs tossing our giant bodies to the cold bathroom floor to do nothing more than vomit in the Great White Porcelain; if the British can have a bidet…we need a ba-night. Because that’s when it usually hits us hardest…when finished a sprinkle of water warms your face so it can easily be washed off.

Did you know that was created by a man that once marketed coffee makers?

In my most recent lectures to future Broadcaster’s I blatantly spew, “If all you want to do is sink your energy into being just an on-air disc jockey expect a dead air career. Listeners have become watchers and in this age of I Heart Radio if you aren’t blogging, videoing, Tweeting and whatever else has been invented this week then you cannot call yourself a Broadcaster…congratulations you’re now a member of the Used To Be Club.

I always thought my Grandpa Dobrenz had a brilliant life until I realized he raised pigs in Wyoming.

Life in 2011 may smell just as bad but the truer picture painted by Seth Godin exposes we have more control of success than every generation before us.

Interestingly enough it’s this generation that’s decided to let go of the American dream.

Wanna fight about it?

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Don't argue with me! Write!

To blog or not to blog…that is the question! To be so selfish by not writing isn’t the answer.

Therefore what shall become the single thought that evolves into a whisper of inspiration and or influence and where shall it be read Russia, Indonesia, South Korea or Butte, Montana?

Being just a radio disc jockey seems so small when man and woman scientists and computer geeks have created for the human a stage that can be seen in every corner of the universe.

Elvis Presley would’ve been extremely jealous.

One of the best stories shared by legendary speaker talker Wolfman Jack is the heartfelt drama created when the King of Rock n Roll verbally spouted his discomfort for the Wildman of nighttime radio. Elvis loved being on stage which he paid heavily for; not only in sweat and gut wrenching unheard of chances taken but Tom Parker wanted his managerial chuck of the cha-ching.

Wolfman’s stage was radio…thanks to a 500,000 watt monster signal from Mexico and later WNBC NY the vibrations generated by studio passion tore up the souls of a passerby that happened to punch in.

To say radio will never be like that again is a pie in the face of Rush Limbaugh, Howard Stern, Ryan Seacrest and Big Willie McAlister who doesn’t know it but he’s going to graduate from a Broadcasting school in twenty six years and what he brings to the stage will be a continuation of what radio is, was and will forever be; just regular people doing regular things in a regular world on a planet that happens to have water and oxygen.

Ask any radio jock how they got here and no two stories are the same. Ask them why they stay and nearly everyone will makeup lies to save face.

Broadcasting isn’t just for television news reporters seeking secrets while solving murder mysteries and song intro invaders with fancy stories and bad jokes. Just like Benjamin Franklin’s printing press the internet provides an empty page blessed by the makers of the universe to be anything, everything, too much and sometimes too little…no matter how thick the challenge or easy it might seem…staying silent keeps the need to be or not to be wrapped tightly in a box called: it’s all about me.

When Chaz Bono was invited to walk on a surface oversaturated with uneducated judgment there was no way he knew that being while most have chosen not to be would invite peace to a life of potholes and un-located highways. Millions beyond this moment will be because writing with honesty was broadcast in places people escape to.

Recognized by the world as being one of the most expressive artists of our time, Peter Max chose one night to raise his vocals in my presence, “What you create doesn’t belong to you! You were born to share it!”

Wanna know why we’ve slid into a second recession inside a single ten year period; we’ve allowed the news media to do the talking for us. If more people spent ten to thirty minutes a day blogging what its like to be on welfare and medicare or working at a job where its become legal to abuse employees like Farrah Faucett in The Burning Bed; the weaknesses that keep our secrets in mental boxes would be released and there would be change.

A collection of foreigners made a choice to make their way across an open sea to find a land that would give birth to a voice that required nothing more then to be heard. It is this generation that has chosen to be seen but not heard. So…there is no need to be because the decision been made…it’s all about me.

Now you know my inspiration to rush into the recording studio and drop the tracks on my newest song. Slipped from the pen to which I write a wordy word picture was painted about our American way of life.

When I looked at you I began to see, reasons why I became me.

I chased you my entire life daring to change what I can’t face

I don’t dare to be different, didn’t want to be this way.

Not a fame game or web page surprise…look into my eyes!


Everywhere I go there are you with me.

Everywhere I play there you are with me.

Every breath I take I’m watching me…

Iphone smart phone totally digital,

Google Facebook nothing original

When I decide to look your way I try never to say your name.

Fact-uation means nothing I’m too infatuated with me.

600,000 YouTube views…didn’t want it to be this way.

Not a fame game or web page surprise…it’s all in the eyes.

(Chorus repeats)

I don’t care to make you happy…wouldn’t it be a waste?

It’s my eyes you’ve come to see…

(Chorus repeats)

Double click free pics…take all you want. It’s all in the eyes.

Written by the Poet in Me called M’e (May) because it truly isn’t about me so “May” the sun rise above your tears.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

For those moments when you feel like cussing...

I don’t believe in the present because there’s too much to discover in the future.

Who said that? The faceless voice racing to free itself from my head.

When an idiotic set of words like these slip from the damp tip of my writing instrument I know to expect unfiltered energy to ignite the engines of twelve cars capable of reaching 200 mph.

Through experience I’ve learned we’ve got a common connection to thoughts and phrases that arrive from unheard of places, un-scene environments and completely unrehearsed stages therefore making what we say, write or sing a blurb, burp, skip or rip in the pages of the chapters we paste together during each passing day.

While studying the paths of Native American Medicine Men students become circles within circles which invite even more circles. A Medicine Man as most know it is what Hollywood has painted onto the surface of their blizzard white canvas. Few realize that there were several Medicine Men inside each nation; some studied the weather while others took on the role of identifying plant life, animal behavior or paid close enough attention to human traits that newer and better ways to live became the walk of decisions made.

It’s like the Dream Catcher that hangs over unmade beds, from fingerprint stained rearview mirrors and on lifeless walls at work; it is taught that catchers purify dreams but barely a story is shared about why its shape becomes the wired web of cleanse. True Dream Catchers were originally designed to tell the story of a family. Usually created by a woman, it spoke to other nations like a pen, keyboard and or cell phone.

If a traveler stepped into a collection of families, it was the Dream Catcher that documented their journey.

The term Indian Giver has been completely taken off its proper path. Native American’s are blessed with tremendous pride and being someone who constantly gives to those in need made you a strong leader. To be called an Indian Giver meant you put people first. Like someone who’s never ending with their dedication to a church, nonprofit organization or neighbor revitalization projects. It was the arrival of the settlers that took from rather than added to.

I don’t believe in the present because there’s too much to discover in the future.

Through devotion trusting the unknown creature of thought becomes planted rows of corn in fields of vivid imaginations.

Humans are trained to believe dogs are loyal. We invest tremendous amounts of time, energy and hard to locate money in an unforgettable creation blessed with unconditional measures of love. The hardest thing for me to deal with is how something so overflowing with an aura of peace and music that seems stronger than family and best friends can turn on a dime; no moment passes that I don’t whisper into the ears of my dogs how much I miss them knowing that in the seconds that pass so might I and with no shame in their heart a dog instantly selects its next companion.

I don’t believe in the present because there’s too much to discover in the future.

Clouds change with every breath you take. Careers are no different. In the 90’s we knew the economy was too good to be true but who knew we’d transfer positions of comfort at a rate of too many, too fast with a past that too many refuse to let go of.

Why should we expect change when radio stations play the same songs you heard while growing up. Television isn’t interested in sharing brave new beginnings or Dharma and Greg wouldn’t have appeared on the season opener of Two in a Half Men. John Stamos rocked one of the opening scenes making way for visions of General Hospital’s Blackie Perish and Jesse from ABC’s Full House to races through your melon and blood pumper.

Modern forms of media addicted to the almighty dollar know where we live… The past.

The problem with that is I’m getting tired of hearing the same two Led Zeppelin songs. Now that Michael Bolton is making fun of himself on the Emmy’s does that mean his music is set to be called a classic? The dude’s got a brilliant set of pipes but radio killed the video star. I nearly drove off the road when Jeff Kent on The Fox said, “Queen is celebrating their 40th year of music success.”

I don’t believe in the present because there’s too much to discover in the future.

Having hair at 49 gives me energy to paint it. Some years I wear it long with bright streaks of blonde, red, purple, blue…whatever the rock n roll attitude. The moment I get it cut above my ears like a big city banker every person I meet accuses me of coloring it. No… you idiot, the streaks of blonde, red, purple and blue was coloring it. That cr** didn’t naturally grow that way.

Tattoo’s fade and body parts fall. Nowhere is it written that dreams are supposed to be left behind. Betty White is 90 years old. George Burns hit 100. My dog Larry was 19…which is 126 in dog years yet that fuzzy give me all you’ve got sofa cuddler kept his mind and body in shape refusing to believe in the present because there’s too much to discover in the future.

32 years in radio and no day passes that I don’t feel like that punk kid from Riverside Jr. High School in Billings, Montana spinning 45’s and 8-tracks connected to a Mr. Microphone redesigned to broadcast a half mile from his Kiss postered bedroom. As much as it seems like I’m living in the past is nothing more than someone who thinks Dream Catchers eliminate nightmares.

In America teens are given permission to explore while adults are expected to get old. Maybe it’s time we begin the process of ending our need to take away and start giving back to the heartbeats that brought you to the parade.

I will always believe in you first…but don’t ask me to live in your past. Those are fighting words.

Monday, September 19, 2011

If you pick enough boogers eventually you'll reach the itch!

What’s a “goal” but something that tends to get in the way?

To achieve a self respected level of success requires the guts to set a major chunk of what you’ve grown accustom to aside. New and improved needs space and that means facing as well as accepting change. More importantly reprogramming coworkers, family members and your other twelve personalities that something new is being moved in and it doesn’t matter what’s said or done getting off the path isn’t going to happen.

It’s not that we give up easy. We let other people do it for us. The moment you give permission to someone to make up your mind and or decide the steps of an assumed importance…expect it to bite you in the a** during the years when you whisper to the image in the mirror, “I wonder what would’ve happened if?”

Who has the time to readjust? The top goal is to give it to a spouse or friend to hold. They know you! They feel your energy! They support every decision you make! You’ll one day turn on them and scream,

“Why did you let this happen?”

Ummm wow that one kinda hurts.

If what’s been projected is truly geared toward being a happy place then the first rule to follow is accepting the role of defusing manipulating master controllers you put in charge of protecting your heart.

If professional bowling was meant to be easy…dogs and cats would’ve taken up the sport in the 70’s.

I love the idea that Carolina Panther Cam Newton is throwing a billion yards and not coming out with a Sunday victory. Legends require shape. Losses generate hunger which fires up a reprogramming device allowing him to become a teacher and through his lessons and open communication with players there shall be a Steelers wall that will dominate the mind, body and soul of armchair quarterback Hall of Famer’s.

It doesn’t matter if you’re crunching numbers in your late 20’s, 30, 40’s and beyond becoming a champion cannot fall into the ranks of the description labeled: Late in the game?

Wasn’t Betsy Ross something like 200 when she sewed thirteen stars and stripes together?

Life begins when you let it. Don’t just make a goal. Break it down! You’ll feel incredibly positive and from that sprouts confidence. That’s the tiny print junk required to leap over dead shrubs and black snakes sporting copperhead Halloween costumes.

Stop relying on the encouragement of others and coach yourself through the mess.

I don’t accept compliments because those doing the offering usually end up wanting something. If you think I’m good, then let me teach you how I got this mud on my face. To properly stick your foot in your mouth requires precision and the wrong thing to say at the right time. Not everybody can do it! Rather than say, “Wow you are great at being an imp!” Let me show you what it’s really like to be the imp. Once you experience my reality then you can say, “Nobody can imp like you imp and whatever magic you use to put that foot in that mouth every time is just flat out impishly spectacular.”

When the boss slams your Monday into overtime or he’s benched you for not living up to his bosses expectations; roll forward. No matter what challenges you face ultimately you are in full control of the final destination. Hate your job…get a new one. Doing the job because you need insurance stop complaining and keep looking for a better job.

America hasn’t reached the final two minutes of the game…we just act like it.

Put that helmet on and get your newly shaped attitude back in the sport and find something other than victory to pull from the end zone. Maybe just maybe…you’re soul purpose is to teach the man or woman who shall become the next big something. If you do your job right; there’s not enough money in the world that pays off more than someone saying, “Thanks.”

I will always believe in you first…

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Charlie Daniels was wrong...the South won't rise again.

I create 100% of my nightmares. If there’s drama; it started with me. Deadlines aren’t fun to dance with and yet she’s still the most beautiful girl at the homecoming celebration.

Identifying the deadline dilemma can easily be cooled off through delegation but only if the foundation is set up to handle oversaturation. Not in this cruel wet business world where slicing the dice has turned a Yahtzee game into Pin the Tail on the Donkey.

Show me someone who’s not under deadline pressure and I’ll paint the portrait of a millionaire.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

Within 48 hours I’ve sat with two different multi-green back business owners worth too much to discuss and both parties have been dulled by the presence of a recession that won’t end combined with employees that feel no need to start.

Time carries no weight in the worth of our self importance.

Deadline demands aren’t being met because something has clicked in the ego swelling mannerisms of recovery. Being late for work, dinner or a high school Friday night football game is the single commodity I’ve wasted thirty years hoping would never spin from the bowels of a California life and style.

I hate deadlines! But that doesn’t stop me from creating them.

Employees and coworker’s refuse to work under such conditions because the stress can easily be taken out on friends, family or an innocent squirrel hunting down nuts for the fast approaching change in the weather.

Deadlines aren’t the problem! Thinking about it is…

We do more damage to the product by allowing ourselves to quickly arrive at the horizon.

Too much energy is burned up on the fear of not achieving a proper conclusion. We complain, point fingers, drive stakes into invisible hearts, mope around, hang our heads, shove lunch and dinner aside, plaster stuff all over Face Book and Twitter, get in the car and crank up the radio only to hear how you can save money with your cable company but never listen to the fine print.

Deadlines draw drama from the darkest corners of the most impossible places. Once you teach your body a method of release; it becomes a mind drug that begins to depend on deadlines to catch its next high. Deadlines are no different than a parrot plucking its feathers; I’m sure they’d love to stop ripping those things out only to learn the endorphins released feel 100 times better than a Red Bull rush.

Dr. Richard Carlson writes, “Even if complaints about deadlines are justified, it still requires enormous amounts of mental energy. Added obsessive thinking creates its own internal anxiety.”

Deadlines aren’t going away. I was born with one; getter done before you turn back to dust.

Your heart and head create the mess the rest of your body is forced to mop up. Manage your focus by maintaining a positive outlook on expected deadlines. You aren’t new to the world, the job description might have changed but no position of importance goes without meeting deadlines.

Gently remind yourself that your energy is more important than the emptiness. I call this post production blues. Suicide, drug and alcohol abuse are rampant in the world of broadcasting because a single requirement that demands a perfect deadline might be the seven second intro of your favorite song. Slam 25 or 30 of those into an average day and reality seems like a dull boring endeavor.

Howard Stern bravely admitted that after every show it’s become his daily determination to spend two hours in meditation by way of letting what was fade into the distant past he can’t change.

Why should your job be any different? Constantly under new shapes of pressure the boss whose boss who’s connected to another boss has determined that a deadline must be met and like a raindrop skidding from the skies over Montana that single bead must somehow makes its way to the Gulf of Mexico.

Dr. Carlson believes you should make peace with deadlines.

Thich Nhat Hahn teaches, “To be in peace you have to walk in peace.”

Sadly the current shape of our economic nation has taken the word peace and cut it up into several pieces giving the majority of our body parts no reason to play with scheduled times but our time…which leads to deadlines not being matched or met. Therefore we’ve evolved into the country other languages have created words for feeding their need to point fingers and laugh.

So watcha wanna do about it?

Maybe its time to look at pictures of the old South while staring into the conversations of the white, black, red and toothless storytellers that lived in this corner of the world before money controlled by the United States government was tossed into what truly resembled a third world country.

We can’t go back…we need you to help keep us moving forward.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

A lesson from the 1800's that can be used in modern sneakers...

Chief Sitting Bull was a vision of many; a keeper of guarantees and a warrior that mastered the art of communication influencing his present and future to trust the path he walked.

During times of tremendous struggle Sitting Bull was turned to for leadership while gaining the confidence to move invisible mountains that stole from the rays connected to the lighted sky.

With Sitting Bull came great value because he lived one way; each man is good in his sight…it isn’t necessary for eagles to be crows.

Basically meaning no day turned with him being someone other than him self.

Who were you last night at bed time?

Who were you when you woke this morning?

Who will you become as the day grows toward longer shadows?

A Broadcasting friend writes to me, “A radio station wants to hear more of my work! I need to give them more of me and less of a team.”

I cleared the way for them to use a studio. They settled instead on a cheap condenser microphone to which I replied, “When you sacrifice quality you lose.”

I earned my first of many bad emails today, “You hurt me for saying that.”

In the old days I would’ve fought back, “No it is you who hurt the teacher for my experiences and attention to fine detail was time wasted in the studios we shared.”

But I didn’t write that. I elected to not to be a crow in eagle clothes. I wrote, “Hate me for not wearing socks.”

When was the last time you studied the path of an ugly black as night crow? Instantly the forested sky draws you toward its carefully designed insurance policies; a bird of prey sneaks to the limb of an ageless tree doing nothing to hide its identity. The first to recognize the hoots of an owl or vocal scrapes from a red tail hawk is the bright red color of a cardinal. Within seconds not one but two sometimes up to four black crows begin their enchanted circle above the heavily silent collection of sticks stuck feet first into Georgia clay.

The bird of prey never changes its reasons for being there. An owl is an owl. The eagle no different. Shape shifting means nothing if the path chosen carries with it a purpose. While the crows collected above to fool the eye of a passerby by making it look like a larger than normal army; the bird of prey was never bothered. To get what he or she needs is no reason to become what its not.

My biggest weakness is trusting the multiple personalities making waves in the brain given to me at birth. Laughingly I joke of Arroe the radio guy having no communication with the personality that writes daily who will never be seen with the musician, the creator of art on a canvas versus the martial artist.

In reality; I’ve not focused on my teachers sketches. Each man is good in his sight. It isn’t necessary for eagles to be crows.

Being Arroe in a school of Tae Kwon Do isn’t healthy. Having been trained by Master’s doesn’t help me create an incredible radio commercial. Get the picture?

Or can they be used as a single unit of energy?

Don’t watch me! Look at the multiple personalities in the chapters you write; parent, employee, house cleaner taking on the duties of bill payer and late night medical assistant to cats and dogs that cough up fur balls.

Rather than convincing your tired self that the department head that developed multi-tasking should be hung for treason…build up the foundation by learning to recognize how much stronger you’ve become through teaching yourself how to move through tougher than usual expectations.

Yes our Grandparents had harder depressed times. Yes it was an unheard of struggle but from their survival Baby Boomer’s became the most vocally strong people this nation has seen since the creation of the Declaration of Independence.

By staying strong you develop foundations of success for the next in line.

My government owes me nothing. I vote to guarantee my right to create. Without laws we have no voice. Freedom is a privilege. Choice is a decision. For an eagle to be a crow isn’t stepping down but rather selling him or herself short of the individual strengths we all bring to the daily rush to getter done.

Be you…then teach your efforts to a willing passerby without making it look like you’re taking over the forested sky. We’re gonna make it but only if the education to succeed is delivered by way of unmasking who it is you’re truly trying to be.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

There is no sea to part...

I’m thoroughly convinced CEO’s, GM’s and business owners have never played Jinga or Don’t Break The Ice. If every step taken requires something to be removed, how far into the game can one travel before everything invested becomes rubble?

Archeologists from the future won’t be interested in finding bones and tools used to heighten our reasons for being the greatest generation ever; the mandate will be nonexistent because the forthcoming are trained by a population that’s numb to reality.

Something’s seriously wrong with the world when you become jealous of the employees being lied to on the CBS reality show Undercover Boss. The Roman arena of lions attacking brave gladiators has evolved into a conference room filled with pink slips tucked inside brown folders.

In the next twelve months a major banking firm is cutting 30,000 employees worldwide. Wall Street reacted; the value of the banks stock went up. The signal sent to Corporate America, “Continue removing the bricks holding up your foundation.”

The only reason why I’m afraid to admit I produce my best work under tremendous amounts of pressure is because those creating the excess mess find success in making sure I’m constantly one inch from stepping off the cliff.

Knowing the journey toward the future would always be in the dark why did Thomas Edison invent the lightbulb?

It’s because Mr. Edison was afraid of the dark.

Alfred D Souza once said, “The obstacles of life are intended to make us better, not bitter.”

Google last night’s Republican debate and the lights not too bright. Bitterness within the circle steals from the light leading the blind. Voters aren’t being energized by measures that influence their decisions of maintaining a proper voyage toward a brighter horizon.

Does anybody have Moses as a friend on Face Book? David the rock thrower?

Samuel Glover is known for reminding us, “Obstacles are merely a call to strengthen, not quit. You cannot bring change without confrontation. If you have a dream without problems then you don’t have a dream.”

My problem is…I don’t get it.

Does starvation truly have to be the motivational tool that changes a government? When will local television stations produce the public service announcements that show the faces of American families?

There can be no change until the numbness wears off. Numbness is disbelief. When a woodpecker slams its head into a tree to latch onto a microscopic bug the human eye can’t see…does the woodpecker locate the nearest convenience store for headache remedies? I can’t get close enough to locate the answer.

Sidney Harris laughingly states, “Life is as uncertain as a grapefruit squirts.”

“The breakfast of champions isn’t cereal but obstacles.”

Why did Thomas Edison create the lightbulb? He was afraid of the dark.

Why aren’t politicians and big corporate businesses putting value in hiring while reshaping the surface of what once made America the greatest production outlet in the world? Because it doesn’t matter how high the unemployment rate goes up, the electric company expands their monthly statements or cities and states up their taxes the little guy common worker with barely a buck in his pocket isn’t afraid of the dark future.

There can be no light at the end of the tunnel until it’s required… A brilliant book to read is John Mason's Believe you can.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Is it really a stupid Monday?

Ten steps deep into the typical workday and nearly every cubical bumped into is occupied by human stick figures that have publically described it as being a stupid Monday…

Then stupid I shall be. Five stupid questions that lead to five stupid answers:

1. How many calories does a booger have in it?

Research shows that feasting on a hairless nose monster can be quite healthy. The amount of energy required to hoist a hangy lew from the honker can be documented as your daily workout. Believe it or not calories are burned hiking the finger up the skirt of your face requiring the use of biceps, triceps and abs to hunt that monkey down from the trees.

As one researcher says, “Ripping nose chunks from the bunks three times a week for twenty minutes a day will peal the pounds off.”

2. Does tilting you head from side to side disconnect you from stress?

Tension loves to hide in the ride that keeps your head perfectly balanced. When you gently lower your ear lobes toward the shoulders holding up the world such lateral flexions convince the bodies system to let go. Think of it as neck farting. Eight percent of your body mass is connected to the thinker. Instead of making facing trying to hold it back…open up and say ahhhhhhhh.

3. Are most coworkers quiet because the voices in their head have better things to say?

According to the University of Manchester; mind texting is Captain Cool right on target with being completely downright in tune. Although Hollywood has painted the picture of hearing voices as being abnormal; the act of not responding makes you the freak with the leak.

4. How often should a coworker, spouse or friend be asked, “Are you mad at me?”

The top reason why we’re constantly driven to the corner or a squared circle with our arms dangling and face wide open is the majority of us lack the courage to confront anger. Therefore we question it.

One of the seven requirements of human survival is acceptance; when listening to a Richard Marx song is the only love you’re getting…then you’re sittin in a pool of pitty governed by a need to squeeze a reason from a grape that dried up three years ago.

5. Is it feasibly possible to not know how to have fun?

Hunter S Thompson once wrote, “They will not inherit the earth, but then neither will I... And I have learned to live, as it were, with the idea that I will never find peace and happiness, either. But as long as I know there's a pretty good chance I can get my hands on either one of them every once in a while, I do the best I can between high spots.

Take that thought and make today’s stupid Monday blog your own. Find five fricken minutes in your busy a** 24 hour period and answer the questions yourself.

Arroe’s answers:

1. How many calories does a booger have in it?

If they’re extremely light in calories can we pickle them like my mom used to save peaches and pears? Your neighbors will love the scent shot from the kitchen window. If snowed in this winter, forget hitting the grocery store for bread and milk…they add inches to your waist. Salt free greeny thingies will lead to an unforgettable six pack…be it beer to wash it down or an Usher clone…life is good when you recycle what your body makes!

2. Does tilting you head from side to side disconnect you from stress?

Chiropractors and acupuncturists love it when you pop your neck too much! Keep American doctors working! Grow stress like corn and pop that slender tube into place more times than Orville Redenbacher has kernels. Another top money maker for medical people is our need to stay connected to flat screens; cell phones, Kindles, television sets…your eyes weren’t designed to stare into flat objects. The more you do it…the more you’ll spend at the optometrist.

3. Are most coworkers quiet because the voices in their head have better things to say?

I have no clue…the voice maker sitting next to my ear drum is singing John Denver. Ask me later.

4. How often should a coworker, spouse or friend be asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Growing up in Montana in a family with eight kids being mad at each other is how you got the attention of the decision maker. If you aren’t mad at me I’m not doing my job.

5. Is it feasibly possible to not know how to have fun?

The problem with fun is that everyone thinks karaoke is a blast. Video games are the answer to a Friday night frat party. Hitting speeds of 90 plus on an open highway seems illegal unless you’re the one flying. I have a blast writing with an old fashioned ink well and nib every morning at sunrise. It’s also pretty incredible fun to be sent over someone’s back onto a hard mat in martial arts. The mind goes places before time catches up.

Stop trying to design fun. Comedy doesn’t exist. It’s a fancy word for relating. You only laugh because the person on stage has figured out a way to pull you into their story by carefully crafting words you connect with. They’re no different than a used car salesman. You either buy it or find yourself on a different lot.

Now it’s your turn…have fun doing it your way.

I will always believe in you first…

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Medicine for those moments when someone shouts, "Get over it!"

During a four hour lecture last night I opened the floor to questions, “How do you react to someone who’s lost their confidence?”

Anyone close enough to truly know me realizes early in the journey the voice you hear slipping from the lips of a six foot Montana raised cow pie is more of an actor than decision maker.

To be a DM demands confidence. DM’s hoist flags over stolen soil from spur of the moment business partners. Being a DM mobilizes the energy of connected paths while determining the assumed outcome before unmasking what should’ve taken place. DM’s are forced to take blame when shame came from players not in the real game.

Confidence isn’t my weakness. Displaying it is.

If knowing the way is where the finger is pointed, shrugged are the shoulders, “Cool…lets do it.”

You’ll never catch me attacking amusement park attractions that instantly drop from the sky. I can’t even pee in a public bathroom. That requires confidence.

Ask me to help shape your image within the waves that splash across the face of radio and ignited isn’t confidence but passion. Suddenly there’s an identity crisis!

Having passion doesn’t pay the Time Warner Cable bill. Too much time is wasted trying to convince DM’s your value. Multitasking has turned us all into mulit-talented performers but those sitting in the shoes of DM’s forgot to purchase the 3-D glasses.

When what you give away isn’t appreciated the first thing tossed to the lions is confidence. We spend it like a fresh scented five dollar bill unexpectedly located in a pair of jeans washed on Tuesday.

Passion is passion. 90% of what we do feed the roots of making sure passion is kept alive. The other 10% comes into play when passion has knocked you to your knees and today doesn’t seem to be the day you’ll find the energy to pick that a** up.

From confidence comes enthusiasm. Without confidence cable television, texting, Face Booking, surfing the web, slamming down Red Bulls, hitting the night scene with only ten bucks in your banking account becomes a legalized drug. We figure out ways to score a free high.

How do you react to someone who’s lost their confidence?

I listen…

If the two most dangerous places for the business of martial arts is when students are first introduced to the white belt curriculum and later green belt…where are the higher belts to help nurture the mind that’s began to wander?

A black belt doesn’t spar a white belt to inflate a need to win, win, win! He or she puts focus on instruction through listening first. Doubt is a disease. Having doubt is contagious. Doubt is no different than a hearty yawn. Within seconds it’ll wrap around the entire gang hanging for a good time until a buzz kill pops up with a stretch combined with a well deserved, “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Uncross your arms. That’s the first sign of having no confidence. Your hands were designed to clear paths not smell like armpits.

Become loyal to the basics and confidence will fertilize dreams.

Thirty two years in radio and you’d think I’d have this on-air thing mastered. Being in market number 24 is a daily reminder that there are 23 three other cities better than this chosen path. My confidence suffers.

In July 2009 I was eight private black belt classes and a grueling but extremely fun test from being recognized as a 3rd degree. My eating habits won; fast food causes heart disease. Although I fought extremely hard to keep connected to my passion of being a martial artist a required confidence failed me to the brink of physically entering class with no belt…leading to a one year disconnection.

How do you react to someone who’s lost their confidence? Know what having no confidence is before reacting. Understand that demands might be met but only through passion. Like tooth decay a lack of confidence has the ability to sicken the mind, body and soul.

Listen then reintroduce the basics.

James Tamm patiently waits while my injured martial arts spirit catches up never realizing how he instructs is being carried to my writing, art on canvas, commercials created, music performed and or just shaking hands with a movie freak in it for the vibe…his recharging of confidence is passed forward. Therefore if a seven second on air break has burped up a giggle assumed lost because of your bad day…how it got there comes from the people before us…Mr. Tamm leads by way of wanting to be led the same.

How do you react to someone who’s lost their confidence?

From listening comes confidence which creates enthusiasm. From enthusiasm we locate a need to discover. Art from you isn’t to be kept from the world for what you create always has the energy to inspire a smile in the heart of someone or something that’s lost the way.

The mission is to listen…

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

There are no team jerseys from where I'm from...

Where are the schools of hard knocks that shape tomorrow’s leaders?

Seth Godin from “Tribes” fame whips the digital photo from his workplace camera exposing the model employee clocking in, reporting to a department head, performing expectations then leaning his boss has been replaced; coworkers terminated; push rewind and do it again until the factory closes.

During last weeks Sport Your School Colors Celebration…I wore a movie T-shirt.

Arriving in radio four years before high school graduation the idea of furthering the endeavor was taken over by an education that doesn’t exist unless you live it; billions of dollars spent on market by market research, oversaturated consultant opinions, endless music format changes, radio station receivership, purchase and repurchase, multiple management replacements, typewriters and correction ribbon to computers to smartphones, 45’s, albums, CD’s to MP3’s and the introduction of Rap and Hip Hop.

I’ve been playing radio since Ray Stevens and K-Tel owned bedroom turntables.

There’s not a book on earth honest enough to tell the tales of what Broadcasting truly is. I tried to write it only to hear from the publisher, “Who is this for? Radio people have already lived it and listeners aren’t ready to let go of the fantasy.”

A code of silence signed into company law by lawyer’s protecting waves that carry more haunt than a Halloween fun house keeps a lot of microphone magic from reaching the next Ryan Seacrest. Therefore what you hear today is plastic.

True Broadcaster’s don’t come from books nor do they begin the journey relentlessly running a Taco Bell drive thru window. The decision to one day play is no different than the invisible God given grip of your wrist that an upset steaming hot Mother uses to pull their child toward better behavior.

I’m thoroughly convinced that Broadcasting is more dangerous than LSD, Heroin and an ice cold Zima…with proper medical help you can escape a drug addiction.

This isn’t bashing! Radio is making brilliant decisions in the way of rewiring the paths connected to a listener’s life and style.

Alexander Stepanovich Popov’s original idea in 1895 was to move sound by way of transmitting. Without a school of hard knocks we would’ve never met The Lone Ranger, George Burns and Gracie Allen, the man who coined the Rock n Roll phrase Mr. Alan Freed, The Beatles, four in a row without talk, commercial free all music hours, Dick Clark, Casey Kasum, Rush Limbaugh, Howard Stern and Ronald M Popeil the genius behind the single object that drew me to the two speaker car stage the Mr. Microphone.

Where are the schools of hard knocks that shape tomorrow’s leaders?

The earth shattering story that didn’t make the front page was Dirty Jobs host Mike Rowe’s trip to Capitol Hill where he feverishly tried to convince lawmakers to put vocation back into the education system.

I don’t want to hear about what private schools offer. Doing a more personalized chase for the diploma is no different than fine tuning college credits. Mr. Rowe isn’t asking the rich to enhance opportunity but to get national leadership and support to help generate a place for schools to give out a couple of hard knocks.

Plumbing, car mechanics, accounting, fashion, carpentry and more; I’m amazed at the number of college graduates I meet that aren’t doing what they studied. Not because there aren’t any jobs…their investment isn’t paying off because the real world hits you a little harder than a professor with a big thick set of state certified expectations.

The world of education has been blasted by layoffs and unheard of amounts of budget cuts but universities continue to make teachers. I’d get kicked out! Rather than put focus on child behavior I’d want to know more about the person wanting to be a teacher heading into a career that has no future until national decision makers realize we really are losing in the quest to be the best.

Seth Godin passionately prints into play a single thought, “Leaders don’t have things happen to them. They do things.”

I no longer wonder what would happen to America if the corporate side of this nation’s success decided to reinvest their interest in employees that have luggage. They’d spend less money trying to shape inexperience which opens the door for more gain on the grains of sand that keep you from toppling the competition.

Have you truly studied the makings of a local movie theater…every manager knows how to thread and repair the film or reprogram this new digital age of entertainment. Every manager puts value in the art of up selling the candy row. Every manager can man the ticket booth and I’ve yet to meet the movie theater manager that doesn’t rock out on the overtime hours without developing a complaint.

I love me some Tar Heels, UCLA Bruins, Wolf Pack, 49er’s and Blue Devils. I can say that while wearing a Milwaukee Bucks jersey. I’m a proud graduate from the school of hard knocks where we’re taught one rule: everyone’s a winner when you offer support to the chapters that are being written.

I will always believe in you first…

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

How to deal with a Tuesday that feels like a Monday...

What are we worried about?

Charles Kingsley’s message is “Stop acting as though comfort and luxury are the chief requirements of life. What we need to make us truly happy is something to be enthusiastic about.”

Massive amounts of groans blanket flat screens around the world…

Checking in with author John Mason his first lesson is to whip out a sheet of paper and practice what my mother preached, “Count your blessings.”

Norman Vincent Peal exclaims, “Think excitement, talk excitement, act out excitement and you’ll become an excited person.”

Personally I find more pleasure in knowing my art reaches people that didn’t spend a dime then I do selling a canvas with an Arroe vision attached. To see one of my songs on a Betty Ford Center web page generated more positive flow than 32 years of radio.

Winston Churchill keeps it simple when saying, “Success is going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.”

I laugh when face to face with that view. I can’t be the only artist that’s never satisfied with the outcome of what’s found between the four corners of a frame until I’ve completely destroyed the original idea three to five times.

Only to hear someone slightly say, “I know exactly what mood you were in when this came to life.”

Totally impossible!

I document every brush stroke, each new swirl of paint, the chances required to wow me and the heart felt feelings of disaster delivered after I globbing too much red over the blue. How dare I add green to anything I create!

Papyrus opens the gate when sharing, “No one keeps up his enthusiasm automatically. Enthusiasm has to be nourished with new actions, aspirations, effort and vision.”

Julia Cameron from the Artist way doesn’t invite you to surround yourself with fans but those who’ve chosen to understand. I spent four years on the Barnes and Nobel writing circuit helping thinkers and doodlers accept the idea that being different and misunderstood was completely acceptable.

Gaining access to enthusiasm from someone close to you is like locating a needle in a haystack. Therefore I’ve learned to be extremely open with the discovery of my art. I leave my daily journal out to be read. I’ve taken the fear out of what others think by replacing it with a deeply driven desire to show someone how to be just as creative.

Do I have too much confidence? I hope so! Without hope and confidence you’ve developed a need to do nothing.

John Mason clearly points out, “Some people freeze in winter while others ski. If you lead a life filled with negative vibrations you’ll find yourself seasick.”

My worst nightmare right now is stepping on the scale. I know what I weighed at the time of the heart attack. I know what I’m required to weigh to keep the insurance company from calling me. I’m also well aware of what the web claims a man that’s six foot should come in at. Twice a day I step up to document and every time I hear my soul say, “You fat a** loser, lets see if there’s a reason to be happy today. You freakin fat pig it can’t be that difficult.”

I’ve convinced my normally extremely positive self that having a great outlook on the next ten minutes has been interrupted by a core source of extremely bad vibrations. Winston Churchill says it best, “A negative person is half way defeated.”

John Mason believes there’s a direct correlation between our passion and our potential. Whatever your hand finds to do…do it with all your might. Being positive is essential to the achievement and the foundation of true progress.

Stop letting your boss, brother, mother or neighbor control how you do what you do. As much as we want to believe art was meant to be judged…the truth is…it’s another way for you the creator to breathe during times when fall allergies have clogged the snot canal.

Practice being you because there’s no other like it; which makes you an incredible piece of art.

I will always believe in you first…

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Wanna fight?

Ok…alrighty…readjust the tired aching cheeks in a butt that’s been pinched by economic crunches only to be shoved into a squeaky backbreaking office chair that makes your legs hurt more than the ego; reach up and touch the puffy sags under each eye before glancing to see if any type of chocolate is nearby for a quick high.

Very rarely will you spot words falling from the tip of my writing instrument that asks you to stare into the soul of a growing irritation.

We’ve all got them and usually turn it into major steep hills connected to unstoppable valleys. More often then not…no daily page of experience is written without something or someone in your life generating just enough juice to send your worries and fears into a cyclone of destruction.

The makers of The Daily Challenge believe the consumed mind, body and soul need to hit the storm head on. First, identify the problem then come up with two solutions. The stronger of the two becomes your newfound way.


The true goal is to give yourself a break, cut the inner you some slack, lay low and stop pointing fingers or tossing out accusations like you’re Weatherman Larry Sprinkle with a fist full of candy at the Matthews Labor Day Parade.

Stress is released when you stop to think. Rather than concentrate on one getaway plan…listen to the other side of common sense and reason. By developing the attitude of creating solutions less pressure is shoved into the height of your workday.

I’m the furthest thing from calm. I’m from the Pacific Northwest where loud verbal arguments lead to quick fisted city park brawls and unexplained bruises in places you swore were never hit, kicked or bit. Then I turned 18 and the rules of life changed. Busting tail meant going to jail.

A quick change had to be made in my game…if there was to be a resolution I needed to put focus on a solution.

I turn to my roots. Growing up in Montana made western boots, chickens to feed and miles of dirt trails to walk to school; you’re given enough time and space to reshape the race. Such freedoms to a kid is just another reason to moan and groan about having mean parents that refuse to score your challenged feet a Trans Am or anything resembling a Ford Rambler. Just give me four wheels. Fighting with the father figure pushed those wheels a little further down the highway. Learning to speak his language, understand his purpose of protection and the next thing you know…I had a 77 AMX.

Take the hurt and anger out of a disagreement and the soils that remain feed your efforts to succeed.

Solutions…two for each unfit, too tight of a grip, choking til you can’t breathe situation at home, work, driving through traffic or attempting to return an item to a mall store without a receipt.

Got problems with the government mending our broken Wall Street and Bank of America have too big of an ego economy? What’s your solution?

How many days into office are required before invisible groups with just enough cash meet up with you for lunch and without even knowing it the next vote placed was in favor of change?

In 1993 I finally made it to the position of Music Director at a radio station. I had proved my worth beyond being a talk too much on air disc jockey. Three months into the performance I resigned. I couldn’t handle it. Record companies have more power than a state senator. The strongest voice in music at the time had released a new single; I didn’t hear it. Meaning…it didn’t move me. I did nothing to pursue its success on the station. A great record rep moves over the vomit and goes straight to the source of the sickness. Not only did the station manager add the song but our logo suddenly appeared on shopping bags at an annual fall show.

Decisions today are connected to promises. Those agreements become part of your workday. Stay and play or go with no show. Stress instantly digs into the core of your destination; nights become sleepless, lunch is stale and anyone worth their weight in gold is just another reason to yell.

One problem…two solutions. Give your nose channels fresh air to breathe or the old man hairs your grandfather once shared will take root and horde all the best boogers for bigger more embarrassing moments.

Become the silent wolf…