Thursday, November 29, 2012

Pictures Of A New Book: Part Four

Being part of the computer generation has made me a horribly lazy writer! Rather than enjoy the hand spun fun that drifts from the soul onto paper...I've tapped, rattled and endlessly edited my life and style straight into an addiction to perfectionism. That's why this time had to be different! In the early part of October 2012 I spent my midmornings studying the curves and unexpected twists caused by my writing. I took note of the depth of distance while escorting the edges of my imagination to a better relationship with this creative self that never seems to stop being so easily damaged. I found pleasure in the presentation of penned out and penciled works set free in 1977 and 1994. This photo shows my current book Scrambled Eggs being lifted from all that's inside onto a stage called paper. How it's getting there is the lost art. My choice to dance with it seems like more work than society allows but in the end there'll be music carried to a reader that feels the way I do about thinking...what if I put it on a page? Might it become an egg? What then?

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Pictures Of A New Book: Part Three

The absolute most dangerous thing a writer can do is search for support. Friends, family and whomever else decides to listen while the art falls from the writing instrument will never, can never and shouldn't ever be expected to feel with the same emotions the writer felt while the words were leaping from passing clouds causing rain storms in your hollow eyes. This photo was taken while sitting next to a Southern Pond in Charleston, South Carolina. Each morning I was greeted by visitors that wanted nothing from my writing. I've always believed they...not me...are the true messenger. My job as the writer was to listen to how they'd layout the pages of the story quickly becoming my next book.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Pictures Of A New Book: Part Two

The most difficult part about being a writer isn't the beginning middle and end but learning newer ways to handle action and reaction. I fear bumping into the person that unknowingly will silence the writing. Carefully, I walk toward every door realizing the moment it opens could be the introduction of an unexpected twist. While writing I am the character. A passerby doesn't understand that I'm not being moody when in reality...I'm not even me! The writing instrument I hold is the only one being used to share the story. It's the John Lennon from Mont Blanc

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Pictures Of A "New Book" At Birth

When you dedicate your life to're no longer in control of where the sentences are puked up. You have to get it out! It's an infection that consumes your every thought. To keep it within is a war no man can win therefore the loyalty isn't what you write but how you're able to find places where you can write.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Departures Aren't Meant For Distance Making...

You have arrived at the most perfect time. The keeper of this Blah Blah Blog only seems away. Written thoughts of chapters past decorate the halls for now. Please take the time to enjoy, empower and help deliver my reasons for locating a constant positive locked as well as lost somewhere in the center of a world completely addicted to negative vibrations. The author has been called away to paint into place collected sentences. Each paragraph is said to be the elements required to make a book but we all know I'm not into such music. Therefore, let's play it a different way. I've heard an incredible story and within the days, months, maybe a year upon my undivided will be put on display. That is my guarantee. Thank you for your patience during this time of creative flow. Arroe

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

When Nature Calls

I laugh at the image in the mirror. I taunt the shadows assuming to be hidden in the corner. Don't ask me about the number of times I verbally attack the irony of being a "Creative Expressionist." It is my addiction and without it I would have nothing. I can paint into place the exact details of what unfolded inside a Montana cold street salt dirty yellow school bus gliding through bails of crunched up snow toward an extended center for education. "I'm going to write a book!" I decided with confidence. Not my first. That falling of the finger prints onto the innocence of tree vines and memories of limbs belonged to a second grader at Ponderosa school. Without question, hesitation or attempting to run interference with normal kids play...I took a #2 pencil and pasted it to the tips of a very colorful imagination. Mrs. Keefe caught onto the scent of my road kill. How in God's name could a 2nd grader from extremely dirt poor south Billings fall into a hole so incredibly deep? Rather than push my printing habits toward Mathematics and through the ongoing series of Dick, Jane, Spot and Sally...she elected to enhance the arrival of what had been set free. Never judging. She'd sit anxiously nervous in an uncomfortable front of the room chair decorated with grading papers and notes from the principal and let me read what had been allowed to move through me. Junior high was a lonely experience. I was consumed, overtaken and or completely off track. Lost in theory, the process of being "Creative" had taken me toward music more than writing. I mean! It had to be what I truly wanted to become! Right? John Lennon wrote lyrics! The desire to write plus a passion to listen equals musician. How could I have been so wrong? I had spent so much time in elementary school chasing books never realizing the biggest destination was to be the combination! So...everything I touched, smelled, devoured before and after school and held onto tightly even while dreaming was this horrible aching that comes with being associated with the building of someone's favorite song. Yeah ok... In a major attempt to keep me from dropping out of school three teachers dressed up in 1977 adult clothes at Billings Senior High agreed to let me write the very book given to me while riding without seatbelts over railroad tracks that should've been igniting other things teenage boys are supposed to lose control of. Not me! It had to be a book and it's title would be Halloween 78. The picture associated with this Blog is a snap shot of the rewrite in 1994 written while on the air at Sunny 107.9 in Charlotte. NC. Was there silence in the writing between 1969 and 1977? I wrote poetry. Gobs of it! As sick as it sounds...I still have it and each time I hold it my aging frame bursts out in laughter. My handing writing hasn't changed. Nor have the word formations and oddly shaped sentence structures that I've vowed to never let go of. It's my accent! Halloween 78 was finally published in 2011. It wasn't my first. That honor belongs to Another Man's 1,021 Thoughts which was supposed to be a book of poetry. That all went to hell while doing research and I discovered the depth of what I had written didn't unveil a face to which I was influenced to follow. I found peace in sharp, jagged and completely out of tune quotes jotted down before sunrise inside my daily writing. My first published approach wasn't supposed to be this kind of book! I still hate myself for selling out! Especially since the publisher listed it under the category of New Age Religion. I knew something was horribly wrong when the first round of books hitting stores came complete with unedited cussing on those pages. Although I had edited, then edited then edited six more times...the publisher still printed the wrong material. That big mistake cost them control. Plus if you get your hands on one...collectors of first editions dig that sort of s***! Another 1,021 Thoughts was put into play because I can tell you exactly what was going through my creative process during September 11th and after. The frickin book isn't about me. It was released to open your possibilities to documenting where the hell you've been on this long ass journey that time will soon erase from your memory. Vividly like it was six seconds ago I can still count the tears exploding from my eyes the moment the voice said, "You're going to write a book. It's going to be called Conversation with the Devil." My first success as a writer. I've heard from readers in Korea, Russia, France and from extremely religious pissed off people in Charlotte that still scream, "You are so wrong!" I laugh... What else does a crazy person do but laugh? Book ideas fly into me every second of every day. I don't sleep at night because passerby's from distances undocumented feel they need to visit at all times. And then it happens. My eyes swell. My heart explodes. I look up at God and say, "Are you sure?" The tears get bigger. The mind rips away from fear while the soul opens a floodgate of energy that I could waste the next 30 years trying to explain but I'll lose you the moment I hit 140 Twitter characters. I have heard from the horizon. It has sketched out the echo and it's my job to give it a face. I'm leaving the daily, outrageously hilarious, engaging yet somehow spiritual path of Blogging to fine tune the lyrics of what will become my next book. I cannot cloud nor allow things to stand in the way therefore to release Blogging from my every day is to become the space required to put pen to paper, thought to process, imagination into destination. It will be well documented... Call this writing of a book the making of my next series of Blogs. Look sometime, when you have the time and I'm not saying spend a dime because Art feels better when the right person finds it and from their experience they begin to write. And that's why I was born. Somewhere out there is a's my job to locate the sentence that influences the tree to speak. At that moment words will begin to dance like fallen leaves racing for Miami away from winters unpredictable but tasteful bite. See you soon... I dedicate this writing journey to Steven Furtick whose book Greater teaches everyone to never stop believing in the one thing that means more to you than the next sunrise... You!

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The United States Of The Used To Be...

The early morning television news spoke of a bleeding need; residents hailing from Georgia, both Carolina's, Alabama, New York, Michigan and thirteen other borderlines have declared their freedom by introducing a petition then filing it with a White House program called: We The People. 4,000 names currently appear on the Georgia movement which strongly informs: Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and institute new Government... Wait! Wait! Before you officially run off and impeach your Mother-in-law from Secretary of the Superior've got to follow the well laid out rules! Whoever initiates the petition must get 150 signatures just to "go live" on the Whitehouse website. Then, each state must get 25,000 signatures by Dec 10, 2012 to be considered by President Obama. Each state's plea reads similar: "Peacefully grant the State of Missouri to withdraw from the United States of America and create its own NEW government." Maybe I should mention why this seasons Thanksgiving Dinner talk might be a little testy. Um, yeah...the last Presidential's kinda, sorta become a dip in the highway creating some serious stomach cramping, achy legs and bent but not broken bones in an already tired back. I mean seriously, what's a person supposed to think? Nowhere has it been written, I-books, drug store mailers or on a high school desk that The American Dream would include George Lucas selling out to Disney. When Yoda no longer feels the force...something's gotta snap. I'm sure the White House is taking this news of seceding very seriously. The last thing we need are more public disconnections like Paula Abdul leaving American Idol. If she would've could've hung on a little longer we'd be completely free of Entertainment Tonight's constant E-blasting of the verbal dispute between Mariah Carey and Niki Minaj. Think it's different? Hollywood is a nation of its own. What about the video game Call Of Duty Black Ops II? What if the election had interrupted last night's official release of what's said to be the greatest single most important mind blowing adventure ever? Those innocent Joy Sticks would never make it past security at McDonalds. What if President Obama wrote onto a scribble pad, "The 31 States of America?" Instantly We The People would get hooked up with a bad rap; always being compared to 31 Flavors. Knowing 19 states are currently screaming doesn't make us ice cream makers! Wonder how the Occupied Movement is handling the news of something a little more focused wanting to joust the biggest baddest knight in the kingdom? I was born in 1962 which made me much too young to know the whereabouts of the keys that unlocked 1968. Perks and spurts have been squirted on a few potentials but it's been next to near nothing since the Great Move Forward. I don't think it's cuz we're lazy. The streets are overrun by fuel guzzlin engines swiftly pushing people to anywhere USA! It not cuz we're poor. Billions come from out of nowhere for books, movies, concert tickets and technological releases. The more you spend the easier it is for CEO's to raise prices. Even if it means not paying this month's HBO've got what it takes to make it in America. I'm not making fun of the 19 states wanting to pick up and drop off the scene. Nobody knows more about being free than a Montana raised Big Sky chasing loud mouth nobody understands especially when he's writing. But... your movement can't come across as an angry teenager threatening to run away from home. Once you're out there someone has to put gas in the tank, come up with the dollars and cents for the cell phone to put out and it's no political statement or poor poor pitiful me party when the mail service makes mention of barely having enough cha ching to pay for employees. Being free from the belt loop doesn't make you a new pair of jeans. Fight! Fight for your right! Fight! Fight for your height! But be right with how high you're willing to fly. Not all wings are made of feathers strong enough to lift ambition. The last thing we need is a situation put together by leadership that checked out sometime last week. Keep Being American! It's in our genes.

Monday, November 12, 2012

America Has A New Number One Killer And It Isn't Cars

How can this be "Breaking News?" 100% of the people popping quick fix drugs know the moment the pharmacist asks you to sign that digital screen or overcrowded sheet of paper...the next step is a practical game called "Release versus Relief." For the first time in 100 years car crashes no longer sit on top of the accidental killer in America list. As big of a pain it is to whip out a state ID for some over the counter meds...those mastering the mixes of Smack and Chrystal Meth don't get credit for accidently overdosing our methods of madness. The National Center For Health Statistics reports shiny pills prescribed by doctors, approved by the government, manufactured by pharmaceutical companies and sold to the consumer as “medicine” are releasing a lot of people from their daily duties. Yet of the billions of legit pills Americans pop every year for medical conditions serious and otherwise, the vast majority of lives are claimed by only a select few classes—painkillers, sedatives and stimulants—that all share a common characteristic: they promote abuse, dependence and addiction. In 2010 enough prescription medicines were sold to keep every person in this country completely medicated for a month. One year earlier I planted a Blog on the web that smacked reality in the face; while nearly blowing my veins clean out of the innocent decision to keep putting Over-the-Counter remedies into the system lit my blood pressure to extremely dangerous levels causing a total reboot. I was lucky. My decision was to dig. Research created worry. The experience reminded me of a conversation with a Native American Medicine Man where he softly explained, "I cannot heal another human. I only provide the materials required for the body to rest. The body heals itself." Our addiction doesn't start at the drugs. It begins with fulfilling a hearty well established need to be 150% ready for all things any time of the day or night. No cold, flu or food poisoning can keep us down! We have a 24 Hr CVS, Walgreens and Rite Aid on every block! Let's play a game! I'll list The Top 10 Most Dangerous Rx Drugs in America and you tell me which one's you've innocently slipped next to your tongue and with one large gulp of water, milk, orange juice or flavored Vodka...woosh! Down it went!!! This list of brand name and generic drugs was compiled from the Drug Abuse Warning Network's (DAWN's) database of emergency room visits in 2009, including drug poisonings that lead to both deaths and survivals. 1. Xanax (alprazolam) 112,552 (benzodiazepine class) 2. OxyContin (and other oxycodone drugs) 105,214 (opiate class) 3. Vicodin (and other hydrocodone drugs) 86,258 (opiate class) 4. Methadone 63,031 (opiate class) 5. Klonopin (clonazepam) 57,633 (benzodiazepine class) 6. Ativan (lorazepam) 36,582 (benzodiazepine class) 7. Morphine drugs 31,731 (opiate class) 8. Seroquel (quetiapine) 29,436 (antipsychotic class) 9. Ambien (zolpidem) 29,127 (sedative class) 10. Valium (diazepam) 25,150 (benzodiazepine) Enough said. I've pissed off 92.8% of my readers. Nothing ruins a Monday worse than a Rock Jock bitching about digesting pills that push you through spills. Time for me to swig down another heaping 64 ounces of really strong black coffee. Which my heart doctor says, "It will kill you!" But do I listen?

Friday, November 9, 2012

The Rock Jock And The Man On The Rock: Part Two

I've spent so much time pouring ink into the veins of a living tree that sometimes the vines of new life pop out a leaf on the overcrowded page. Standing back, the view becomes clear...invite other Poets with pens to the circle of constant need versus the addiction but dislike to change. Basically meaning, I've screamed toward God so many times he finally pushed aside the assumed rain cloud. Leadership is a subject covered so often and maybe too much. But that's what Artist's do. We paint what falls before the canvas. Painful or not the energy stroked into the curves of black meeting white which somehow evolves into a shade of mauve tainted with teal...the Artist's vision hangs not to dry but to embrace judgment. Julia Cameron says, "Let them display their art so that they can learn to ignore criticism." When does that numbness begin set in? Leadership... Arriving on two feet but no donkey. Hailing from the great mountains of Carolina with a soul that's been dipped in farther away places comes the creator of Run! It's a Preacher! A man of the book! You're all going to Hell! Obviously you've never met Jonathan. This is one of those times where I can Arroe-ize my typical reaction, "For the love of God back down the motors that rev up your fears, reaction to denial and hatred toward all things that spit on your reasons for being you." Every week I'm going to network with Not because my spiritual upbringing looks more like a chunk of rotted from inside out dried to the soul cheese...but because of a sentence that melted into the flat screen from the heat of these aging fingertips misting inspiration on the lids of your eyes ready to double click out but something says, "Wait! I'll give him one more sentence." Presidents don't change nations...we the people do. Through blogging you will change the world. The Rock Jock and The Man On The Rock... I'm gonna ask real frickin questions to an internally strong, brilliantly designed character but scrawny as can be with the weight of judgment kind of guy. He isn't about forcing you down the road toward the horizon. He ain't makin you paint a white picket fence smothered by the depths of effort that preacher people call sin. You give us two pages a week. I guarantee the silence fed in to the rivers belonging to those ocean sized mood swings will empty into the puke bucket your momma sat beside the bed when you were ten. Me: Now that the election has become part of history...divisions in decisions has created reasons to bring out an indifference. What is the best way to keep politics out of family gatherings Family gatherings are tricky to begin with. If your goal is to keep politics out of family gatherings, then the best way is not to get your family together. It always happens, so suck it up and cope. The option of walking away from the conversation is always there, as is the option of not bringing it up--that's my preferred option. Right this very minute I have family members praying for me because of how they think I voted. One aunt got furious at me for a Facebook post where I asked if anyone else thought that Mitt Romney looked like Sam the Eagle from the Muppet Show (I also said that I thought his concession speech was a good and gracious piece of American politics). Ok, so I also put some Youtube links to Sam talking about his objections to nudity and I even transcribed that one for my FB friends. My aunt sent me a message telling me how disappointed she was in me, how disgusting it was for me to post something about nudity (from a Muppet!), how she used to be so proud of me--and she wanted me to know that she wanted "to help not hurt." Look, if my aunt is going to get that upset over a Muppet character, then what hope do we have? In parts of my family, they avoid talking politics by telling racist jokes, which is why I sometimes think that I should just eat Thanksgiving at Waffle House. Much of what makes this hard is the impulse to convert the "lost." It's harder to have a healthy dialogue or conversation when I feel like I'm being judged or when, worse, being yelled at. So my trick is to ask lots of questions; it keeps me from having to defend myself so much--every now and then I actually learn stuff. In my experience, unless your grandmother makes a decree that politics are off limits, you won't avoid it, but you can navigate more graciously and safely by asking lots of questions and detaching from the need to win conversations. In my beliefs, it's better to be gracious than right. Me: Where does healing truly begin? The White House or the family house? Well, it depends on what needs healing. I might say that true healing begins in the doghouse since my dog loves me unconditionally, which is more than I can say for a lot of other relationships. Still, the Henley's alone don't have the resources to coordinate the response to a natural disaster, nor do we have the resources to make healthcare affordable. It took action from the White House to enact civil rights legislation in the 50s and 60s or to end Don't Ask, Don't Tell. On the other hand, when I am with some of my cousins, aunts, and uncles I feel more like my real self, I feel more at home, than almost anywhere. My wife, kids, and dog watched the election returns with me the other night; I couldn't get away from the real knowledge that what they give me heals me more than the results of the election. Me: Can two political parties sleep together in the same bed? Well, sure two political parties CAN sleep together in the same bed--any two "parties" can choose to sleep together. Do they both have to keep one foot on the floor? Are they there to sleep? Do they still have their socks on? Did they turn off their cell phones? If you're asking about whether or not two parties can coexist, then sure they can. It's a choice, though. It's hard to choose to let yourself be shaped in part by a difference of opinion. The problem in any relationship is when one party is so convinced that they are right that they no longer see the other party as even being human. THAT is not just arrogant, it's crazy arrogant and can be deadly. Most of us don't enjoy relationships in which we are treated like fools. Both political parties have important philosophical perspectives, but they communicate like children much of the time. There is a kind of vulnerability in sleeping together and neither party seems emotionally secure enough to enter into that kind of intimate relationship. Healthy "sleeping together" is about creating, not controlling or dehumanizing, though the friction and the rub of ideas is what makes it more fun, life-giving, creative, and valuable. Unfortunately, right now, political ads are like philosophical porn, narrowly focusing only on the most over-the-top, sensationalized, primal, unreal, and extreme desires and fears. It's hard to heal a relationship when both parties are only out to exploit and mock each other's weaknesses, injuries, and mistakes. A good "sleeping" relationship has to be somewhat failure friendly, free to, um, explore ideas. What ends up happening in American politics is that ideas are rejected out of hand because of who presents the ideas, not the merits of the ideas. I kind of think that that "rush to judgment" mentality is beneath us, but this relationship has degenerated into a competition, not a collaboration. Different people see different things. Sometimes we just don't see clearly, and we would do well to find the humility to admit it. Humility is kind of a key because it also permits us to laugh. The big time politicians seldom show much of a sense of irony other than sarcasm (a word that, in its origin, means to separate flesh from bone). If two parties are going to "sleep together," then it helps to have a sense of the ironic along with good comic timing--that stuff is funny, though intense. Me: What song best represents the current emotions in America and why? Hmm, there are a lot of songs, but there are a lot of emotions, too. We're pretty complex. But, at the risk of being cliché, I'd say "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog (aka Pearl Jam+Soundgarden). One of the primary emotional impulses of the election this year was that most folks "don't mind stealing bread from the mouths of decadence." For all of our desire to chase the American dream, we always hold on to this primal sense of fairness and justice, along with compassion. But, the key line to the song is much more emotional than it is economic. Our hearts are kind of starving mostly because our emotional and spiritual meals are seldom balanced. In that case, our culture needs those who are spiritually well-fed to share what they have. As a culture we're going hungry--and there are people in the northeast right now who are cold, displaced, tired, and living off of the compassion of others. Sometimes I just feel hungry. I'm a politics junkie. I watch till the bitter end and am sad when it's over (weird, huh?). But I love the moments after the winner has been declared because acceptance and concession speeches are the best places to hear the candidates say something with some substance . It's like they spend the whole campaign looking busy in the kitchen, but only serving warmed over tv dinners. And after all of the media barrage, after being promised a good meal, we stay hungry for something deeper, something more meaningful. So, while I revel in the moments when our national dialogue rises to the level of importance it deserves, those moments are too rare. The emotions of our country are all over the place, but I think that we still hunger for things worth digesting--community, connection, something real, honesty, love, adventure, courage, trust, friendship, expression, freedom. This stuff is almost foreign to the media, whose job is to sell saccharin. I'm going hungry.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Reasons Number 1, 2, 5 and 12 Why You Aren't Happy At Work

I don't know where it happened! It's too easy to point an index finger at the indentation left like an autograph. The only evidence of proof is the actualization of nothingness. But something took place! Right there in between chasing dreams and realizing. The passion to drop the drama and locate "solutions." Which is like chewing the fat off the forbidden apple. Or...properly peeling the label off an old fashioned glass bottle of Miller beer. In 1978 high school Montana, those caught with ripped labels spelled out "virgin." They didn't cover this stuff in the film Porky's! Finding "that" solution and "peeling" labels correctly can be done but the end result won't lead an tattered and torn broken horse to the winner's circle of a popularity contest. Look at the Rubik's Cube craze! Getting the toy lit the fuse. Twisting and turning, tossing and nearly giving up fed a personal need to be seen as a winner. Although you were mentally busted, that colorful collection of squares challenged you more like a mentor and not a teacher. Then it, click twist...a sudden burst of energy ignites a weapon of mass satisfaction and from you a smile much brighter than the Northern Lights heals the senses. Until you looked up and your friends and family became Rubi-tized: Drama caused by filthy ugly mean as can be but you'll never hear it from me jealousy! Maybe 40% of all office cliques, book clubs, girls and guys nights out and pre-Thanksgiving planning parties live off the negative energy brought on by other people's successes. The other 60% stems from the remnants of Hurricane Solution. We've made bitching and moaning a newfound religion. The acceptable behavior is to flat out stop the spinning of the earth and take a verbal dump in front of the only exit! Missing from the elements of value? The guts without glory path maker's that stand before the huge ass walls made of "I can't, not my job, I won't, why should I and not me!" Without fear they lift their walking stick high in the air and like lightning kissing the warm edges of a mountain lake they split that **** in two. Rock on Garth! The crushed completely out of control day has been saved! But! And I mean "BUT!" That's a big ole butt. What happens to the person or persons responsible for locating the "solution?" They're left in the hole with no rope, ladder, elevator or escalator to return them to a safe base of security. Immediately I think of Superman, Spiderman, Batman and Wonder Woman. Where the hell do they go and what happens to their moods when everything they just gave has lost its importance? Until the next time... Why don't more people participate with "solution" location? Author Steven Furtick might be onto something here: Not daily but minute by minute every human brought to this planet faces three ongoing never ending situations: 1. What if 2. What then 3. But I might just It's the inner war that's divided our nation, our offices and got us kicked out of the Animal kingdom. There's not a squirrel on earth happy about having to deal with humanized relaxed decision to keep it simple stupid. Them there two legged fanatics can't make it to the toilet without picking up a twelve pack of drama. Furtick calls it, "Actuality versus Productivity." What if I offer help? What if they see me as being a leader? What then? My workload will increase! I'll spend more time working then getting paid. They will begin to depend on me too much when all I want to do is get home to catch Ellen. But I might just help make the office run smoother if I extend my experience to someone in need. But I might just open an imagination begging to learn how to lead rather than follow. But I might just... In September of 1993...I stood on the corner of Walk and Don't Walk. I'll never forget walking my Arroe way down the long thin halls of Jefferson Pilot 107.9 and without delay noticed a slumping badly sick white faced Image Director trying to create. What if I helped him finish the work? I knew imaging! I had written and mixed all the promos and sweepers for 95 QQ before arriving at JP! What then? Being sick usually means several days. Do I have enough room in my day to image 107.9 for a week? But I might just do a great job and without a doubt Radio people being the biggest hand me downs on earth... I could very easy be given this job as a newly designed by higher powers expectation. You don't need to see my resume to know the rest of the story. Actuality versus Productivity changed the vision of where I stood and still stand within the four walls of Radio. The best you can offer anybody doesn't have to be a strong back and tough as nails hands. Try getting your mind out of the drama gutter and put more importance on busting the gate into a front yard of "solutions." You won't have too many fans but your friends will be genuine.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Understanding The Magic Of Magician's Doc Docherty And Chris Hannibal

In 1936 author Tom Robbins was quoted to say, "If you take any activity, any art, any discipline, any skill- take it and push it as far as it will go, push it beyond where it's ever been before, push it to the wildest edges of edges, then you force it into the realm of magic." There's that word! "Magic!" My biggest pet peeve is being bathed in the warm waters of conversation salted by someone's best explanation of what it is I do, "You have this way of creating magic." Carolina magician's Doc Docherty and Chris Hannibal brilliantly fool the mind's eye with faster than hurricane speeds. I've said, "Wow!" so many times while watching their unstoppable stage performances it's become a ringer on a thousand smart phones. That's magic! And yet Tom Robbins believes any activity, any art, discipline and any skill when pushed hard enough has every right to stand on its own stage under a hot set of lights called "magic." I would never think to call Tom Cruise, Hanks and Selleck magicians. Nor would I want to stand next to Paul Stanley, Giamatti and Ryan and ask them to show me the trick again but move through their methods extremely slow so I can catch what I keep missing. Musicians, actors, politicians, bankers and Wal-Mart greeters own a share of the "magic" pie. Why then, with so much available ability do we keep bumping into brothers, sisters, neighbors and coworkers who verbally expose their dispositions giving off the scent of having no reason to look forward? According to author Rhonda Byrne...there's a serious disconnection with what we think success is and isn't. No matter how hard you try. Forget the dollar amounts spent getting an education. Throw out the mentors and classic instructors that fearlessly taught new still can't lay your hands on this thing called "success." If Tom Robbins believes "magic" is what we all do...why then aren't you flipping bunnies out of a financial hat? Byrne believes the daily playing field changes when the performer begins a process of showcasing "gratitude." You have to be grateful for what you have. Permanent success is impossible. Let me give you a great example: About five to ten times a day my moods of many venture into the darkest areas of disbelief with no inner core of love and support. My mouth and thought process generate more negative energy toward the person I am that it convinces my feet, boney knees and pumpkin sized head that what I do in a radio station production room is 1,000 times worse than burying mold covered trash at the city dump. How do I pop out it without popping meds? I remind myself how much time and raw energy went into an advertising clients day. It takes sweat, dedication and loyalty to generate enough profit to buy advertising. To keep the flow of "magic" moving in their lives...required are customers. Thinking of that connection inspires me to create. There's no pre-work out powder on the market that can match the electricity swiftly spinning within. Robin Byrne invites you to view "the good things" about work. Although opportunity is null and void in modern America, what you bring to the office, grocery store or under the hood of a car changes people's lives. You in essence create magic. Inside my recording studio is a cartoon caricature of morning radio personality Paul Schadt. While some might think it being taped near my microphone is typically odd Arroe art...the truth offers a deeper richer texture to the front page of the "magic." Every commercial I produce will probably air on his highly rated morning show. Those commercials shoot from the speakers influencing a new "I want that" attitude. The listener's life changes because they were able to afford the new product. The client is excited to see the new customers. Although I've never come out and physically said it...but each time I see Paul in the hall, mentally I thank him for letting me display my art on his show. The extremely famous artist Peter Max comes across as someone who enjoys selling his mind blowing paintings. Yet...he still takes the time to travel the country to share a genuine thank you to galleries, art collectors or plain Jane fans. I'll never forget meeting him the first time! We talked about using Sharpie's as a medium. He was more interested in me than I was in him. The next time we met the conversation grew into his passion for the universe. We spent 45 minutes on the phone one afternoon discussing why I stopped putting poetry on my canvases. Never once did he end a conversation without saying, "Thank you." "If you take any activity, any art, any discipline, any skill- take it and push it as far as it will go, push it beyond where it's ever been before, push it to the wildest edges of edges, then you force it into the realm of magic." I will never thank my boss for keeping me employed. Neither should you. What keeps you employed is what you bring to your everyday. I think it's time you start thanking yourself.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Wanna Change America? Blog!

Wow! Ummm...(tap tap tap on the computer screen) you still there? Did ya make it? I mean wow! Super huge day! So mind blowing Wal-Mart and Target need Black Friday/the day after Christmas sales to begin tomorrow. To rev up the engines of consumers! To put a sparkle in their eyes like Marcia Brady meeting Davy Jones from the Monkees. While CNN, FOX News and Charlie Mooglespike's small town TV station shove everything into Election Day coverage; I gotta pull a fresh page from the sheets that once covered giant fancy rich people beds in a hotel called, "Daytime Soap." That's how my Wyoming-made Mom judged ongoing drama on American soil. She'd never bounce and pounce or leaped around on her Tigger like Winnie the Pooh tail...hoping to catch a newsflash. One click into General Hospital or Days of Our Lives and everything heated up by assumption melted like butter on a stack of corn with a touch of rhubarb pancakes. So today...I'm election free! Blogging isn't Twitter on steroids. Extending a sentence beyond the typical Face Book Check In is meant to hang out longer than a short story paragraph. I'm ok with Blogger's that are urged to cut and paste. But let me see what you hear. Blogging should be compared to an old fashioned handwritten letter carrying the scent of true personality. Kind of like the warm air that paints the sky while walking by a bakery fresh chocolate smothered cupcake simply whispering, "I'm sexy and you know it." No politics today! Challenge yourself to start Blogging tomorrow! A big change is on the way to America and we need some storytellers to exercise their right to write. I don't care if you're walking through a Harris Teeter or waiting in line for a movie. Nobody stuffs their face into a toilet bowl unless it's the final choice. Yet here we sit on Face Book and Twitter. Just a bunch of **** with no paper to wipe. Flat screen's leave scars.

Monday, November 5, 2012

A President Doesn't Change America...We The People do!

Early in life I realized all school teacher's are born with eyes in the back of their head. The number of times I was sent to the office is proof. I wasn't the devil kid accused of pushing, punching, shooting spit wads and rubber bands but instead a #2 pencil carrying daydreamer that turned desk tops into an artist's canvas. I stacked books! Balanced them on their side! Wore extremely baggy long sleeve shirts that came with so much extra material I'd use it to quickly cover what escaped from the pencil's well shaped cutting edge. Every picture earned a free hall pass with sharp as a knife commands to go directly to custodian's quarters and explain to him how incredibly sorry I was to add more work to his day. Sadly with no way to digitally take snap shots of the creative student's view...not a single portrait remains. Mrs. Stephenson, Vegge, Knight, Keefe and Chapman peacefully understood my addiction to publically expression but every recess meant washing all 30 plus desks. By the time I hit 6th grade Mr. Barone had an even bigger issue; the levitation one feels while letting art move through them turned me into a talker. You'd think I was headed straight for a Radio career. That didn't happen until 1976 when my parents continued to ignore my passion to play music. I got tired of banging so hard on the piano Mom kept hiring people to come in an retune the faceless beast. But never was a lesson offered. Radio came with music already made and no matter how weird I was the elders of the biz held stories and experiences much greater. In March of 2006 author Steven Furtick simply asked: What if I hadn't? What if drawing on desks hadn't led me to gaining the necessary confidence to never stop talking in class. It takes a lot of guts to lead potential listeners away from another person's vocal ability! But what if I hadn't found the ignition to stick the silver key into? Don't make faces at me through this computer screen! You present day and way is the result of not one but several chapters now looked upon as "what if I hadn't?" What if you hadn't turned right at the light choosing instead to go where you were supposed to? What if you hadn't discovered how easy it was to get an educational grant then to never use it in the way it was introduced? I believe the entire human race is born with eyes behind their head. The difference between a banker and a teacher is the peeps in the classroom take the time to read the Eyes Behind the Head manual. Doing so offers a benefit. Children's minds don't unfold they need to be molded. The banker puts focus on the past. What lives in your current flow of traffic benefits them only if opportunity is present. To get that, you give them permission to dig into what you can't change...once something still sore arrives on the surface the bank does nothing to help secure the present. Yet we as a nation bailed them out of the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression. Are we being honored? Does your bank love you? Your teacher still does... Big Business reins because there aren't enough willing people to stay in from recess and wash desks. We'll never need the Eyes Behind The Head tool because bosses are paid to babysit what you've declared safe enough to feel secure. We've evolved into a people of choices and frankly it doesn't matter who we vote for, no President can rip from our past the pleasures we feel while purchasing modern technology and a fancy hammer and shovel from Lowes and Home Depot. What if Ronald Regan and Bill Clinton hadn't made spending so free to abuse? That's a stupid question! Neither President made it possible. How is the former chairman of the Federal Reserve Alan Greenspan sleeping these days? His brilliant knowledge and firm thumb print planted between the seeds of failure versus growth fronted the dollars between 1987-2006 that helped carve away Jimmy Carter's extremely tough strolls with a better sense of small business belief and success. What if we hadn't adopted the idea of ATM cards? Look at one of the extreme negatives that came out of banks flooding your mailbox with incredible credit card offers: Identity theft! Wait! Wait! I'm not blaming the "Banker..." Those sitting at the front desk are no different than Wally and Freddie at Taco Bell and Target. We are the Puppet Generation; doing what we are told not as they do. Did the former front man of Bank of America Hugh McColl know that thousands of hard working deeply dedicated and well educated financial wizards with unheard of amounts of people skills would be laid off? Did he go bigger into business knowing the average employee isn't worth their weight but every success requires a Pawn? It doesn't matter who's sacrificed as long you get to the top. The best teachers are no longer found in classrooms. Therefore the art of knowing what's currently going on behind you is gone but not for good. What if you hadn't? Is it truly going to change the present? The sin has been made but can you forgive or attempt to bury it like a dog? If dogs are so good at their job...why does somebody always step in it? Change in America doesn't start when attempting to answer who should be President. You have to be willing to change first.

Friday, November 2, 2012

The Nature Boy Chris Christie Is The New American Dream

Today feels like a "Rick Flair" professional wrestling card. Not a manmade steroid driven Monday Night Raw but a vamped up 1978 small town implosion that old timer's will forever compare to Charlie Pride cruising into the Shrine Auditorium with Tanya Tucker and Buck Owens. I'm talking no rules! Drunk when you arrive! Every punk ass kid runs through the Montana redneck saturated parking lot collecting beer tabs peeled off metal cans then turned into bright silver necklaces. The Nature Boy making an appearance was bigger than George Washington going up against... wait! He ran unopposed in 1789 and 1792. George was so eff-en big and strong no man, not even know-it-all Benjamin Franklin dared to sport a pair of trunks in the center of the ring. Even with his current well publicized challenges Rick Flair is a "Real" American versus the extremely rich and completely out of touch. Only one elected man comes close to Rick's bad ass I'm not gonna take your junk and put in my trunk, you can't be the man until you beat the man attitude: New Jersey's Chris Christie. I'm so fired up over Christie's post Hurricane Sandy leadership I feel like writing and producing a radio commercial that features Christie up against Obama and Romney. But it has to be in the flavor of Rick Flavor landing a jet in the core of itty bitty barely a dollar to your name USA. And it has to Flair cutting the forehead off Hulk Hogan with the winner doing battle against the team of Brett Hart. Nick Botwinkle and Rowdy Roddy Piper with a surprise appearance from Jerry Lawler or my mother after she found out I swiped ten bucks from her purse. The commercial: Big balls read with more echo than the Grand Canyon can handle. For the first time ever...This Tuesday, the biggest election day in U.S. history invades Orville Reddenbacher High School. . New Jersey Governor Chris Christie rips from the shreds of what's left a state of madness on the shores of Obama and Romney. One man! Two deeply rooted political armies financed by big business and religious groups that took their tithing's and gambled on the future of the economy. Canadian's are fighting to get in our country. The volunteers at early election poles are ripping the cushions off their chairs. Doors open at 6:30am. Bell time 7:30pm unless California exposes their final numbers like the Hollywood babies they are. Chris Christie isn't pissed off at Mother Nature...his 100% American made wrath is about to recast Washington. What you take home for pay depends on the final outcome. This nation has a new Nature Boy and we call him The American Dream Chris Christie! Vote Tuesday! (Place small wimpy voice tag here) This ad wasn't paid for by Rush Limbaugh whose radio show success depends on the failure of the country.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Are You The Victim Of A Face Book Friend Dropping

I sit before you, on this computer screen in front of quite possibly some sort of stuffed animal or creature, a family photo, maybe an old fashioned pencil somewhere nearby on this item you've proclaimed a desk. "I've been to the Voting Booth!" My "Early" ballot line was no Macarina, Cha Cha Slide nor did it feature the entire cast of the Village People pulling off the YMCA. 45 minutes to an hour in length where one maybe five extremely tired, bored but not lazy voices voluntarily left. Quickly I thought, "This is going to be fun! To hear how each will redesign their excuses for no longer participating." "I'm hungry so I'll do it before Saturday. I guess I didn't study the candidates long enough. I wonder what my kids are doing in the car." Yes! I dared to stand up straight and keep my aging hands at my side without feeling any sort of need to bend at the knees and sit. I was on a personal mission to study every corner of that city library searching for anything and everything that could or would be used as a tool offering subliminal messages. Five pages (days) away from locating the conclusion to the most expensive, highly stressful, stretched beyond reason, over produced by television, radio and internet news departments; Election Season. Sure I'm excited! In the number of Face Book Friends that were dropped in the past six months because their political views polluted what used to be an incredible source of entertainment! The right side of my FB page turned into the Ringling Brothers and Barnum Bailey Circus. Didn't anybody listen to their parents? Politics and Religion are things you don't talk about in public. Truth is...I couldn't give a rats butt who my Mom put her thumb print on. It wouldn't take much to accept someone's decision for not voting. It's your right as a citizen of the United States of America to or not to...participate. I do feel like my mailbox has been violated. But it has no voice. It has no eyes to identify the intruder that's placed larger than life political promotions inside its plastic soul. No arms to block, no feet to run. Not even a set of ears to hear the final results late, late after Jimmy Falon Tuesday. I'm very impressed with the huge piles of trash that were sent through the U.S. Mail System. Maybe they'll shut the hell up about being broke. I worry though about the number of forests that lost trees that were used to spread trashy talk from what once was New Jersey to a quaking upper Washington state. I know! It sounds like I'm bitching, complaining and standing in the way of everybody's right to freely speak...but my heart breaks knowing 98% of us have fallen onto the sandy shores of a riverbank I call: Accepted behavior of randomly tight invitations of numbness. While in that early voting line, I watched people go in and come out. I have been to the mountain top and I hold in the core of this nations open sore: Numbness. Without expression. No need to believe. There was a scent of fear in the air. What if your voice isn't heard? What if a state 500 miles from where your next step forward becomes too tight and the Electoral College pulls open its suit coat to reveal a giant "S"? Through the mistiness of a midnight moon setting on an unborn tomorrow the only choice offered becomes a lingering sting no doctor can pretend to mend. What? Did you think I was jotting down the lyrics to this Blog for you? You who stands in November 2012? Oh hell no! I'm sending messages to the future! The internet is forever. What we say, write and present in picture form will find a way to a computer screen owned and operated by your Grandchild's teenage son or daughter. Accepted behavior of randomly tight invitations of numbness has become "The Way." Wow I can't wait until Steven Spielberg makes a movie about it. Our luck, Disney will purchase him out of business too. You did hear Disney bought Lucas Films/Star Wars for $4 Billion? To which I close with... Being that Disney owns everything except the White House...but if they offered something like it while offering better pensions, food prices and no need to fill up with fuel or worry about if your bank will be in business tomorrow, would you sacrifice your U.S. citizenship to become a Disney-nian? How long would it take to make Tom Cruise the President? NO! Tom Hanks! NO! Orville Wim-ba-molocule! A total nobody but WOW they cartoonist did a fine job on his design! Which is not the line I wanted to write but elected to pull back because the reality of Face Book is...people are watching and what we say will infect everything you do for the next 7 generations.